Kin-Strife

[elora]

Pelargir - Autumn 1441


Disembarking in Pelargir felt surreal to Halvarin for not only was the only woman he had loved aside from his mother by his side, he did not have to consider what he might say to his father. No more would he find himself called to give account of his deeds. Explaining Amarwen was also a bitter draught avoided. But for all of that, introducing Amarwen as Mistress Marece to those that waited for them felt jarring. For her part, Amarwen smiled effortlessly as if Marece had always been her name and nothing else. Still Halvarin held fast to the hope that a day would come when he could declare her who and what she really was: Lady Amarwen of Edholland, descendant of King Hyardemacil.

For now, there was a war to contend with and there much to do. Steeling himself with the same stoicism he perceived in his wife, he gave each who had gathered to greet him upon the docks with a steady nod and strode with Amarwen to the Guild House in Pelargir. Had her hand not trembled where it was tucked into his arm, he would never have known her to be nervous. He paused in the threshold to lift that hand to his lips but Amarwen was preoccupied, studying the thickness of the Guild House walls.

”Reinforced,” she observed quietly as his lips brushed her knuckles.

”Assuredly,” Halvarin answered as he tucked her hand into his elbow again and pressed forward.

The condolences of those within felt like a physical weight being set upon his shoulders. They were thick and heavy and Halvarin felt himself bow as they mounted over his head. He introduced his new wife again and again and most offered a polite greeting for her. However two remained somewhat aloof and sceptical. Halvarin marked their faces, suspecting the men knew Silares’ only niece had died as an infant.

Trouble would follow if they pressed their inquiry. It would be wise to have them removed, so as to eliminate the risk they posed to the woman at his side. But it was also too early to press such tactics. Another assassination so quickly on the heels of the one that had claimed his father would intensify efforts to locate the partisans and in their discussions as they approached port, Amarwen had been clear. She wanted the assassinations to halt until she could restore order over the chaos the rebellion appeared to have fallen into. No matter, Halvarin thought to himself, he would remember who they are.

The greetings and introductions done, Halvarin was soon seated with his bride at the table for a generous repast. If there was anything that Halvarin could have wished for, it was that Amarwen sat across from him so he could study her beauty at his leisure and admire her dress. She had chosen Guild colours today, notably that of the Navigator’s chapter. An artful choice even if she might find them personally repellent. Much as a soldier selected his armour and weapons for the battle ahead, so did he think Amarwen considered her own wardrobe.

However, instead of being across the board Amarwen was seated at his elbow with her putative uncle, Captain Silares on the other side. Consequently, Halvarin’s hand returned repeatedly to her leg, creeping ever higher and sloping inward. If Amarwen noticed any of this under the table, her demeanour above it was serene. She smiled at all the right places, laughed politely and never too long, and not once did she question whatever was said around her.

Mischevious as it was, Halvarin was somewhat discouraged by her lack of obvious response. She did not so much as flutter an eyelash out of order but when he made to remove his hand she smoothly grasped his wrist as if she were adjusting the napkin he had already dislodged to the floor. As she offered some smooth observation calculated to draw her current conversational partner into another lengthy diatribe, Amarwen drove his hand back into the place he had abandoned and held it there. Across the table, flattered at the attention such a young and beautiful woman plied the old sea dog with, her conversational partner set about on a discourse about why the records of tides were all, every last one of them, flawed. And then, only then, did Amarwen cast Halvarin a smile as she pushed at his hand. Then she cleared her throat, no doubt to cover some other utterance he might otherwise drive from her and lifted her wine to her lips.

Their lunch was a fulsome one, featuring perfectly grilled fish that flaked succulently and shellfish baked in butter and spices to make the mouth water. Which his was already given what was underway under the table. Inevitably, though, their lunch passed and once that occurred a gathering of the Guild was called in the upper room. As much as he wished he could bring his wife with him, he knew such a thing would be impossible. The Guild held strong views about the role and place of women in their member’s lives. Theirs was to tend to shore and the hearth fire and raise the children, the next generation of Mariners. Never mind that Amarwen was as much a daughter of a Mariner as he was. Thus, reluctantly Halvarin bade Amarwen a good evening for it was likely that this meeting would stretch into the night.

As he took his leave from her, he hoped she could do what she must with the time she now had. He had already urged to show restraint in seeking those responsible for his father and Master Damius’ assassination but Amarwen was a woman who knew her own mind. He had no way of knowing whether she would heed his counsel and so he had to trust to the wisdom he knew she possessed. She knew how preciously they were balanced here in Pelargir. One misstep, from either of them, would plunge them into ruin and sorrow.

As Guild members assembled, Halvarin addressed the matters of his father’s estate. The legalities seemed endless, yet he knew it was all necessary. His father had been a wealthy man, and it emerged that he had interests in different businesses in many different places. Most of this was new to Halvarin but he soon apprehended that there were some interests he would want to keep just as they were for they were advantageous.

He soon discerned that he would need a light touch at first to feel out the length and breadth of his father’s estate. Halvarin also perceived that he would need to reach each and every document he was asked to sign. For this was the only way to ensure it was he in control of the wealth and no other proxy or factor. When the last stack of parchment came to him, he read the first page. The barrister tried to get Halvarin to sign, but he paused as he read the second page.

”Just formalities?” Halvarin asked as he looked at the third page.

The barrister nodded, ”Yes Master Halvarin.”

He flippedto page four and five and after a brief look, set them down on the table, ”I understand, good sir, that you worked for my father for many years, yes?”

The barrister nodded at this and Halvarin returned his attention to the document before pushing it towards his father’s servant.

As he did so, he eyed the barrister sternly, ”And where does your service lie now that my father is dead?”

“The Estate, Master,” the man replied.

Halvarin nodded as he shuffled through the six pages again. He then picked up the parchments he had already signed and looked at the first one.

This he held it out, ”I wish these two to be endorsed and sealed now.”

“But Master, it would…”

“Now!” Halvarin said with some force and the barrister swallowed before looked over to the senior Guildsmen watching on.

The Master Captain, now acting head of the Guild, nodded before he approached to endorse the documents. The barrister also endorsed them and the three signatures were sealed. These Halvarin took to set on the corner of the table.

”I will take the keys as they have been released. The rest of these can also be endorsed and filed. The last I will hang onto for a while longer yet. It requires extensive review,” Halvarin declared, aware of who he wanted to read it before he set ink to the page, ”Now that I hold sole control of my father’s estate, it is now become my estate.”

He studied the barrister who was attending all of this closely, “You, good sir, now work for me. Have word sent to all of the estate’s advisors and factors. I am sure you know who they are. I wish to meet with them at my house later this evening. And bid them to bring with them their current contracts.”

“Of course, Master Halvarin,” the barrister intoned, bowing.

”You also, good sir. You also,” Halvarin pressed, at which the man swallowed before nodding.

At that Halvarin dismissed the man and collected up the documents he had retained. Watching all of this was the Master Captain, who nodded thoughtfully at Halvarin once this was done.

”We now must attend to Guild business,” the man declared, ”With the merciless slaying of your esteemed father and the Master Navigator, it is incumbent upon us to recommend members to both the Guild Master and Master Navigator positions. These position can not be left vacant overlong, for both play a vital role in assuring the advice and direction of our liege’s naval stratagems.”

Halvarin nodded, aware that each position reported not just to the Guild but the court itself.

”The recommendations by each Guild House will be put forth, and each will vote on the appointments. Let us begin,” the acting Master Captain declared, calling the meeting to order.

Halvarin sat silent when his name was presented for Master Navigator. Surprising as this was, his nomination was seconded and a verbal vote affirmed him as the Pelargir Guild Chapter’s nominee. The Master Captain was put up as Guild Master and seconded soon thereafter. Halvarin put Captain Silares’s up for consideration, which was custom for any who still served on a ship as second in command. As he did so, he thought it unlikely that he would be determined Master Navigator. His time ashore, or ‘in port” at Osgiliath numbered two years. Still , the Guild Chapter of Osgiliath was now long abandoned following the city’s sack and downfall, and the Chapter in Minas Anor had few members remaining. The power, therefore, rested in the Chapters of Pelargir, Dol Amroth, and Umbar, with Umbar the strongest and where Castamir based himself from in the south.

With business matters seen to, Halvarin excused himself and left to return to his family home. This was the house he had grown up in and when he arrived, the caretaker household that had remained in the wake of his father’s death stood in line to offer condolences and their resignations both as was custom. Halvarin accepted them all, and then promptly handed them back. The house and grounds were well cared for and he had no wish to review any of the immediate retainers just yet.

He gave instruction to have a banquet set for his meeting with all the representatives of his business concerns that night, and whilst his staff set off to make arrangement at such short notice, Halvarin went to the study. He studied the books on the shelves and the charts on the walls and the portrait of his father and mother when they were married. He then sat in the chair and looked over the desk. He looked to the door way where he had peeked at his father whilst he worked and then set down all the papers he had brought with him from the Guildhouse on the desk that had, until now, been his father’s.

Halvarin sat back in silence for a time as he figeted with the heavy iron keys. There was so much to do, starting with the relieving of the barrister and likely most of his father’s chief advisors after they give him their reports. He opened the safe that was behind three large volumes of historical studies of voyages, and secured his papers before walking out of the study in search of Amarwen. His purpose in this was twofold. Firstly, he ached for the simple comfort of her embrace. Also, he wanted her with him when he reviewed his concerns for Amarwen had been educated in the business of trade and politics both for Edhellond. Certainly, he considered well versed in whatever was required for his father’s estate.

On his way to locate her, Halvarin found his way to the stately banquet room where the table was already being readied. There was a serving girl setting out glasses that gleamed, freshly polished. She edged back from her task and offered Halvarin a nervous curtsy. This he returned with an approving nod, producing a swift smile from the girl before she ducked her eyes. Halvarin then headed for the door, wondering what Amarwen had been up since he had seen her last.

[elora]

Pelargir - Autumn 1441


At the sound of the door creaking open, Amarwen lifted her head and saw that this time it was Halvarin instead of the seneschal or chamberlain asking to see if they wanted still more iced orange tea. Without so much as a word, she raced towards him and wrapped her arms around Halvarin.

”What are you doing in here?” he asked once they had disentangled again.

At this Silares grimaced, ”Unavoidable, I’m afraid. The household staff were only doing what they perceived as their duty.“

Halvarin’s gaze bounced from Silares to the other man in the room, a silver haired, shaggy giant whose skin was bronzed and weathered. His face was only vaguely familiar and Halvarin frowned at this before he returned his attention to Amarwen. He found her staring at her feet, fidgeting with her skirts.

”Really, Hal, it’s not so very bad. I mean, they could have left us in the street,” she said.

Halvarin reached out a hand to lift her eyes to his, gentle pressure under Amarwen’s chin, ”How long have you been waiting here in the ante-chamber?”

“Not very long.”

He arched a brow at her answer, recognising it for what it was.

The other man stepped forward to declare, ”My niece is too kind. We’ve been here for hours.”

Amarwen jerked her chin from his fingers and wheeled about, ”And what were they supposed to do, Carlin? They did not refuse us entry and suitably accommodated our undeclared arrival until the Master of this house returned. We could have left at any time and sought alternative arrangements. Any time!”

The man she named as Carlin quirked a grey brow at Halvarin, ”Alternative arrangements. Do you hear what your bride says, lad?”

Silares cleared his throat uncomfortably and Amarwen uttered an infuriated oath, her displeasure showing even as he turned her back to him. Her grey eyes snapped like the storm of their wedding night.

”Hours, Ami?” Halvarin asked gently and she pressed out an angry sigh as she gestured at a number of glasses that had accumulated over that time.

”We have wanted for nothing,” she assured him and then scowled over her shoulder, ”And my uncle has the disposition of a bear with a sore tooth. He is not your best guide.”

“This from the girl that used to sit on my knee and laugh so hard at the faces I pulled that she cried,” Carlin informed Silares.

Amarwen pressed out another breath, ”And he’s not happy about the fact that we wed without him.”

“Oh, there’s a lot I’m not happy about. Let’s start at the beginning. What are you going to do to protect my only remaining blood?”

Halvarin considered the man for a moment before asking Amarwen, ”I take it that this man is indeed your uncle?”

Amarwen nodded at the question, ”My father’s elder brother.”

He pressed out a sigh at this, gathered his thoughts and then moved past Amarwen towards Carlin.

”Your brother’s daughter is my rock. My anchor. My safe harbour. She is my sun, moon and stars. There is nothing I would not do to defend, honour and love her, for the rest of my days.”

Carlin crossed his arms over his expansive chest and eyed Halvarin’s outstretched hand for a long moment before he considered Silares.

”Were it not for your current captain, lad, I’d have snapped you in twain.”

“Uncle Bear!” Amarwen cried, appalled, at which Carlin lifted his eyes to the ceiling and unfolded his arms.

”And were it not for that woman behind you, I’d do it even now. But she says she loves you. She says she trusts you. Mark my words, boy, she best not be mistaken,” Carlin clasped Halvarin’s forearm with a grip that could, he was sure, crush a pirate’s skull.

The matter, for now at least, put to rest Halvarin extricated himself and turned back to Amarwen.

”Come, my love, allow me to show your new home,” he said, holding out an arm that she rushed to and claimed.

Silares and Carlin following them out of the ante-chamber, Halvarin took her throughout his home, telling her small stories of his memories about this and that. At every chance, he introduced her to his staff and retainers until he found himself declaring her his wife to all assembled in the kitchen.

”You are to consider her voice and mine as one,” he said, turning towards her to lift her knuckles to his lips, ”As I am your Master, my wife is your Mistress and I will not stand for anything less than fidelity and respect.”

In that moment, Amarwen could not imagine her heart being fuller than it was right now. With so many demands upon him and no telling what his afternoon at the Guild House had entailed, he was so valiantly working to make this place, his home, hers. Amarwen threw a triumphant glance back to where her uncle watched on from the door, assessing all he saw. If he harboured any doubts about Halvarin, surely they had been put to rest now. His eyes met hers for a moment, he inclined his head, and pulled back. That, right there, was an admission that her choice in Halvarin had been the right one.

”Now, where are my wife’s belongings? We have a dinner to attend!” Halvarin declared, lifting her hand in his aloft.

”Already being moved to your chambers, Master” his seneschal assured him, a diffident glance to Amarwen.

”Excellent,” Halvarin declared and whisked her off without further delay.

Just as the elderly retainer had said, the one chest she had brought with her rested at the foot of a very large, very wide bed. Amarwen studied it as Halvarin secured the door behind her.

”That’s your bed?” she asked, astonished.

Halvarin grinned as he nodded, ”Why, bigger than yours?”

“By several yards,” she exclaimed, drawing nearer.

”Would that we had time for me to introduce you to it properly,” Halvarin lamented and Amarwen turned back to him.

”There is a dinner this evening?” she asked and he nodded, grimacing.

”I have asked all of my father’s advisors and factors to join me. His lead advisors and barristers will, I think, all require dismissal once their reports are to hand.”

Amarwen hesitated at that, ”All of them at the same time?”

Halvarin canted his head to the side and so she continued, ”It is akin to striking the head from a beast. How then will the beast’s limbs know what best to do next?”

“They are my father’s creatures, Ami.”

She nodded at that, thinking as she came forward to cup a hand to Halvarin’s cheek, ”And for the nonce they underestimate you as his son and heir. That can be used, Hal.”

“Rather like your uncle?” he asked as he kissed the tip of her nose.

Amarwen sighed at the question, ”Carlin…well, we all called him Bear for good reason. He means well, even if his technique-“

“Includes mauling friend and foes alike?”

“Leaves something to be desired,” she amended, ”He is bloody minded when it comes to his kin. No reasoning with him there, I am afraid.”

“And so, the fact that he did not snap me in twain?”

“A very encouraging sign, Hal,” she said, smiling as she reached up on her toes to kiss him softly, ”How much time do we have.”

“Not much,” he admitted, ”We should ready ourselves.”

“What part, if any, would you have me play,” Amarwen asked as she fell to her knees before the chest.

”I want you to observe them…and I have papers I would appreciate your review.”

“Papers?”

“Contracts and agreements. My father, as it turns out, was a very wealthy man.”

Amarwen turned about on her knees to consider him, ”This comes as a surprise?”

“Considerably!”

She nodded thoughtfully at this and they set about their preparations and it was not long before Amarwen found herself seated at yet another long table. Unlike lunch, Halvarin sat a very long way down the end opposite her. She did her best to attend solicitously to the discussions going on around her but too often her attention was stolen by Halvarin. He leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand, nodding or smiling at whatever was said but every so often she caught his eyes shifting to hers and when they did it was a wonder the centrepieces of fir and autumn leaves did not spark.

”Young love,” the barrister seated near her observed and Amarwen’s smile became fixed.

Yes, he most definitely had to go.

After dinner they repaired to Halvarin’s study and it was here she was asked to review several documents Halvarin retrieved from the safe. Unlike the convivial atmosphere of dinner, the tension in the study was palpable. Leaning against Halvarin’s chair behind the desk, she reviewed each page carefully. The more they fidgeted, the more care she took but it was not all for show. The more she read the more she could appreciate the nature of her husband’s concerns. Clause after clause caught her eye as unsatisfactory, at best. After some time, Amarwen lowered the papers to set them on Halvarin’s desk and tightened her grip on the back of his chair.

”Well, Mistress, what say you?” prompted the nearest factor.

Amarwen arched a dark brow at the question and glanced down to where Halvarin sat. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together under his chin.

”I concur with my husband’s assessment,” she said, which brought the barrister up from his seat spluttering.

”These are but simple commercial-“

“Simple?” Amarwen challenged, looking down to Halvarin who merely smiled.

”Why yes, Madam! Run of the mill.”

“That may well be if it was a mill in question, sir, but there is nothing about this that strikes me as simple.”

The barrister considered her for a moment and then redirected his entreaty to Halvarin, ”Your good wife means well Master, of that I am sure, but for men of the law this is a-“

“I would not be so ready to dismiss my good wife’s assessment were I you,” Halvarin cautioned and then looked up to where Amarwen stood, ”What, if anything would you alter?”

Amarwen sniffed at the question and then reached across for the ink well on his desk, ”May I, husband?”

“Of course,” he allowed, leaning back to enjoy the way their bodies brushed together.

She cleared her throat as she tapped off excess ink and began flipping through the pages, ”This, in its whole, is unacceptable. I have not once seen it’s like in any comparable agreement. As is this and this clause. Ugh! Whoever wrote that deserves a clip around the ears for good measure.”

As Amarwen spoke, she struck through entire paragraphs with a flick of the quill and once she had the most egregious terms dealt with, she worked her way back through the pages.

”Now, there are several that with varying degrees of modification could become… palatable.”

Dropping the quill back in its place, Amarwen straightened from her bend over the desk and settled her hair.

”And what, dear wife, could be said of the individual responsible for drafting such an agreement?”

“Shoddy work, at best. It is beyond me how this ever served your father’s interests well and I am certain it will work contrary to your own without marked modification.”

“Now, you see here, I served your father faithfully for many a year and with scarcely any decent instruction for he was so often asea,” the pale faced barrister asserted.

”The principles of good legal practice scarcely require explicit client instruction, insofar as I am able to see,” Amarwen observed.

”I will not stand for this!” the barrister returned, outraged now and stamping his foot.

”How fortunate indeed, for it would appear that we have reached by mutual agreement a parting of ways,” Halvarin said.

Incensed, the man puffed up his chest and cast about the room for support only to find that each and every other advisor and factor had withdrawn into their respective shells. If they did not stare at the floor they avoided his gaze and so, with his pride in tatters, the barrister drew himself up and quit the study without further word.

Halvarin let the banging doors of the man’s departure echo back to them in the study. In this time, Amarwen had located the crystal decanter of his father’s favourite liquor and poured out careful measures. These she distributed between the men remaining, moving about the room in no particular order until all had a tumbler in hand. The last one she brought to Halvarin, setting the tray down on his desk.

Halvarin swirled the amber liquid around in his glass and lifted it solemnly, ”To new beginnings.”

This was echoed back at him and then, one by one his study emptied of factors and advisors eager to take their leave before they fell to the barrister’s fate. Halvarin saw them all to the door and then returned to find Amarwen seated at his desk. She kicked her feet back and forth.

”They are all terrified of you,” he declared as he leaned against the doors.

Amarwen shrugged at that, ”So long as they love you, darling, that’s all that matters.”

“Still intent on keeping them all?”

“I never said they should all stay,” she countered, ”Just that their departure should not be all at once. What else have you in that safe?”

Halvarin shrugged, ”It’s open, you’re welcome to see for yourself.”

Grinning at him, she rose and skipped across the room to do exactly that, her skirts swishing. She found yet more papers, which she pulled out and swiftly sorted through until one caught her eye. This she held up and looked to where Halvarin had leaned against the desk.

”What’s this?”

“Remember I said there was something I had been meaning to tell you for some time?” he answered.

Amarwen peeled open the worn sheet of parchment and then paused as a list a names appeared. She scanned through it, many of them familiar.

”Where did it come from?”

“The Guild,” Halvarin answered, ”It’s two or so years old now. I received it upon summons to the Guild House in Minas Anor. In fact, I’d only just returned with it when you were…discovered in Osgiliath.”

“Belas and Beregon’s name is upon it,” she mused, looking back to list.

”Yes, and for that reason I presumed the others were also rebels.”

“Not all,” she said with a shake of her head, ”If this is two years old, then there are several names I do not recognise. They were not mine, I can tell you…though perhaps they were partisans. We seem to have a surfeit of those of late.”

“Speaking of, did you progress on that front this afternoon?”

Amarwen folded the list up again and returned it with the other papers to the safe as she shook her head, ”No, I heeded your counsel like the obedient wife I am and took myself immediately to my husband’s home where I waited upon his return.”

“Close it,” Halvarin said, nodding to the safe and so she did so.

”I would like to read that list again, when I am better rested,” Amarwen said, ”There may well be patterns to the names identified.”

Halvarin held up a heavy ring of black iron keys, one in hand.

”Any time you so wish my love, now come here,” he said and she did so without delay.

She settled in beside him to lean against the desk and looped an arm around his waist.

”How went the afternoon’s business?” Amarwen asked, resting her head on Halvarin’s shoulder.

”Oh, the usual mundanities,” he replied and she peered up at him for she heard something in his voice.

Halvarin’s expression, though was clear and so she said, ”It must be so very overwhelming, my love.”

“In a way, yes. Until today, this was my father’s study.”

“He would not be so very well pleased to find me in it now,” she observed and Halvarin smiled.

”No.”

“This house will, most likely, be full of memories Hal. Of your mother and father both.”

“True…but having you here at last, in the place I know of as home, well we can make memories of own as I have wished to do for so long now.”

“Oh?” Amarwen asked and Halvarin shifted so that he was not beside her but in front her.

”Oh yes, Mistress Marece. So many ideas,” he told her, kissing her brow as his arms folded around her, ”But, you must be weary.”

“Not so tired as to forget what you started at lunch. Are you saying you mean not to finish that, husband?”

“Oh, not in your wildest dreams Ami,” he answered and then his mouth and body was pressed against her own.

His hand returned and her eyes rolled as he picked up where he had left off.

[elora]

The Crossings of Erui ~ Autumn 1441


The wagon rumbled slowly north, its tray filled with two sisters and goods bound for Minas Anor. Vilna was feverish and flinched in pain each time the wagon struck uneven earth. Vidnavi sat solemnly next to her sister, her hand in hers as she watched over Vilna’s injury. As Vidnavi sat and watched, she nervously chewed on her lip as she considered their recent course of action. It had been a daring, admittedly most would say insane, decision to venture into the heart of Pelargir to kill two of the Guild’s most senior officers. Yet this is what they had done, even after discovering the officers walked with a third man they had not anticipated.

Surprise had been with them that night and their escape would have been perfect but for the wound Vilna had taken to her thigh. The resulting blood trail would have almost certainly been their end had Vidnavi not found the small wooden door under the steps at the back of the inn. She had pushed her sister in before trying to slip in after her, but the city guards with the commander were coming down the alley and so she had run out of time.

Instead, Vidnavi had closed the door and climbed up the wall to a ledge where she could flatten herself. She’d been certain they would see the blood and capture her sister, but again their fortune had held. The lighting was poor in the alley and the torches borne by the City Guards had flickered hard in the steady sea breeze that blew through the alley caused them to flicker wildly. She had waited until dawn was near, watching all the while the sweep of the soldiers before she dared to chance a climb down and crawl through the door to where she had left her sister.

In the darkness of the cellar, Vidnavi had fallen after she stumbled over Vilna lying on the floor. When morning came, she had learned that her sister had bled hard and so Vidnavi had done what she could to staunch the loss. In all, it had taken three torturous days before Vilna had regained enough strength to be able to move and even so, they could not move very fast at all.

They only got as far as the old markets of Pelargir, where Vidnavi had found a healer from the east to aid her sister. The women had offered them protection as the searches continued and they had only slipped out of Pelargir in this wagon because of her assistance. As Vidnavi contemplated it now, she reflected on how strange the woman had seemed to her. She had named a distant land Vidnavi had never before heard mention of as her home: Khand. Her Westron had held a deep accent but still she seemed to know her way around Pelargir.

Could it be, Vidnavi wondered, that the people of Khand also fought the usurper? If so, then perhaps they too might swell Eldacar’s growing army? Whatever the case might be, Vidnavi was certainly grateful for the healer’s aid. She’d only had one thing to leave her by way of payment: an amulet she had won in the tournaments of Rhovanion some ten years before. She had always worn it, and even now as she thought of it, Vidnavi found herself reaching for it. It was not there now, and she almost found herself regretting its absence, but she caught herself. For this was the price to win the freedom she and her sister now had once more.

As this crossed Vidnavi’s mind, the wagon ground to a halt and the driver turned about from the bench ahead of her.

”You must leave now. Guards will search. If they find you, we will all die,” Vidnavi could not fault the man for his concern. Castamir’s policy towards Rhovanion’s was not a kind one.

”You must go,” he insisted, waving towards the northwest where the White Mountains pushed freshly- coated peaks of snow towards the sky, ”You go through the hills.”

“I will look first, yes?” she said and once he nodded, swung down out of the wagon and ran for the ridge ahead of them.

Once there she soon saw the line of forts, each heavily guarded to flank the Erui crossings. It was clear that they could not cross here and so she returned to wagon, thanked the driver and assisted Vilna from the wagon. Once afoot, the two women set out west. They were careful to remain below the rise of the ridge and soon found themselves within the cover of trees. Here they rested, for Vilna could still not walk very far. For all of that, though, Vidnavi knew themselves to be survivors. She was confident they would return north to fight again for their lord and king.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pelargir ~ Autumn 1441

Ah yes, he most certainly was home, Halvarin mused to himself as he bent over the desk with Amarwen to review the contracts further. Upon studying the original contracts his father had signed with these men, it soon appeared that a number of them had attempted to include clauses that would see their agreement stretch and bind to Halvarin. The evening grew quite late as they worked through this tangle, Amarwen suggesting a number of ways they might untangle it all. Eventually, though, the hour caught up with them and Halvarin’s hand kept returning to Amarwen’s leg.

”Shall I,” he suggested as he leaned in to her ear, ”Acquaint you with that bed now, my love?”

Amarwen smiled at the question and leaned back in her chair to stretch. She nodded, and so he rose with her hand in his and led her through the halls of a home that had been his and now was hers. How many times had he wondered at what it might like to have her here, like this. His wife. His bride. The last time he had slept here, it had been on the return from the last trip his father had ever taken as a friend and ally still of her father and mother. He had been aware, then, that their parents had quarrelled but Halvarin had been preoccupied by the events that had occurred outside, in the gardens of Edhellond. His mind had been filled with green silk and Amarwen when last he laid upon this bed and now she was here, beside him.

The size of the bed was such that he needed to seek her out which he did so and the last thing he thought of as sleep reached for him was how soft her hair was as he buried his face in it. When the first birds started to sing in the early morning, he discovered that they were still folded together in the same position.

”Good morning, my love!” Halvarin said sleepily into her hair and he rolled to his back.

He was met by a soft sigh as Amarwen lazily rolled towards him, hooking a leg over his hips to anchor herself to him. She lay her head on his chest and he wrapped his arm over her back to lightly caress the smooth skin of her shoulder. The presence of her was something of a very pleasant distraction.

He said, ”The barrister will likely be a problem. I intend today to pay out the rest of his contract, only three months, but once that is done I will need somebody I trust to act as my representative in these affairs.”

She murmured something indistinct, still not quite awake as her leg shifted.

Halvarin swallowed at what that did and pressed on, ”As my wife, Ami, you have equal share in it all and so I want you to oversee this. Here, you are the only person I can trust.”

Her eyes had popped open at his use of her name and he found her blinking sleepily up at him, her grey eyes as beguiling as ever they had been. Halvarin immediately started to turn toward her and she rolled lazily to her back, black hair spreading over the snowy pillows under their heads. All his various dreams and thoughts bore not a candle to the reality of having her here, now, in his arms.

”No matter where I go, I think I will always think of you just as this, laying in my arms,” he said and watched her slowly smile.

”You flatter, sailor,” she remarked even as she drew his lips to hers and ignited the fire that had flickered in his belly the moment her leg had anchored over him.

It was a couple hours later that they again awoke, this time to a knock on the door. Halvarin managed to pull his breeches on before trying to walk over to the door. He opened it to find a young maid standing there. She blushed deeply when she saw him standing without his shirt and began to stammer.

”My pard...pardon sir…”, the maid curtsied with her eyes locked on the floor, ”I have come to ask… if…”

She paused again to swallow and so Halvarin said, ” Take a breath, compose yourself, and then look me in the eye as you tell me that which you have come to say.”

She was obviously, he thought, a new servant. He watched her dab at her eyes with her dress sleeve and take several breaths before she blinked and dared to look up at him. She was holding her breath still and so when her eyes found his, he offered her a reassuring smile. Amarwen had told him not so long ago that his smile was charming and, he soon saw, this appeared to be the case for the maid seemed to calm.

She curtsied again, ”Forgive me, Master, but I have been sent to ask whether you and the Mistress would like breakfast served in your room?”

Halvarin smiled again, ”Indeed we would.”

The maid curtsied again and turned away but Halvarin forestalled her departure, ”I would know your name, and how long have you been employed here?”

The maid turned back and bobbed yet another curtsy, prompting Halvarin to wonder whether that ever became tiring. He inwardly resolved to ask Ami about it later as the maid considered the floor anew.

”My name is Sarael, and today marks my third week in your household, Master.”

“Very good Sarael,” Halvarin replied with a nod she’d not see given her study of the floorboards, ”My wife and I look forward to breakfast.”

As he closed the door, Amarwen sat up in bed to inquire, ”Husband, dear, already do I find you flirting with the household staff, hmmmm…?”

There was a playful note to her voice, and knew Amarwen was one to make light of almost everything. Including being stabbed, as he had discovered in Umbar, but still he wanted to be sure that she did not doubt his fidelity. For if he was called to sea and they were parted, his stomach clenched at such a thing now, then he did not want the grief of that parting added to by such fears.

Halvarin returned to the bed to kiss his wife soundly. So soundly that she might know that she, and only she, would ever know him in such a way.

”Of course not. Still, I found it odd that so junior a servant would be dispatched on such a task. Perhaps, dare I say, ‘interrupt’ us?”

Amarwen’s brows rose at the thought, ”If so, that would suggest discontent, love at your choice of wife. Carlin can be gruff, yes, but I had hoped to sufficiently blunt his manner. Perhaps offense has been given all the same.”

Halvarin brushed his fingers over her cheek, ”Perhaps, though that may not necessary be of concern. The newer servants of the house may be what we need around here. She has only been working here three weeks so may have met my father once at most. He could not, I think, have so thoroughly commanded her loyalty in such times. And she has shown an appreciation for discretion. Perhaps we might charge her with the residential duties?”

”Perhaps,” Amarwen agreed, a familiar mirth flickering in her smile, ”Provided I can be sure is not solely because she is so very adorable.”

Halvarin paused for a moment, ”Such decisions will be made with your full approval, my heart.”

He gave her his own grin before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down to the bed again. As a consequence, they only barely managed to make themselves presentable once breakfast arrived at the door. They ate and by the noon hour, were ready to emerge and meet the day. The first thing Halvarin did was to inform all staff that had served his father to gather in a few hours in the reception room. By evening, a third of the staff had been dismissed with a severance and the new hires promoted. This was all part of making this place his own. His home, a sanctuary for his wife and the family that would, in time follow.

By the close of their first week in Pelargir, a third of his father’s business advisors had given over their portfolios and many of the others had passed theirs on to subordinates. The few Halvarin and Amarwen kept on were found to be honest in their transfers from his father, and this honesty was met with continued employment. The barristers dismissal, Halvarin found, had met with the genuine approval of two of his father’s senior advisors. This surprised Halvarin and Amarwen both, for the two men occupied roles that would have necessitated close communication with his father. One was his father’s representative in court and the other tended to the various tax affairs of the businesses.

Given the significance of these two roles within Castamir’s court, Halvarin resolved to retain them. He had discovered his father had been a key financier of and profiteer from Castamir’s efforts to expand his naval holdings and both men had been closely involved in that. Then there was the “special need” fund his father maintained. Halvarin wasn’t sure what that was in aid of but he resolved to retain it and grow it for he certainly knew what he would use it for.

Meanwhile, Amarwen had her own contributions to make. She slowly started to invest the money of the treasury Lord Hurian had preserved alongside Halvarin’s interests. They were able to expand holdings and buildings. And they were able to take on additional staff. This proved most fraught, for winnowing out the chaotic patchwork of partisans in Pelargir and then winning them over was not easy. Still, employing them enabled Amarwen to slowly establish coordination and control that had been beyond the Pelargir resistance. Ever present was the threat that the Guild would infiltrate them but later review of the list of names revealed not a one was linked with Pelargir. In fact, Pelargir had been the most difficult nut of all for Eldacar to crack and so his Mistress of Spies, as Halvarin called her, moved with great care indeed. Ever laying contingencies. Ever covering their tracks. Always looking over their shoulders.

It was an exhilarating, heady time for them both and the weeks passed in a blur of activity until the first hint of the coming winter reached down from the north to Pelargir. With it arrived word to the Pelagir Guild that Castamir himself would soon return to his northern court within the city. It seemed clear that this would coincide with the announcement of who was to fill the position of Guild Master and Master Navigator, along with the issuing of new orders concerning which officers would be assigned to which vessel, city or strategic location. These tidings perturbed Halvarin for the thought of the usurper so near in Pelargir with Amarwen here was troubling indeed. If that was not enough, he had yet to discuss with her the fact that he had been nominated for the position and the fact that they were likely to announce it here suggested to many at the Guild that he might have secured the role of Master Navigator.

It was evening when Halvarin arrived at the house. He had left the Guild frantic to make sure all was in good order for Castamir’s arrival in a fortnight.

Greeted by his staff, Halvarin said, ”My wife and I will dine alone, this eve.”

As he spoke, Amarwen arrived and Halvarin found himself frozen by her appearance. She was beautiful. She always had been, of course, but it seemed to him that her beauty only grew each time he saw her. This night her hair shone as did her eyes, the very embodiment of the night sky he so often looked to as a navigator. He shook off his thoughts of how ravishing she was, and gently offered her his greeting.

Halvarin lifted her hand to his lips to kiss and his words curled over her skin as she curtsied before him,”We have much to discuss, my love.”

[elora]

Pelargir – 1441 Late Autumn


Morning came too soon even if the days were diminishing, he thought. Halvarin rolled to his side to where his wife slept. Her hair spread like the soft night, hand curled by her ear and lips parted as she steadily breathed. It would be many months before he would see her like this and so he hesitated to study her. As he did, all the concerns that had been building towards this moment ran through his thoughts again. There was always the risk that they would not return from this voyage. Mariners faced that each time they set up and so prepared extensively for it. Instead, Halvarin’s concerns lay with Amarwen as she remained ashore.

When news of his new deployment had come, he had briefly entertained the notion of somehow adding Amarwen to the crew. The fact that he would serve as Executive Officer to her uncle, the redoubtable Carlin himself, would make it all the more feasible. Instead, though, reason had prevailed and so Amarwen was not setting out with him today. Had he secured the position of Master Navigator, he’d be remaining ashore as well but that had gone to another. What worried him most was Castamir.

The usurper would remain at his Pelargir court for at least the winter and well into the spring. Amarwen was very good at keeping herself out of the way when she was of a mind to and certainly she had been minded to this past four weeks Castimir had been in Pelargir. Once only had the man set eyes when she had been obliged to attend the Guild House with him for the appointment of the Master Navigator and Guild Master. Castamir’s eyes had rested squarely upon Amarwen for but a brief moment and she had done what she could as skilfully as possible. Her obeisance, bending knee to the usurper, had been deep and long and exceptionally difficult indeed given her mother had chosen death over such an act. When she had risen again at his side, she had quivered with barely banked rage, but Castamir had already turned away. Still, in that long moment, Halvarin had watched the way the king had stared at her bowed, dark head.

He had been filled with a sense of impending doom, for nothing good could come of Amarwen’s path crossing that of Castamir’s. Yet, since that one encounter weeks ago, nothing had come of it and perhaps nothing would. For all of that, Halvarin taken what measures he could. Their most senior advisors would continue to do most of the work at court as per their remit, limiting the time she may be required to attend court if not eliminating it entirely. Then there was the small contingent of partisans employed within their various businesses that Halvarin had charged with overseeing Amarwen’s safety whilst he was gone. Silares had promised to look in as often as he could too, though he expected to be sent forth soon.

He’d considered sending her to one of the farms they owned. But then, her absence would only draw the sort of scrutiny they wished to avoid. Halvarin pushed out a sigh as he reached out to gently stroke the soft skin of her upturned wrist. Amarwen drew a deep breath at his touch and her eyes flickered as she woke.

”Has it come so soon,” she murmured as her eyes focused on him.

”I am afraid so, my love,” he replied and she drew his mouth to his and kissed him with surprising depth.

”I will, I can still resign my commission,” Halvarin offered and he saw Amarwen hesitate, caught between her heart and her head.

Again she pushed out a heavy breath, ”No, dear heart, our course is set and whilst not without peril, it is a sound one. On that we are agreed, even if I do not know how I will bear these long, lonely months.”

“Nor I, Ami,” he answered and drew her soft warmth to fill his arms.

Amarwen stood on the dock beneath a sullen sky thick with steely clouds, watching the ship that bore her husband and her uncle both draw away on the tide. Her jaw was clenched, for she would not send Halvarin to the dangers of the open sea with her grief weighing on his soul, but nor could she cheer as a number of others on the docks with her did. Each day, morning and afternoon, Guild ships set out at the bidding of the usurper. Silently, she lifted her arm to the ship she watched slipping away. She could no longer see Halvarin but she hoped that he somehow marked her even as she knew he would be busy with the crew.
Slowly her arm lowered but she remained there still until someone plucked at her sleeve.

Bowing her head, she turned away from the dock, her heart heavy in her chest. Perhaps, once she was safely in the privacy of their home, she could let the tears fall. Yet, no sooner had she gained the house did she find Sarael waiting for her in the stables, hands wringing before her.

”Mistress,” she breathed, her face pale and voice shaking.

”What is it, Sarael?” Amarwen asked as she pushed back the cowl she had drawn up against the chill of the damp morning air.

The maid glanced over her shoulder and then edged forwards towards Amarwen. She frowned at this, for what had the woman to be fearful of?

”Mistress, it is the King. He is here.”

Colour drained from Amarwen’s face, ”Here, in the house?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“For how long?”

“He arrived not long after you set out and he will not leave.”

It was no coincidence that the usurper had chosen the very moment he knew her husband would be away to do this. Had he sent Halvarin away for whatever purpose he was about? Her stomach seethed and knotted and her thoughts raced. He would not yet know she had arrived for indeed she had not. She glanced past Sarael to find the stable hands, three lads, solemnly watching on and then she turned her head to where the small party remained mounted behind her.

”Very good, Sarael. The King,” her voice only strained a little at that, ”Is of course welcome to avail himself of our hospitality. My husband’s businesses, however, will wait for neither tide nor man and so I needs must attend to them.”

“What if he waits, Mistress? What are we to do?”

“Why, is he not a guest? What would you do for any guest?” Sarael blanched at this and so Amarwen turned to one of the men, a burly partisan, still ahorse at her shoulder, ”I take it security of our estates is well in hand, for it would not do for harm to befall any guest under our roof.”

“Aye, Mistress.”

“Will you see to it, please?”

Grunting, he swung off his mount and led it into the stables, nodding at the three stable hands to follow him.

Amarwen wrapped a hand over Sarael’s wringing hands, ”Courage, Sarael, for we will not endure this without it.”

Sarael nodded, struggling for composure, ”Yes, Mistress. I look forward to your return.”

Chin held high but still shaking, Amarwen watched the maid turn about and make towards the house again. Still her own stomach churned and she shook her head at the faint disgust she felt rising, for as she fled for a safehouse, she was sending poor Sarael back into the wolf’s den. Still, she should be safe enough for even if the usurper had the entire house dismantled, he’d find nothing incriminating. She mounted up again and headed back out again wishing now that she had taken Halvarin’s mad idea to stow away on her uncle’s ship more seriously.

And so the days passed. As Halvarin was borne ever farther away from Pelargir, Amarwen played a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Castamir. At first, he was not as bold as he could have been. His attempts to force a meeting on her showed some discretion and so she had been able to frustrate his machinations. But the usurper was not a man given to patience or defeat and so his plans became bolder. The line she walked as Marece, loyal subject of Castamir’s realm, grew increasingly perilous. Her ability to oversee their businesses diminished but thankfully, they had in place advisors to fill the breach. Lewealin and Garaborn, their chief advisors at court did what they could to alert Amarwen and intercept the usurper’s attempts to meet her but they too were in a difficult bind. Even though, with her teeth gritted, she had increased the amount they contributed to Castamir’s coffers.


Pelargir – 1442 Spring


Days turned to months, autumn slid into winter and then thawed gradually into Spring before Amarwen finally ran out of options. She awoke to banging on the bedroom door, pushing to wakefulness as the door was thrust open.

”YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE!” Sarael cried, aghast, as three men barrelled through.

Amarwen sat up, heart in her throat as she pulled the covers to her chin.

”Mistress Marece, you are summonsed immediately to attend the King.”

“At this hour?” Amarwen said, the attempt a feeble one given the expression upon the men’s faces. They bore weapons and stoney expressions she was all too familiar with.

Sarael was frantic as she came flying in after them, fists raised to knock some sense into the nearest man, ”This is an outrage! An outrage! Officers of the King, bursting into the bedroom of a Guild Officer’s wife!”

He turned towards the maid, already baring his sword from its scabbard. Where the men who had guarded the house that night were, Amarwen could not know but the fact they were not here now boded ill.

”Sarael, hold! Stop!” she cried, throwing herself from the bed, ”Do not harm her! She seeks only to uphold her duty!”

The man’s sword was released to slide back even as he lifted an arm to shove Sarael back so hard she stumbled and fell onto the floor.

”As we do ours, Mistress,” one of his fellows replied, ”You are summonsed and you will come with us, willing or no. Any who seek to waylay us will be arrested for it is treason to defy the will of the king.”

Sarael was already gathering herself to fly at the men again but Amarwen came forward, bare feet and clad only in her nightdress.

”Sarael, peace. I will not have blood split here,” she said, held her hand out to the maid which the woman stumbled towards and clung to.

”Your Mistress is wise,” said the man that had been prepared to use his sword on her.

Huddled together now, Amarwen tried again to reason with these men, ”Surely you will allow me to prepare myself.”

“Immediately,” one answered, unhitching his own cloak and throwing it at her.

”But Mistress has not even shoes,” Sarael objected and just like that, Amarwen found herself hoisted by another of the men.

She recoiled from his grasp but he only tightened it around her, pinning her fast. The cloak that had been thrown at Amarwen was retrieved from the floor and tossed over her. As she was hauled out of the house, Amarwen called over the shoulder of the man that carried her to Sarael.

”Get word of this to Lewealin or Garaborn!”

“Your advisors will be unable to intervene, Mistress,” said the man beneath her.

Still there was no sign of the men of the household as Amarwen was taken outside and thrust atop a horse. Still more guards stood in the streets, their faces cowled and torches held aloft to gutter in the stiff wintry wind that rushed through Pelargir. Nothing further was said and thus came Amarwen of Edholland to be left in a cold chamber, bare foot and clad in no more than her nightdress.

There was a hearth nearby, glowing coals all that remained of the fire that had gone out from the night before. She crossed to it, picked up a faggot of wood and prodded at them. Could she, Amarwen wondered as she stirred life back into the hearth, bludgeon the usurper to death with a piece of wood? No, the answer came immediately and so she put the wood to a better use in the hearth and shrugged the guard’s cloak tighter around her shoulders to stare at the thin flames. Guards bursting into her bedroom, charges of treason so readily on their lips. When they had first come to Pelargir, Halvarin had mentioned two Guild men that had seemed sceptical of her claim to be Silares’ niece. They’d not seemed to pursue it though, and Amarwen had put that down to the fact that whilst they might doubt at who she said she was, they could not know who she actually was.

But now she was here and it seemed all too likely to her that somehow, someone had uncovered the truth. The informer, perhaps, that had provided the list of names to the Minas Anor Guild? She’d yet to unravel who the rat was…Lord Hurian? The Prince of Dol Amroth had trusted him and she had a great store of faith in his judgement. The healer amongst Silare’s crew? He’d seemed genuine in his offer to keep the peace but if he had somehow unravelled what she and Halvarin had been up to in Pelargir... Certainly would not be any of the Partisans or staff in their employ for they’d not been told of her true identity. However the Partisans could have reported her for their other activities for they were well aware that she and Halvarin were no supporters of Castamir. It would be an effective way to eradicate a potential rival and amongst Pelargir’s various partisan groups rivalry seemed to be the norm.

Still, if Castamir had uncovered that she was a rebel, then she’d not be anywhere but in a cell awaiting the tender attentions of one of his interrogators to wring information from her. The sound of a key rattling in a lock broke through Amarwen’s ruminations and she turned about as the door creaked open. Sure enough, the usurper strode through, his imperious gaze of icy grey finding her immediately as she stood before the hearth. He studied her for a moment, waiting for her obeisance but she refused to give it to him. She’d bowed the once to this man, under duress, and would not do it again. Never again.

Something too swift for her to read flickered across his face before he turned his head and nodded to whoever waited in the hall beyond. The door swung shut behind him and was locked.

”Rare are those who fail to bow before me.”

“Perhaps I might be more amenable had I not been pulled so rudely from my own bed,” she said, the response whipping out of her before she could think it through.

Castamir’s brows lifted, ”Fewer still are those who address me so rudely.”

She had the foresight, this time to keep her mouth closed. At her silence, the King came closer. His hands were clasped at his back and aside from the rich silk of his robe there was no other indication of his stolen rank. He watched her as though he expected her to come at him. In fact, his gaze almost seemed hungry, as if he very much wanted her to do that. Throbbing in her ears was her heart beat for it was not so very long ago that she had hoped to kill this man. She had spent months trying to get as close as she was to him now.

”You have been a difficult woman to find, Mistress Marece,” Castamir said, his voice only feeding the rage simmering in her belly.

This man had murdered her father. By his order had her mother been slain. So many had died to serve his towering arrogance and monstrous ambition. She found herself shaking with an all too familiar thirst for vengeance but then something in her belly shifted and she was reminded, just in time, what was now at stake.

”My husband left his various businesses in my hands to tend to in his absence and so my days are quite full. I trust our advisors Lewealin and Garaborn serve your court satisfactorily?”

Castamir waved their names aside along with her question, now so close that had she a knife she could have plunged it into his black heart, ”Oh, I am quite aware of how busy your days are, Mistress. They are of no interest to me whatsoever. Your nights, though, another matter entirely.”

“My nights are my own with my husband so far from shore.”

“Yes, he is quite distant now. Well past our haven at Umbar. Have you been to Umbar, perchance?”

Amarwen shook her head, unable to find words for the question. There was something altogether sinister about his manner.

”A pity,” he observed and then boldly reached out to yank the cloak away.

Amarwen gasped at this and flinched back. Castamir, though, offered her a cold and calculating smile and dropped the cloak to the floor.

”An improvement, I think.”

Now her skin was crawling, as if it had come alive of its own volition.

”Where now is your boldness, Mistress Marece? Surely you are a woman with a keen appreciation of a beneficial arrangement,” Amarwen backed away again several steps and his smile grew, ”Your husband is a-sea. No telling if he will come back, or when…but imagine how handsome his coffers could look if he should return.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“If I needs must explain it to you, Mistress, perhaps you are not nearly as clever as I am told you are. No matter, for it is not your wit I desire,” Castamir said following her around the room in no particular hurry. He had no reason to be, given she was locked in here at his command.

”Consider the advantages, as have many before you Mistress,” he continued and then lifted a shoulder, untroubled, ”Of if that does not sway you then consider what it means to deny the will of the King.”

They had reached the hearth again and Amarwen knew she had but one recourse and it was not submission. Not to this. Not to him. She drew her nightdress around her, pulled it tightly against her until it was impossible not to see what swelled within. Even Halvarin did not know for he had set out before even she had realised it and that this man, this vile beast, should discover this before her husband would grieve her for the rest of her days. Still, it had to be done. The usurper’s hungry eyes flared as they took her in, travelling so very slowly down until he saw, finally, the burgeoning slope of her belly.

”What…what is that?” Castamir hissed.

”My husband’s child.”

With those words the usurper recoiled, disgust stamped upon his features. He whirled about with a terrible cry and the door was unlocked again. Shaking like a leaf, Amarwen released her hold on her nightdress and went to retrieve her cloak. In time, the three men that had brought her to this place returned. One bore a pair of shoes that whilst too big, served their purpose well enough and just after dawn, the streets still quiet, she found herself returned to her home with a warning.

Breathe a word to anyone about what had transpired and the entire household, herself and her unborn child included, would be put to the sword. Sarael hurried out with a cry, a warm blanket in hand that she set over Amarwen’s shoulders before she was led within.

”Mistress! Oh Mistress, are you well? Did they hurt you?”

Amarwen shook her head as Sarael fussed about, ”And the child?”

“We are both well,” she said as she eyed the gathering of the fearful household staff, all women and girls, ”Where are the men of the household?”

“No one knows, Mistress, ” came the reply, ”They have all vanished.”

It took several days for the reports to arrive of bodies dumped around Pelargir. From the stable boys to the cook to the Partisans that had watched over them. Each had been ruthlessly silenced. Yet, Amarwen did not think the usurper would come after her again. Not whilst she was still with child.

”Oh Halvarin, my love, return to us soon,” she whispered each night and every morn.

[elora]

Pelargir - Winter 1441 to Summer 1442



Setting out from Pelargir, Captain Carlin had Halvarin set a course laid to take a westerly course out of the Bay of Befalas and gradually arc southward to take advantage of seasonal winds and currents. Their destination was the southernmost lumber camp in the tropics of Far Harad, near where Halvarin’s father had gone so many years ago. It would be a long voyage, with their expected return to Pelargir not expected until late spring of 1442 though this timing was contingent on two factors. One was the degree of unrest at the camp with the local Haradrim tribes and the other was how swiftly the lumber barges could be readied. The previous ships sent down had dispatched troops to reinforce a line of forts that supported the push deeper into the jungle. Whilst it was all well and good to be optimistic, only time would tell once they arrival.

The weeks at sea were uneventful and Halvarin found them boring for the first time that he could recall. He reviewed the star charts from earlier voyages and he found few corrections required. The seas gently rolled with a large swell that spoke of storms far to the west but the skies were crisp and clear closer to the shore during these winter months. Halvarin took to taking a turn in the crow’s nest these calm nights, for it offered him solace and peace as he thought of Amarwen.

Ever the night sky had reminded him of his wife and he found himself wondering how he could have left her in the den of corruption that was Pelargir. He regretted increasingly that he had not sent her back to Edhellond. Particularly with Castamir convening his winter court in Pelargir. It was a battle in those quiet hours of the night but Halvarin clung to his hope and his belief that his wife would find a way to contend with Pelargir and its many challenges without him.

It was after his watch one early morning that Halvarin found Carlin standing on the deck near the main mast. Since coming aboard as Carlin’s Executive Officer, Amarwen’s uncle had remained distant. It could not endure, of course. A time would come when they either found a way to bridge their differences or those differences over took them. As he slowly climbed down from the crow’s nest, Halvarin had a keen sense that time would arrive as soon as he gained the deck below. He dropped the final distance to land on the deck behind Carlin and the captain swung about to face him.

”From princess of the realm to the wife of a seaman,” he growled and then asked, ”Do you play cards Halvarin?”

“Occasionally. Didn’t really find the time when I was in Osgiliath,” Halvarin replied and Carlin nodded at this.

”You’ll make the time for the game tomorrow night,” Carlin observed gruffly, ”You’ll forego your time in the nest.”

“I will be there, Sir,” Halvarin confirmed as he looked out to sea.

The Captain rolled his shoulders and set a hand on Halvarin’s shoulder.

”My niece was to be wed to Prince Aldamir. That is what Therald & Alenna wished for their daughter, before this thrice cursed war began.  And you, well if I have been hard on you lad then it is because I knew your father,” Carlin paused and blew out a breath, ”I never liked Calimir. I tolerated your father for my brother’s sake. Never knew just what Therald saw in him, frankly. It men like your father, Halvarin, that I hold responsible for this strife. Much of this hatred of the Northmen came from people such as Calimir.”

Halvarin turned to face his Captain, “I understand Sir. This war within Gondor has turned all on its head.”

Carlin again nodded as he looked out to the waxing moon. He finally said after the silence grew overly long, ”Love her foremost, do right by her and you will have no trouble from me. I will see you at the game this next evening.”

Halvarin nodded and soon Carlin was gone leaving him to consider his captain’s words. They followed him to his bunk and rattled around his head as he fell asleep. He awoke late and scrambled to reach the bridge in time for his duty. The sky had clouded over but the winds had dropped away. They made little progress south that day and it passed uneventfully in the lead up to the card game of the evening.

When Halvarin walked into the captain’s cabin for the game he found many of the officers seated around the table. The rounds went smoothly enough, largely as Halvarin had anticipated, but the talk around the table seemed strange. Almost as if the men there spoke in code. After the game ended, Carlin had Halvarin stay behind and they talked for a long time into the night. He discovered that Carlin had the names of guildsmen sympathetic to Eldacar’s return as king and there were more of them than Halvarin realized. Some names even surprised him, for he had considered them to be firmly in Castamir’s hand.

It revealed the extent of discontentment within the Guild at Castamir rule for some of the names Carlin fed to him were quite high within Castamir’s court and the Guild itself. But it would be a mistake to think that the time had come to topple the usurper. Castamir’s strength was such that, even diminished, Eldacar would still struggle to match and if they struck at the false king soon it would take them decades to rebuild in the resultant and catastrophic defeat.

And them there was the question of how much Carlin had disclosed to Amarwen. Did she know what Carlin knew? If so, what was she or would she do with this knowledge? He came away from the evening with a headache, trying to comprehend all that Carlin had disclosed and curiosity at what else his wife’s uncle might yet know.

A week after the card game, the voyage became rough as they steered east, for a gale came suddenly astern and they came in toward the lumber camp too swiftly. A shoal was missed by the navigator and Halvarin noticed it too late to have the helmsman make corrections. Their ship ran aground and Carlin ordered men to dive down to take stock of the damage to the hull, for there was seepage in the bow. The keel beam, whilst damaged wasn’t broken.

Noting this and the depth at high tide, Halvarin presented his report to Carlin.

”The moon is three days from full. If the weather remains quiet and the wind stays somewhat calm, or preferably, goes offshore, we may get a tide high enough tide to back ourselves out of this. But we will need to be careful and we should be completely prepared to evacuate the ship should the weather prove itself our foe.”

“Done and done. We’ll not go down like this, shipwrecked on a forsaken shoal in far south Harad!”

He affirmed Halvarin’s calculations and then they set about their preparations for refloating the ship. When the winds picked up onshore and clouds moved in from the sea, Halvarin thought more trouble was in store. But he checked his calculations, and if the storm front was mild and passed them before high tide, the sea level might well rise even more and this is what came to pass. Dead to rights, they refloated on the high tide and returned the ship to a course that would take them at last to the remote lumber camp.

Upon their arrival, they found that the harvest was well ahead of schedule. The soldiers aboard disembarked and those that had been there for a year were ready to go home. It would be a slow return, though, for they would have to limp their way back up the coast slowly and put into Umbar’s shipyards for repairs. Predicting the duration of such a voyage was difficult but it was all but certain that Halvarin’s return to his wife would be considerably delayed.

They had the lumber barges set out first, and with another deep draft ship coming in, they set out for Umbar. Arriving with no further difficulties they put in for a refit. The crew was happy to get ashore, but Halvarin was not. He longed for Amarwen so badly by now that he had come to resent the sea that had separated them. All his thoughts and desires centred on returning to Pelargir and continuing their work to depose Castamir. Each delay chafed at him, and Carlin did what he could to soothe Halvarin’s restless anxiety.

”Word has it the beam was indeed cracked, but not so much as needing to be salvaged,” the Captain counselled, ”Some of the best shipwrights are here, and their pitching is the best. We can’t hurry these things.”

Halvarin nodded but even so he considered the land route to Umbar. Fraught with danger it was, and when it came to shipping out on the next ship bound for Pelargir, his own was the next scheduled to depart. There was nothing for it but to wait. So he walked the shipyard, to take in the new ships being built. But for what purpose, he wondered, was all this activity? So much is poured into these ships, and the Guild Training Schools were full of young recruits to crew them.

As a Master Navigator and ranking officer in the Guild, Halvarin found some of his time occupied with speaking at some of these classes where he kept to navigational topics. But his presence there afforded him the opportunity to observe and what he saw looking back at him in the classes was the breathtaking hypocrisy that Castamir’s rule was predicated upon. Dark complexions matched with Numenorean sea grey eyes stared back at him from the ranks of students he addressed in Umbar and this, in turn, drove Halvarin to inspect the Umbar Guild Chapter records. His findings were enough to destroy any lingering sense of Numenorean superiority that remained in him.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks pushed on through summer. It was clear to Halvarin and Carlin that there was no outside Eldacarian resistance to speak of in Umbar. Castamir had been good to the city and there was work aplenty in the shipbuilding and seafarer training. The resistence in Umbar was limited to those Carlin knew off within the Guild Chapter, no more than seven men all told. No small wonder, then, that Amarwen had found her time in this place so difficult a year ago. A year ago their paths had crossed here! The thought struck Halvarin hard.

When their ship was again deemed seaworthy and re-floated, they took on loads of Haradian goods in demand in Pelargir, and a contingent of soldiers that were bound for home. It was the day of the Harvest Festival when they finally arrived in to the port of Pelargir. Halvarin watched the quay as they approached, and when they tied off, he had still not seen any sign of Amarwen. As soon as they secured, he set off for his home.

[elora]

1442 – Pelargir, August


Amarwen glanced about to check that the hall was indeed empty before she raised her hand to knock at the door she stood in front of. She had taken efforts to conceal her identity but at close quarter they would avail her little. She knocked again and heard the irritation in the response of the man on the other side of the door. Despite that, she felt some sense of relief for if Silares had not been at his Guild office then she would not know where next to turn.

”Come in, come in,” he growled, ill pleased with her insistent knocking and so Amarwen slipped through the door and closed it behind her as he added, ”This had better be good for I said I was not to be-“

Silare’s complaint fell away abruptly when she turned about and pushed the cowl back from her face.

”Captain,” she said, nodding to him as he stared at her a moment, then his gaze tracked to the bundle she held under her closed cloak.

”An unexpected surprise,” the Captain said as he hurried out of his seat and came towards her, ”Sit, please sit.”

“Surprises, as a general rule, usually are,” Amarwen observed as she complied with his instruction.

Silares cracked the door open to peer into the hall and upon finding it satisfactorily empty, closed the door again. In this time, Amarwen had undone her cloak and had set to arranging the sling that held her infant son safely in place. With a full belly, he slept contentedly, blissfully unaware of the strife swirling around him. She stroked his dark hair, fine wisps curling around his head and looked up as the captain pulled up a chair for himself.

”This is a dangerous place for you to be,” Silares said, his tone gentle for his gaze rested on the child.

”I am here only at great need,” Amarwen replied and at this Silares looked up at her, ”I need your help and I do not know where else to turn.”

“You should have sent word then. I would have come to you.”

She smiled sadly at that and Silares stiffened, ”Have I, or have I not aided you however I can?”

“Yes, but-“

“But what? It is not enough?”

“No it-“

“If you have come here to again ask me to fight, here to the heart of the Guild, then-“

“Captain!” Amarwen said sharply, breaking through Silare’s growing bluster and her tone caused her son to grumble in his sleep.

Tiny fists waved and trembled in the air, mighty displeasure on the cusp of spilling over. Amarwen and Silares both held their breath, waiting for the child to settle. Fortunately, he did and Amarwen shot Silares the baleful look of a new mother.

”Do not wake my sleeping child,” she warned and Silares let out his pent breath.

”I have not come here to ask you to fight, Silares,” she added, rubbing her son’s back through the sling, ”And were there any other way I would not have come here at all. Do you think I would risk my son so thoughtlessly?”

The captain sighed heavily and washed a calloused hand over his face, ”Of course not.”

Still, her son was restless and so Amarwen stood and began to slowly pace, swaying as she walked in the hope that he would settle once more. She was tired, so very tired. Perhaps not thinking as clearly as she might wish. Still, what else was she to do?

”Castamir’s men have been seen around the house,” she said, ”They keep their distance. They interfere with none who might come or go, but they are there all the same.”

“Flee. I’ll take you to Edhellond right now,” Silares said but Amarwen shook her head.

”And if they should follow?” she asked, ”I cannot flee. Wherever I might go is nowhere I would wish to draw them and in any case, I am unable to move swiftly with a babe in arms. And what of those I leave behind in my household? Who is to see to them?”

”When did this happen?”

Amarwen swallowed at the question, still debating on what to say, ”Winter, the first time.”

“First-“ Silares spluttered and when she turned to consider the captain he was looking at her gravely, ”You should have come to me sooner.”

“I did not dare,” she returned, ”He had nearly half my household killed to ensure my silence. Every man and boy in my service!”

Aghast, Silares stared at her for a long time before he asked, ”Silence?”

At the question Amarwen knew immediate regret. If she answered Silares’ question, she’d likely face burying her entire household for Castamir was not a man of empty threats. She should not, she realised, have come here. Better, far better, to prepare herself for what was coming and face it even if it made her stomach churn. Why, perhaps she’d even accomplish the assassination she had worked so hard to achieve. Perhaps that would make it easier to bear.

”Amarwen,” Silares murmured, standing at her shoulder so closely that the sound of her real name spun her about to face him, ”You are shaking. What frightens you so?”

“He will kill my entire household if I speak.”

“But not you?”

She shook her head, her smile bitter, ”I am just a wife left ashore to him. Nothing more.”

Silares gently placed an arm around her shoulders, ”Tell me, lass. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. The Captain said nothing as she recounted the despicable tale but his face grew pale and taut. By the time it was done, her son had awoken again and so she turned away to tend to his hungry demands. Aside from the sound of his insistent nuzzling, the office was silent for Amarwen had no more to tell and Silares had yet to speak.

”Perhaps it was naïve of me to think he would let this drop, turn elsewhere and forget about me,” she observed after a time, stroking her son’s soft cheek.

“A man such as that does not forget humiliation,”[/i] Silares observed behind her, his voice flat and stripped of emotion.

Amarwen sighed at that and nodded, ”If I resist, I imperil not only our entire household but everything we have worked towards. It would all come crumbing down for he would see to it that I was destroyed. Would Hal forgive me, do you think, if I complied with the king’s demand? Would he understand?”

Silares made a strange sound at that and then pressed out a sigh, ”Have you named your son yet?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, ”I have been awaiting Halvarin’s return.”

“You must call him something.”

“Pip,” she said, ”For he is so very small.”

“Then upon Pip’s tiny head, I say to you that I will not allow this wretched deed come to pass.”

“What will you do to stop it, though? What can any of us do?”

“I do not yet know,” Silares admitted, ”But for now I will see you and your son safely home.”

Carefully, then, did Silares slip out of the Guild building with his “niece” and her newborn son in arms. The Harvest Festival had clogged the streets with people and so it was slow going. Still, the crowd offered a measure of cover and as they put distance between themselves and the Guild, Silares was relieved to see what he believed to be the partisans Amarwen had incorporated into her thriving network at Pelargir, flowing and weaving about them as they went. Or were they? Were these the king’s men?

”Yours,” he asked as a boy with scarcely twenty summers to his name passed by.

Amarwen nodded, ”They’re not to go within five blocks of the Guild for any reason.”

“Even for you?”

“Safer that way,” she answered and in doing so put paid to any lingering worry he had about waking in the middle of the night to find a partisan leaning over his bed sent by Amarwen to eviscerate the Pelargir Guild.

As far as he knew, and this was from reports discussed within the Guildhouse, the woman at his side had well over half the Pelargir partisans under her control. Latest word from Castamit’s court was that she had finally cracked one of the largest groups and that her influence had spread to the Harlond and Minas Anor. Though they did not know who she was, they suspected that she had powerful protection and this was quite correct for Amarwen had been carefully cultivating the businesses Halvarin had left in her keeping for almost a year now. To the holdings she had added a small but growing fleet of river boats that plied the Anduin from Pelargir to Osgiliath conveying all manner of trade goods that cities, and yes armies, required. He’d even heard that she was planning the acquisition of a sea faring vessel.

Thus, to find Amarwen in such dire need of aid had startled him. He’d been suspicious that she was manipulating him into taking more direct action against Castamir for he knew the number of captains Carlin would be able to win into an open fight would not match those he had cobbled together to withdraw strategically. As they walked the streets, Silares again returned to such thoughts. If true, the tale she had brought him was precisely the sort of thing to trip men like him into action. Why, he didn’t know of a Guild Officer that would countenance it. And that this could be perpetrated by one of their own, one who knew what it was to set out leaving your wife and children ashore…

Amarwen kept to herself as they walked, Pip once again concealed under her cloak and by the time they had passed by several of their warehouses to satisfy any watching eye, Silares had reached a difficult conclusion. The Lady of Edhellond knew the Guild well. Well enough to calculate what would rouse their ire and bind them to her. Her dismay and desperation had seemed genuine to him but she was an accomplished noblewoman. With a new babe in arms, only a monster would fail to be moved. She would know she cast a sympathetic figure. He admired her and yes, he was fond of her, but if she were using him now then…

The captain’s thoughts trailed off as they rounded the corner and he saw the first man. Amarwen said nothing but she stiffened beside him and unlike the partisans, who had all vanished again, this man made no effort to blend in. Silares kept himself from staring at him, for provoking an open confrontation now with Pip in his mother’s arms would not end well for anyone. The man did not move from his position but his gaze tracked them, as did the next one and the next one. These men were not partisans. They were not Guild either.

The brazen enormity of it staggered him. The king sending his men to burst into the bedrooms of Guild wives left ashore, preying upon whoever might take his eye…his blood began to boil and he gained the front door by the slenderest of margins before his temper slipped his hold on it.

Silares slammed the door shut, ”I don’t care if he comes after you, lass. He will be stopped. There is not a one of us who will stand idle and-“

“Ami?”

The question drew Silares up and only then did he noticed there was a pack resting in the hall just beyond the door. Amarwen drew a sharp, shivering breath and shot forward like an arrow released directly into Halvarin’s arms. He closed them around her, buried his face into her shoulder and breathed her in. Silares wiped a hand over his face to collect himself.

”Not a moment too soon,” he observed after a long moment and Halvarin looked up from his wife to meet his gaze.

The two mariners exchanged a long and silent look for the moment and then Silares nodded his understanding. This was the reason he and many others like him, including Carlin, had never taken a wife.

Silares jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the street beyond, ”Your return should give those outside some pause.”

“Who are they?” Halvarin asked, his arms still tightly around Amarwen who had buried her face in his chest and seemed unable to stir herself.

The captain shifted his weight at the question and then shook his head, ”First things first. Two months old, that boy has waited long enough for a proper name.”

Halvarin lifted a brow at him but Silares shook his head again and so the younger man bent his head to peer, at the son he had yet to meet. Despite being pressed between his parents, Pip did not seem overly perturbed and Silares lingered a moment longer to watch Amarwen gently ease the child from the sling and set him in his father’s shaking hands. Like all new fathers, Halvarin appeared equal parts frightened, awestruck and overwhelmed. He stared down at the infant in his arms, holding him as though he might break at any moment, as the child sleepily peered up at his father’s face and then issued a cracking yawn, tiny arms and legs stretching and kicking.

Collecting himself, Halvarin looked up to find Silares had slipped away, and then he looked back again to the tiny infant in his arms. He looked as uncomfortable as Halvarin felt and then he let out an almighty belch. Halvarin’s surprise made Amarwen smile in a way she had not done so for a very long time. Despite this, she felt the weight of tears building.

”The noise one so small can make is astonishing,” she remarked, at which Halvarin looked up at her.

”Two months?” he asked, adjusting his hold on his son.

Amarwen nodded, ”I have missed you so, Hal.”

At this he reached out to cup his hand to her cheek and then he drew her forward to kiss her soundly, ”And I you, my love.”

[elora]

Pelargir – Autumn 1442


Amarwen was beautiful to behold after so long at sea, and now a son? It was almost overwhelming. Halvarin bent his head to kiss his son on his crinkled brow, scarcely believing that he held his first born child in his arms. A tiny hand latched onto Halvarin’s beard with a tight grip, driving home the fact that Halvarin was indeed a father now, with an overly long sea-beard.

It brought to mind his thoughts as they had neared Pelargir. With Amarwen’s uncle as well as Silares so well placed within the Guild, there was no need for him to remain in its ranks. Not if it meant being parted from his wife and child. He had enjoyed seafaring upon a time, but now…now he had missed the wonder of watching his son grow and flourish. Of coming into this world. He would never have those precious moments back and it was, he thought, entirely too high a price to pay.

Still, to resign his commission so swiftly after putting into port would draw attention he wished spared from the precious infant in his arms and the woman at his side. His son belched loudly again and Halvarin lifted the tiny bundle so that he could drool on his shoulder. Amarwen fussed with his dark hair, sweeping it aside as their son chewed Halvarin’s jacket. When her eyes met his, he smiled into her eyes as pride and gratitude washed through him.

”What name have you given him?” he asked.

”Pip, but that is hardly a suitable name,” Amarwen replied, ”I hoped that perhaps you might name your son.”

Halvarin lowered the boy into his arms again to study his face. Pip reached for his beard to tug at it anew. This name would be what his son carried with him into the rest of his life.

”Mindacil,” Halvarin said, his heart swelling in his chest.

Amarwen nodded, ”A fine name, my love.”

Halvarin drew Amarwen into his embrace once more and pressed her to him, unable to find a way to release her for so long had he longed to hold her. They remained like that in the hall for a long moment until Mindacil became restless.

”The question of the men in the streets still stands,” he eventually said as he eased his arms from her, ”What were you were saying to Silares when you came in?”

Amarwen ducked her head at the question and hid her face in her hair such was her reluctance to answer. Silares, too, had been loathe on that count. He was tempted to push but Mindacil had become strident and so Halvarin had little option but to turn him over to his wife. Now his tiny hands grabbed now at the neck of her gown, his demands quite clear. Amarwen turned away to see to them somewhere other than the hall and Halvarin followed her to the room that had been fashioned into a nursery for Mindacil.

He said nothing as she tended to Mindacil, his mind prodding at whatever it was Amarwen was not saying. Amarwen too kept her peace though he could feel her eyes upon him as he wandered about the nursery, acquainting himself with it. Once their son was sated, Sarael appeared as if out of thin air to take Mindacil up. She, too, appeared nervous and ducked out of the parlour as swiftly as she might with the child tucked against her protectively.

The tension was so thick he could taste it and so he held a hand down to where Amarwen still sat and said in a quiet voice, ”Come with me.”

She looked up at him, drew a deep breath and nodded before she set her hand in his. He towed her to her feet and then drew her along swiftly to their bedroom. It was here that Halvarin’s desire for his wife took precedence. Need too long denied drove them both and it was not long before they lay, breathless, in a tangle of limbs and bedding. He lay like this, staring up at the roof he had spent much of his boyhood staring at. Unable to put it off any longer, he rolled to his side to study the sweep of Amarwen’s bare back from smooth shoulder to rounded hip.

”Tell me Ami, what happened while I was away? Why do Castamir’s men watch the house?”

The things Halvarin had heard during the card games aboard ship crowded his mind. Such tales as beggared the imagination and yet cause enough to turn many a loyal and dedicated Guild officer from Castamir. She stared off to the far wall of the room for a time and there was silence, but then she rolled to her back with a sigh and began to talk.

”The day you took ship I returned home to find him waiting here.”

“Who?”

“Castamir,” Amarwen said in a low voice and Halvarin went very still as she closed her eyes, ”He would descend suddenly, without warning and refuse to leave. Secretly at first but he became bold as time passed.”

She pushed out another sigh and shook her head, ”Months I spent in Umbar seeking access to that blackguard and now I could not rid my house of him.”

“What did he do?”

“Drank an awful lot of spiced orange tea. Became very well acquainted with each of the parlours. He had the place searched,” she shrugged, ”In time I believed he would move once he tired of cooling his heels here. Once he stopped hiding, it was easy for me to be elsewhere tending to the many demands of our businesses.”

“But it did not stop, did it?” Halvarin said in a low voice and Amarwen shook her head.

”Come Mettarë he sent men here, to this very place we are now, and had me dragged before him. I thought I’d been arrested,” Amarwen said with a shudder, ”And perhaps I might have been had he not been so repulsed by the discovery that I was with child. I was instead swiftly returned, unharmed. But that was not an end to it.”

Amarwen pushed herself up to sit, the heavy fall of her black hair swinging. It had grown during his absence and was almost, he thought, back to its customary length. She turned her head to regard him through her hair.

”He had the men and boys of our household taken, every last one of them. Not hostages, of cours,e for when has Castamir had a use for those,” her voice was bitter as memory of her father arose. She shook her head and looked next to her knees.

”Their bodies appeared around the city a few days later, cruelly slain. Their eyes put out and tongues removed.”

“A message, a warning to silence,” Halvarin said as he sat up himself.

”And I kept my silence, for the sake of those within our household. I said not a word of what had passed to anyone. But then, once Pip had come, his men began to appear on the streets.”

Halvarin drew Amarwen to him and she buried her head into his chest to listen to his heart beat. His fingers stroked her hair as he considered the tales he had heard. Amarwen’s was one of a same and it fortune, he suspected, that had brought him back to port before her fate could be decided as so many others had. He knew of officers who had returned home to discover their wives slain. Terrible accidents, usually, or the victim of some senseless crime. But this he did not speak of to Amarwen for he would offer her comfort and solace and not the spectre of still worse to come.

After a time like this, he said, ”I will put in for my old position in Osgiliath, or somewhere else. I will not be parted from you and Mindacil ever again… even if it means I must resign.”

At this Amarwen tightened her arms around him and held him to her. And when they spoke next it was of putting Pelargir behind them.

The following day, Halvarin ventured to the Guild House to put in for a transfer. When he spoke with his fellow officers, however, it soon emerged that the only suitable position was at Minas Ithil. There was but one representative of the Guild there as it had no port. To request to go there would seem strange indeed, particularly after having his name advanced only a year ago for the position of Master Navigator. Halvarin needed to find a way to seek a demotion and as fortune would have it, his means walked right in the door.

Castamir strolled in with his advisors and immediately all within stood to attention. Difficult as this was, Halvarin fell in line and it did not take the usurper long to espy him amongst those gathered at the Guild House today.

”Master Halvarin, back from your voyage so soon!” Castamir declared.

Not soon enough Halvarin thought, striving to keep his demeanour calm despite the urge to drive his knife into the man’s black heart.

“I am pleased to be back, Sire,” he replied, loathing thick in his throat, but then Castamir said something Halvarin did not expect.

”I do not believe that I have conveyed my condolences on the senseless murder of your father. We were close, as I am sure you understand, his counsel invaluable. But now, with such a stalwart mind lost to me, I must now look his son. I have been considering your history, Halvarin of Pelargir.”

Halvarin swallowed at this, fearful of what the usurper may have found. If need be, he would kill this false king here and now but he could not help but think of Amarwen and little Mindacil. If he assassinated Castamir, the Guild would come for them right after they killed him. Yet, tense as he was, Castamir turned to the wider room to make a pronouncement.

”Master Halvarin, son of former Guild Master Calimir, has risen steadily among the Navigators. His work can be found on many of the Guild’s star charts, without which we would be lost. He has completed, successfully, a number of voyages well to the south and acquitted himself with distinction. Add to this his service as Commander of Osgiliath and it is clearly time to put his skills to better use. To a new use.”

Halvarin swallowed again as men murmured around him, some nodding their heads. Silares was there, as was Carlin. The two men looked forbidding, as they looked on, arms crossed over their chests. It occurred to Halvarin that what the usurper was doing was pushing him out of his way. He was going to make him the captain of a ship and send him off once more, leaving Amarwen behind precisely where Castamir wanted her. Halvarin gripped the hilt of his knife on his belt and stood tall, ready to draw it out and plunge it right into Castamir’s unprotected back but the king turned back to face him.

”I name you, Master Halvarin, my Northern Commander. Do not thank me, though, for many are the challenges to contend with in the north. I need a man I can trust up there, someone well regarded by the local commanders. “

Halvarin could scarcely believe his ears. A year after his father’s death and still Halvarin found himself riding his father’s coattails. Castamir stared at him awaiting a response.

”If… if that is where the king wishes me to serve… I will serve.”

“Done and done, then. You relieve Commander Bergon in Minas Anor in a fortnight. Tomorrow, you and your wife will attend me at banquet on the morrow. We can discuss the details of your new role further.”

The usurper peered at him imperiously and Halvarin bowed, reflecting just how difficult it was to pay respects to a man he wanted dead, and with that Castamir had dismissed him and moved off to speak with others. It was not long before the king had left the Guild House entirely but Halvarin lingered yet, hoping to catch Silares and Carlin. The two sea captains had also vanished and so instead he sought out the men Carlin had told him about on the voyage. Once that was done, he hurried home to speak with his wife.


~ ~ ~


Osgiliath ~ Autumn 1442


Michas walked the streets of East Osgiliath as the rain fell. The quays had some renovation done, but right now the only vessel moored was a run down river barge. It’s shallow draft allowed it to press up river as far as the upper fens of the Entwash and its condition was such that it did not draw attention when it did. It was a good smuggler, all in all, an excellent asset sent their way by Marece all the way down in Pelargir. He had no idea just how she’d gotten to Pelargir nor how she’d managed to get her hands on a boat but whatever the case, Michas had pressed it into service all the same.

The barge enabled them to transport arms in from the north to lay down in readiness for the army that would wield them. With the weapons came a few of the scattered Gondorians sent south by Eldacar from their northern exile to oversee preparations. Michas was grateful for their aid for Osgiliath seemed likely to be Eldacar’s staging point in his bid to retake his crown.

He had now taken the river barge up to where the fens of Nandalf lay, and having sent word east to the western commander of the Easterlings, he held a secret meeting. The Easterlings were no allies of Gondor but they had weapons and if in sealing some sort of arrangement with them denied a possible ally to Castamir, so much the better. At least until they realised Eldacar’s forces included Rhovanions whom the Easterlings hated. Michas made promises he could not keep should Eldacar return to power, but he was sure he was preventing Castamir, should he even think of it, from gaining an ally in the east.

Michas’ return from Nandalf fens took him now through the rain soaked streets of Osgiliath to where a new detachment of soldiers from the south awaited him. As he went, Michas had those aware of the weapons caches to prepare to leave to the east toward Minas Ithil. He could not risk them being discovered should his work at Osgiliath have been exposed. That was always a possibility and would be, at least until they discovered who the traitor in their midst was. Quite as things had been since the immediate aftermath of Belas’ death, Michas could not bring himself to believe the being caught up in anything.

And so, precautions laid, Michas made his presence known to the commander of the newly arrived detachment.

”We have heard rumours that this is a city friendly to Eldacar. What say ye?” said the man, his plain speech matching his plain features.

“As Commander of Osgiliath, I do not confuse my politics with my loyalty to Gondor,” Michas replied, recalling all too clearly when Halvarin had said just that very thing to him.

And as he had at the time, the man he spoke with now countered, ”As do we all. We are loyal to Gondor, and will do what is best for the nation we love. We understand each other, do we not?”

Michas eyed the commander suspiciously and said nothing until the other man grinned and stuck out a hand towards him.

”Belon, I am called, and this is the Fourth Brigade of the First Army of Lossarnach. It is pleasure to meet you Michas, Commander of Osgiliath and the First Brigade of Ithilien. Know that I and my men have come of our own volition, with no order from Castamir or the Mariners Guild. We are on field exercise and will return to Minas Anor tomorrow.”

Michas’ brows rose at the statement but Belon was not done, ”We have the command of the Rammas Echor from Harlond to the White Mountains. I have come to tell you that there are other units in Lossarnach who would support the king of these lands.”

As the Lossanarch commander spoke, however, his fingers ceaselessly moved to state that the king of these lands was Eldacar. Michas nodded, signalling his understanding in return as he considered this interesting turn of event. If there was growing unease at Castamir’s rule among the Lossarnach, only the coastal provinces remained in doubt.

The next day the Lossarnach Brigade quit the city and Michas immediately sent word north to Eldacar to advise that some units of the greater army of Gondor had begun to return to his banner.

[elora]

Pelargir - 1442 Autumn


Halvarin’s return was a wonder to Amarwen and whilst their position remained fraught with peril, a great weight she had felt looming over her faded away. There was still much to do and not enough hours in the day but no longer did she spent the small hours of the night fighting back despair. The prospect of Halvarin being lost at sea had become a prevalent fear of hers, haunting any quiet moment she might find but he was home again, now. Quite safe and whole and what was more, he was not likely to return to the sea soon.

The siren call of the waves was not easily turned aside, she knew, but Halvarin showed no restlessness that she could discern. Rather, he fell into his role as a new father with joyful energy, revelling in each little marvel Pip revealed to him and in turn, Amarwen revelled in her husband. The sound of his voice as he sang to their son. The sense of his presence somewhere in the house. The knowledge that she could find him easily. His warmth beside her at night. Halvarin was home, irrespective of where that home might be, and each night she fell asleep with her arms wrapped around him.


Minas Ithil - 1442 Autumn


New hope also sprang up far to the north when Michas’ tidings were received. That the Lossanarch were turning back to Eldacar was a boon unlooked for. Still, Eldacar was wary. They had proved fickle before and this could very well be another cunning ruse by his rival to draw him out. Prince Aldamir set out at his father’s bidding, accompanied by his three faithful shieldmaidens, to return to Minas Ithil and establish the truth of the matter. That a new Northern Commander was in the process of settling in provided an ideal opportunity to slip in undetected. After so long contained to Rhovanion, Aldamir was relieved to once again be returning to the nation he considered his home.

He found Minas Ithil little changed since he had been forced to marshal a retreat five years ago. He slipped through the streets scarcely noticed, past the tower that had once housed his command and for an inn he hoped still stood. Relieved to find it did, he secured rooms for himself and his companions and retired to them immediately. Or would have if Helda had not insisted on scrutinising each of them for lurking assassins.

Once within, Aldamir made directly to a table where a large jug of water had been set into a wide bowl. This he emptied into the bowl and fetched out three vials from a pouch at his belt.

”What’re those?” asked Helda, the most curious of the three Shieldmaidens.

Aldamir turned to where she leaned at the door, ”Bring the others.”

Helda shrugged at that and then went to fetch the twin Shieldmaidens: Vidnavi and Vilna.

The three women eased into the room and shut the door to regard Aldamir impassively. They could smell something was afoot, he knew and he waggled one of the bottles at them.

”You’ll have to dye your hair,” he informed them at which Helda snorted and the twins lifted two sets of brows.

”Next he will say that we must unbraid our hair,” Helda observed to her fellow Shieldmaidens but Vilna was eying Aldamir suspiciously.

”That also,” he stated.

Vilna and Vidnavi, both with pale blonde hair, exchanged a gaze and then shrugged their resignation. Helda, with her braids of fire, was a study of mutiny.

”Of course, Helda, I can’t make you do this,” Aldamir observed for Helda stood at least six foot tall and was one of the Rhovanions most fearsome warriors. For all of that, Aldamir knew this woman well and so he continued on, ”And so you can instead remain here with me and I will send the twins in your stead.”

Vilna and Vidnavi perked up at the prospect of an assignment whilst Helda scowled.

”To where?” Vidnavi asked whilst Helda grappled with what was more important to her: her pride or the opportunity to strike out on her own for while.

Aldamir answered, ”Minas Anor – I want to know who this new Northern Commander is.”

“Want him dead?” Helda asked hopefully but Aldamir shook his head, ”Not just yet.”

At that Helda deflated again and Aldamir thought he’d have to find another way to hide Helda’s distinctive hair. Then Shieldmaiden shook her head and strode forward to take the bottle out of Aldamir’s hand.

”I’d not do this for anyone else,” she grumbled at him, reproach in her tone and Aldamir nodded.

”I know, Helda,” he said with a wink, and muttering under her voice, Helda set to work as Aldamir ushered the twins out and into the other room.

They went without complaint, for rebellion was Helda’s particular talent, but the two women were despondent.

”Have heart, ladies, there’s plenty more to do,” he declared and started laying out their tasks for the next two months. By the time it was done, questions asked and answered, Vilna and Vidnavi were energetic again.

It was at this point Helda walked in, hair dripping, and glared at the startled expression on the three faces she was met with. That the imposing shieldmaiden was no longer crowned with fire was bracing enough. That she appeared to have also dyed most of her forehead in the process was difficult to not see.

”I couldn’t just leave the eyebrows,” she growled and fixed a set of very blue eyes on Aldamir, ”And you didn’t leave a mirror.”

The prince gathered himself, ”Well, I’m sure the dye will wash off your skin. The main thing is that your hair is now brown.”

Helda grimaced with distaste as she eyed a wet fall of unbraided hair that had stuck to one of her arms, ”You sure I can’t kill this new Commander?”



1442 – Minas Anor November


”Just look at the size of this place,” Sarael said in a low, awestruck voice and then ran for the window to peer beyond it, ”I can even see the Anduin from here!”

The young woman bounced on her heels and then turned back to face the room, ”Thank you for allowing me to come with you.”

Amarwen smiled as she adjusted her hold on Pip. Despite his fine name and the fact he was growing at a startling rate, she still thought of her son by the name she had first attached to him when he was but a tiny seed within her.

”Pip would not be parted from you and so it is he you should thank,” she answered and Sarael’s eyes crinkled as her smile grew.

”Was he that I was speaking to, Mistress,” she replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eye before she dutifully bowed her head to curtsy.

Since that dreadful morning those men had burst into her bedroom and Sarael had so staunchly thrown herself into their path, a friendship had sprung up between them. Amarwen had yet to divulge who she was in truth, for she was loathe to put Sarael in the sort of peril such knowledge carried and already too many knew. Still, she felt she could trust the younger woman who had so stoutly carried the burden of managing the household with her during Halvarin’s long absence.

”When will the Lord Commander return,” Sarael asked for Halvarin was again away.

Not two hours at Minas Anor and his duties had already begun. There were local commanders to be spoken to, troops and provisions and records to review. Dreary work, she knew, but necessary and in the process they hoped that Halvarin might be able to sniff out possible sympathisers. It had been some time since she had centred operations in the White City and maintaining contact with them in Umbar and then Pelargir had proven fraught. Still, she had told Halvarin of the names she was aware of should any still linger in their positions now.

”I expect it will be some time yet,” Amarwen answered as she turned away from the latest room they had opened in what was to be their residence, ”Not before the evening bell, certainly.”

“Well then, that is good news for it will take some time to get this all in order,” Sarael declared, peeking under a cloth that had been set over a table by the window.

Outside came the noise of something falling and Sarael sped away to investigate.

”No! No! No! Who told you to put that there? Was it I? No!” Sarael scolded those fetching up the belongings they had brought with them.

Pressing out a sigh, Amarwen took herself to the window to stare down at the river. It was a dull, flat grey under the slate of the sky. She could smell snow coming. Already the mountains were dusted with it. The Harlond was much recovered since last she had seen it. Castamir’s siege engines drew her eye and not for the first time she wondered at what might be done with them. With all his various defences and fortifications. Destroying them was beyond her reach, even with the partisans organised. Disabling them might be possible if there was some way for her to discern the approach of Eldacar’s forces before Castamir did. Disable too swiftly and the damage would be detected and repaired.

As if sensing her attention drifted from him overlong, Pip got himself a handful of her hair and gave it a firm tug. Amarwen gave off her scrutiny of fortifications to smile down at her son.

”Right then, let’s see about your room young man,” she declared and set off, unaware that she herself had been watched.

Helda frowned as she watched the Gondorian woman draw back from the window. It had been some years since she had seen Amarwen of Edhellond but the Lord Commander’s wife bore an uncanny resemblance to the aristocrat. Had to be the Lord Commander's wife, Helda thought, for hers was not the garb of the serving woman she had seen at the window before and all reports said that no other family set out with the Lord Commander for his new post. She scrambled down from her position and hurried back to where her horse waited. She rode as only a Rhovanion could for the Tower of the Moon and the Prince.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Prince Aldamir lit his pipe and drew on it as he watched the eastern horizon lighten. The tidings, from Michas at Osgiliath, had drawn him forth to consolidate those of the greater army of Gondor to his father's banner. This latest news, however, was not so kind.

He had hoped this quiet hour might restore some order to his mind but that was not to be. A thin stream of blue smoke issued from his lips as he shook his head from side to side. Helda was not one for uncertainties. When she spoke, she did so with conviction. And so, her identification of Amarwen was difficult to set aside as a mistake. Perhaps, though, the child seen in her arms was not hers. Perhaps she was not married to another, a senior Guild officer so advanced in his standing with his father’s rival as to be the newly appointed Lord Commander of the North.

He knew, of course, that there was a traitor amongst their ranks. Amarwen had reported as such to his father, Eldacar, prior to her disappearance. Until now, though, it had never occurred to him that it might be her. He had trusted her as his father did. She had been promised to be his wife. He had thought he knew her, as his father did. And yet, Amarwen had vanished after that debacle at the Harlond, only to return deeply ensconced within the court of the Usurper and his corrupted Guild. Where had she been all this time? What had she been doing?

There was only one way to discover all of this. Loathe as he was to embark on this, Prince Aldamir knew he had no other option. Thus, he set out for Minas Anor hoping desperately to be wrong. Wrong for Gondor. Wrong for his father and wrong for his heart and hopes.

[elora]

Minas Anor ~ November 1442


The day started clear and cold with the breath of winter lightly blowing down from the north. Halvarin had risen in the dark of the morn and made his way to the Commander’s Quarters on the sixth level. There was so much to do to get a grasp on his position. He sent word to the commander of Osgiliath and Minas Ithil. Halvarin knew them to be supporters of Eldacar, and he was eager to consolidate their support. Michas knew him well but the commander of Minas Ithil knew only Amarwen, and only at a distance for she had not been able to meet him yet.

The local commander of Minas Anor was Bergil, a man Halvarin had served with on his first ship posting. As for his allegiances, Halvarin could only guess for Amarwen had not named him amongst her rebels. Given that Bergil had risen through the ranks to hold the command of the White City, Halvarin had to presume him to be one of Castamir’s. Care would be needed, for Halvarin could not leave Bergil out of any discussions he had with the other two commanders. Such a thing would raise suspicions and so this necessitated initial meetings with each, one by one, prior to drawing them all together. Bergil first, of course, and the others as they arrived. It was not long before Bergil stood in Halvarin’s office, peering about to see what changes Halvarin might have already made.

”Commander Bergil, Halvarin said as the man looked about, ”It has been some years since we shared the decks the Bowfin.”

“Yes, I thought I recognised your name,” Bergil replied and Halvarin inclined his head.

Their talk swiftly fell to the status of Minas Anor as Bergil offered a review of his command of the city. With no prior knowledge of him from Amarwen or her uncle, Halvarin designated Bergil the six of diamonds. The sort of man that would bend whichever way the winds blew, or so he suspected. For all of that, Bergil was a solid commander with a strong core of junior officers. By the time the interview was concluded, Halvarin was of the opinion that Bergil would remain loyal to Castamir until Eldacar was a certain bet.

With that, came the realisation that Halvarin would need to keep his administration in his new position as passive as possible. A fine line, once again, to walk between Castamir and Eldacar. It reminded him in many ways of his time at Osgiliath…save that he was no longer afflicted with doubts about his own loyalties. This time, he would have to take care to remain impartial though how he might accomplish that without coming into strife with Amarwen he had yet to resolve.

Over the coming days, Halvarin embarked on his days early and returned home late into the evening. There was scarcely time to speak with his wife and Halvarin fretted over the scant time he spent with his son. Pleased as he was that Sarael had accompanied them to Minas Anor, for she had a special way with Mindacil and firm friendship with Amarwen, Halvarin missed his time at home. Still, even this was better than being at sea for each night he could return to Amarwen’s warmth in his arms and he could comfort his son when he awoke during the quiet hours of darkness. Halvarin hoped in a few weeks he would have things settled, and in turn more time at home. For that to come to pass, there was a lot of work he had to do.

Michas arrived two days later, and it cheered Halvarin to see his old friend.

”Michas! Long have I missed your counsel. Is all well in Osgiliath?”

“Very much so,” Michas replied.

Halvarin nodded as he looked down the hall. He turned back to Michas and with a hand toward the large door and said, ”Do come in! I am interviewing all my city commanders on the disposition of all the men under their command.”

That, of course, was not said for Michas’ benefit for he knew why he was here. Halvarin’s summons had been quite clear. With a final glance, Halvarin closed the door after Michas and beckoned the man to a chair.

Halvarin said quietly as they sat down, ”We are secure, enough here, but it is well known that the walls of Minas Anor has ears.”

Michas grunted agreement at that and Halvarin continued, ”Perhaps, once we have finished discussing affairs to the north, you might deign to join me for dinner?”

“Of course,” Michas agreed and so Halvarin summoned Mardil, his young adjuant, to dispatch to his residence.

”Inform my lady wife that we will be joined by a guest tonight for dinner, Commander Michas.”

“Sir,” Mardil replied promptly, snapped off a salute as crisp as the wintry air of the morning and headed off to see about his biddings.

After Mardil had left Halvarin’s office, Halvarin asked Michas, ”I selected Mardil on your letter of recommendation. Are you sure he is… as good as you say?”

“He was young when the sack of Osgiliath took place. He has an appreciation for you from your time as commander there. I think he will serve you well and faithfully.”

Halvarin nodded, ”He certainly seems efficient. I’m sure he will settle in well.”

Michas agreed, ”There is much ambition in that young man.”

The two went on to discuss the defences of Gondor and how well they were in the north on the west side of the Anduin. All Michas had to report only made Halvarin hope that the commander of Ithilien would soon arrive from Minas Ithil.


~ ~ ~


Mardil was nervous. Of all the names on a list to become the new Lord Commander’s commander’s adjutant, he had not thought his would be chosen. He had only been a young lad of fifteen when the Lord Commander had arrived at Osgiliath, just a Commander then and only there because the last one had vanished under dubious circumstances. Desertion, they whispered. He’d not held high hopes of Osgiliath’s new Commander for it was said he was none other than the Guild Master’s son. And yet, Halvarin had spared the life of Mardil’s father, who had been arrested for sedition. Michas, the current Commander of Osgiliath, had freed him and Mardil had been so inspired that he had joined the Guild cadets. With his training done, it was Michas’ letter of recommendation that had sent off to Minas Anor. Had the Lord Commander seen his letter? Mardil did not know, but he guess that he had for he had only been selected this very morning and his first assignment was to run a message to the Lord Commander’s wife!

Mardil paused outside the door to straighten his uniform, eager to make as good an impression as possible. He drew a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t perspiring as he knocked gently on the door. Sarael opened the door slowly and paused when she saw a young man in uniform. She looked at him hard as she held the door, finally getting a word out of her throat.

”Yes?”

“I am... I bring…”

Mardil’s throat tightened around his words as he tried to introduce himself. He paused and took a breath as Sarael smiled slightly as she realised who or rather what was at the door. She relaxed her grip on the door and widened it somewhat in a more open welcome than before. This wasn’t one of Castamir’s thugs, ready to barge in as they had in Pelargir. No, this was a nervous boy and so Sarael eased her expression in a welcoming one while Mardil gathered himself. He finally said,

”I am Mardil, the Lord Commander’s adjutant. I am bidden to bring tidings to his Lady Wife. It concerns dinner, tonight.”

“Oh, well that is very important,” Sarael said but Mardil was too nervous to notice her gentle jest.

”The Lord Commander has invited Commander Michas for dinner tonight. I am to await an answer from the Lady.”

Sarael’s smile grew as she opened the door proper and offered the adjutant a curtsy.

”You may wait inside where it is warm, Master Mardil, whilst I seek the Lady of the house..”

Mardil followed her in and Sarael walked away, glancing back at Mardil just as she rounded the corner. He was peering up at the high vaulted roof of the entrance much as she had upon arrival. Shaking her head, Sarael hurried onto the nursery where she knew she would find Marece. Sure enough, the Lady’s head lifted from her study of her son as Sarael gained the door. Mindacil was snugged away in his mother’s arms.

”Lady, Lord Halvarin’s adjutant is come with news that there will be a guest for dinner tonight. A commander by the name of Michas. He has been asked to wait for your answer.”

“Answer,” Marece replied and shook her head, for there was no answer to give. Just why Halvarin had sent the young man to them was baffling. Perhaps a test of some kind, Sarael thought.

”Inform the kitchen to set an extra place at the table tonight,” the Lady continued, much as Sarael had expected and so she inclined her head and set off to give Mardil the news.

As she gained the nursery door, Marece added, ”And if my husband desire, I would also like the adjutant to join us. I would like to meet him.”

Sarael turned at this, ”He waits in the foyer. Do you wish to meet him now?”

Amarwen sighed and gave Sarael a look. She was still in her nightdress and fresh from feeding Mindacil, who at that moment left part of his meal on her shoulder. Nothing further needed to be said and so Sarael returned to the entrance she had left Mardil lingering in. Upon her return she found him studying the artwork on the wall. He stood with his hands behind him, his formal military stance unrelinquished, and Sarael took a breath before approaching him.

”Inform the Lord Commander that arrangements are in order for Commander Michas, and if…” Sarael paused, for she was not sure how to tell him that he was invited should Lord Halvarin deem it so. She looked up to Mardil and said, ”… it was good to meet you, Adjutant. With your new position, it is likely we will likely see much of each other.”

Sarael blushed after her words ended but Mardil bowed, gallant enough to look past it. Or perhaps he didn’t notice. It was always so difficult to know which.

He said solemnly, ”I am honoured to serve the Lord Commander.”

At that Mardil took his leave. Sarael followed him to the door and stood there, watching him walk away at an efficient clip before she closed the door. Now she would have to go and ferry Marece’s additional request to the Lord Commander herself. Sarael decided that she could do it when she was to go to the markets. It would be an easy matter to slip by Halvarin’s office as she ran the errands and so she returned upstairs to find Marece had moved to the study where she was inspecting a book.

Sarael paused as she watched Marece read, loathe to disturb her, but the other woman looked up after a time as if she had known Sarael was there, “I found it in the library. The title appeared out of place.”

“What is it?” Sarael inquired, aware of how fascinated Marece was by books.

”A memoir of a king of the northern realm of Arnor. How it came to be here I cannot guess,” Marece remarked and this piqued Sarael’s interest.

She walked over to look at it. The pages appeared old and brittle and the written script was so faded that it was difficult to read. Faded.

Marece continued as Sarael bent over the pages,”It was written by Elendur, the seventh King of Arnor, in the late 700’s of this Age. In this entry, he is concerned for the future of his realm. His heir, Eäendur was indecisive in nature, and his three grandsons had their own ambitions. Of those, the younger twins were more driven than Amlaith, their older brother and heir to the crown. Though very different to Gondor’s current strife, there are a number of paralells.”

Sarael didn’t quite understand what she meant, but this wasn’t in itself unusual. Marece read a great many things Sarael did not understand, including Elvish poetry and music. After a moment of silence, she said, “M’lady, if you have no other duties for me, I thought I might go to the markets now.”

Marece gave off her study of the old book and looked over to smile at Sarael, ”Of course, Sarael. At your own leisure, no need to rush. There is plenty of time before dinner must be readied.”

Sarael curtsied and turned to go. She wrapped herself in a light cloak and set off for the Lord Commander immediately. Coming to the door of Halvarin’s office, she lightly tapped on the door to find herself facing Mardil for the second time that day. Sarael smiled for their positions were now rather reversed.

Mardil paused for a moment, then said, ”Mistress Sarael, I did not think I would see you again so soon.”

Sarael blushed, ”I am on my way to the markets, and I am to ask the Lord Commander if there is anything he is wanting.”

Mardil let Sarael in and he went on to announce her arrival, ”Mistress Sarael of your household is here, Sir. She wishes to speak with you.”

“Show her in,”Halvarin replied.

As she entered, Mardil closed the door behind. She stood there to look about, her curiosity getting the better of her, before she looked over to where Halvarin sat and found he was not alone. Another man occupied a chair, watching her intently. She had never seen him before.

”All is well with my wife?” Halvarin said, a faint note of concern running through his voice at Sarael’s unexpected appearance.

Sarael nodded, ”Yes, m’Lord, all is very well. I am come to request the presence of your adjutant for dinner tonight, if you approve.”

Halvarin looked over to Michas who shrugged.

Halvarin said, ”A kind thought, but Mardil has many new duties to settle into in his role. Not tonight, I think, but perhaps in the coming days.”

Sarael stood there for a time, then curtsied and turned and left. As she passed Mardil on the way out, she gave him a quick nod before stepping out and closing the door.

Back in the office, Michas crossed a leg over one knee and asked the obvious question, ”Just what is that wife of yours up to now?”

Halvarin shook his head, ”Any number of things, most like.”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Sarael wandered the market stalls on the first level of the city where she bought the items the kitchen had asked for. As she wandered, she espied a particularly pleasing shawl of light silk. She didn’t know exactly what she would do with it, or where she might even wear it, but the colour was lovely and bright and she liked the feel of it. She put it on over her cloak and slowly walked by the rest of the stalls. Having been through the market lanes a few times, she walked toward the gate of the city. The gates were open, and a breeze blew in from the fields beyond. Sarael peered out as a chill came over her, as if she was being watched. She turned quickly and found a drab green hooded man stood behind her. He put his hand up in a peaceful gesture.

”Fear not mistress. I know the Lady whom you work for. I wish to speak with her.”

It was such a bold statement and Sarael rapidly walked away, looking for the nearest place to go. She entered the White Tree Inn and looked about. It probably wasn’t the best place to go but at least there were people around. She went to the bar and the maid came over.

”A glass of wine please,” she said as she turned to watch the door.

The man in the dun green cloak had followed her and was even now approaching.

He walked slowly to stand next to Sarael and said to the barmaid as Sarael looked for coin to pay,”I will have what she is having, and I will pay for them both.”

He lay a silver coin down on the bar which the barmaid swiftly scooped up and left in its place the bottle with two glasses. Sarael wasn’t sure what to do. Flee, stay, or ask for help? The man beside her poured Sarael a glass and another for himself. Once this was done, he considered the maid servant staring nervously at him.

”Do you fear me, Mistress Sarael?” he asked, and Sarael fidgeted nervously.

How did he know her name? She did not want to say anything that would jeopardise Marece or Halvarin. Once she saw that no one else was creeping up on them, Sarael returned her attention to the man beside her.

”You appear to know more of me than I do of you, Sir.”

The man nodded calmly, ”I only wish you to pass a message to your Lady…Marece.Tell her… ‘The rays of the moon are bright this night.’ If she wishes to see me, you will bring her response to me here. I will be there at that table in the corner near the fireplace.”

Sarael turned and looked in the direction he had pointed and when she turned back, he was gone. She gulped down the wine and considered pouring more from the bottle, but she did not wish to lose her senses. Sarael gathered up her goods and made for the ramparts. Not once did she see the man in the dull green cloak and hood. When she came to the sixth level, she paused and sat on a bench to rest. She felt better being up near Halvarin’s office. She closed her eyes and let the breeze blow through her hair, resting and gathering her wits before returning to the house to speak with Marece.

Aldamir had slipped to a dark corridor and waited for Sarael to leave. All he could do was hope the maid servant would pass his message on. It was that, or Helda and Vilna would go after her and he did not want that. He thought back to the evening of the tourney in Osgiliath in 1432. He’d muttered those very words as they had walked together, talking of the kingdom and the unrest in the south when the moon broke over the mountains shining its silvery light on to Osgiliath and Lady Amarwen of Edhellond walking by his side. She had been so beautiful, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, that the words had just fallen out of him.

He’d been so nervous and slightly awestruck that he hadn’t know why he said what he had, but even now he recalled her reply as if she had just said it: ‘as bright as the steel of Gondor’s swords.’

Neither had known what was to come when his grandfather died. No one had foreseen the bloodshed and slaughter that would break over them. She had lost her family, and he had lost his brother all to satisfy the bloodlust of the usurper…and so he had to know why it was she had abandoned their cause and was now married to Castamir’s Northern Lord Commander.

[elora]

White Tree Inn, Minas Tirith – November 1442


The stream of people through the door of the White Tree Inn had thickened to the point that it was all but impossible to keep track of who came in. The inn was getting crowded as the daylight hours dwindled, filled with people eager for some warmth at the end of a day’s hard work. There had been ample time for the maid servant to deliver his message and yet, here they still sat. Waiting. Was this Amarwen’s answer? Would he have no recourse but to pursue her by more direct and less gentle meands. Aldamir drummed his fingers on the table in the corner as the two shieldmaidens on either side of him discussed their state of affairs.

”What is to stop her from just having us arrested?” Helda inquired, ”We’re sitting pigeons.”

“Doves,” Vilna corrected.

Aldamir sighed, ”Ducks. Sitting ducks.”

But that was about all he could offer for Helda was correct. If Amarwen was the traitor in their midst, she could have him all neatly wrapped up for Castamir as a result of his actions. Particularly with the combined resources and might of the Lord Commander at her disposal.

”She wouldn’t,” he added and ignored the long suffering look the two women on either side of him exchanged, ”I wouldn’t be here if I thought she would.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you trusted her,” Vilna said but further discussion was put on hold when a swathed figure was seen to be pressing towards them.

Helda and Vilna tensed beside him but Aldamir stood as the maid servant from earlier in the day emerged from the press of the common room.

”Tell me, good mistress, are the rays of the moon bright this night?”

Sarael considered him, wide eyed and not so much nervous as awe struck. Amarwen must have told her, he concluded.

”Tonight, no,” Sarael answered, ”For the nightsky is thick with cloud.”

Vilna smirked at the response and Helda openly laughed, both of which Aldamir ignored for the Shieldmaidens had no appreciation for the finer points of subterfuge. It was clear, from the way Sarael’s fingers danced before her, that she had not finished what she had come to say.

”Though, ordinarily, they would be bright as the steel of Gondor’s swords… I suppose,” Sarael added and Aldamir smiled at the maid servant and bade her to sit.

Sarael did so as Helda lifted a brow at him, ”And what does any of that serve?”

“Proof,” Aldamir said, his shoulders unknitting in a way they had not for days now.

”Of what,” Vilna asked flatly, as unappreciative as Helda.

That Amarwen had bothered to reply in such a fashion was itself proof she was not their traitor. If she was, she would have just had him arrested and be done with it – the rebellion snuffed out once and for all and the usurper’s grip on the throne cemented. Aldamir, instead, considered the maid servant sitting across the table taking all of this in.

”Would you like some wine, Sararel?” Aldamir asked, putting on what he knew was one of his most charming smiles.

The maid servant nodded, as dazzled as he knew she would be and it was then that the door to the inn was kicked in.

Almost instantly, people began to scatter. There was shouting, swearing, smashing pottery and glass. In the small space of the common room, the din was deafening. Sarael shrieked in genuine alarm.

”Here’s your proof,” shouted Vilna as they ducked down behind their table.

Whether this was a local dispute or a raid, it mattered not. The White Tree Inn, a meeting point for the rebellion for a number of years now, was no longer safe.

And then came the terrible cry: ”FIRE!”

Aldamir reached for the maid servant’s skirt to pull her down but the young woman crouched like a rabbit and eyed them all just a little wildly.

”Follow me,” she hissed.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Amarwen lifted her son from the water and wrapped him tightly in the waiting towel, warmed by the fire and soft. Mindacil loved his bath and he was grinning up at her as she swaddled him. She sang softly whatever came to mind, in this instance an Elvish lullaby from the Second Age, bent over and breathed in the sweet scent of his skin. But as she pulled away again, the window caught her eye. It was dark, well past sunset, and Sarael had yet to return. Amarwen’s singing faltered. She should have gone down to the inn herself.

Only great need would draw Aldamir to the peril that was Minas Anor. Just what he was doing out of Rhovanion she could not guess at. He was his father’s only heir…if Castamir snatched Aldamir up, Eldacar’s bid to regain his throne would be quashed before he could even set foot on Gondor’s soil once more. Whatever it was, she needed to see to it and get Aldamir out of the city with the utmost urgency. Mindacil, meanwhile, gurgled softly and Amarwen’s attention shifted from the window to her son. He had managed to work one soft, chubby arm free of the towel and he reached for her, his little hand opening and closing. His wriggling made him rock back and forth until he got a foot free.

”Come, you little monster,” Amarwen said as she scooped him up into her arms, ”Let’s get you ready to meet your father.”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Halvarin burst into laughter at Michas’ quip as they walked home. Despite the fact that they had not seen nor spoken to each other for over a year, their friendship was such that it seemed as though they had only seen each other last week. Still, in that time, Halvarin had married and fathered a son and joined the rebellion.

”This wife of yours,” Michas asked, his amusement fading with the question as he considered Halvarin, ”We did not part on the best of terms.”

“Another time and place, Michas,” Halvarin said, ”And in any case, if she remained displeased with you, she would not have agreed to have you to dinner.”

“True…all depending on who prepares the food,” Michas observed at which Halvarin chuckled.

He was still chuckling as they pushed through the door and into the entrance of his home. He had expected to find Sarael waiting to take their cloaks but instead he was greeted by one of the young pages. As he and Michas divested themselves of their cloaks, Halvarin looked up to find Amarwen gliding down the stairs with his son in her arms. Though he invariably found Amarwen lovely, no matter what state of dress she happened to be in, tonight he could see that she had taken some care and the result was…well, he wasn’t the only one holding his breath in the entrance.

’You’re a damned fortunate man,” Michas observed out of the side of his mouth and Halvarin shot his friend a victorious smile.

Michas rolled his eyes at that and that only made Halvarin’s smile widened as Amarwen came down the final stairs with a smooth elegance, ”Well, here is a pleasant surprise. Home early enough to find the both of us still awake!”

Amarwen’s smile softened her words but the message was there all the same as she presented Halvarin with his son. Mindacil added a commentary of his own as he took in his father’s presence and busied himself with the buttons on his jacket, plucking at them with astonishing tenacity.

She reached up on her toes to kiss Halvarin, the gesture intended to be a polite greeting until Halvarin intervened. An arm around her waist pushed her closer and he did not release her lips straight away. At this, Amarwen’s eyes opened and her smile flared into something else. Something he had not seen for a number of days and it made him ache. Mindacil’s fist pounded on his chest, a timely reminder of his presence and just it was he came to be here. Slowly, Halvarin released his wife and she sank back onto her heels once more as she looked past his shoulder to where Michas stood, intently studying a nearby painting.

”Do you prefer landscapes to portraitures, Commander Michas,” Amarwen asked and when he looked away to find her watching him, executed a swift bow that she returned with a graceful curtsy.

”With respect, my Lady, it’s all just paint to me,” he replied and Amarwen smiled as she clasped her hands before her.

”Of course it is,” she said, perfectly polite and yet Michas winced at the implicit edges of her word.

Amarwen, Halvarin knew, could do with words what Michas could do with a sword. Perhaps, he wondered, Michas had been wise to wonder at how things stood with his wife.

”And how is Osgiliath nowadays, Commander?” Amarwen inquired, thick dark lashes fluttering.

Michas smiled at her, seeing this one for what it was despite her efforts, “A perfectly balanced pile of rubble…exceptionally neat, though. That I will say for it.”

Amarwen nodded and turned away from them both, ”Then I will leave you to it, gentlemen, whilst I tend to other matters.”

“Where is Sarael?” Halvarin asked as Amarwen began to climb the stairs once more.

She paused a brief moment, head bowed and ruby skirts in her hands to lift them free of her feet, ”Running an errand. The day has been quite full of them.”

Both men frowned, catching something in how Amarwen responded, but she did not look back nor offer further explanation as she resumed climbing the stairs.

”I told you she was up to something,” Michas said quietly as Halvarin peered up the stairs after his wife. He grunted at the statement, distracted.

”When is she not, Michas? ” he replied and then looked over to Michas, ”Allow me to offer you a tour of the Lord Commander’s residence.”

“Does it, perchance, lead past a decanter?”

“Several,” Hansian smiled and Michas grinned at him.

”Then lead on, Lord Commander. Lead on!”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


By the time they had all been seated for dinner, Amarwen was entirely too preoccupied to maintain the faintest semblance of polite conversation. Her contributions consisted of the occasional nod of a head or murmured assent whilst Halvarin and Michas carried the conversation on between themselves with ease. Where was Sarael? Every time the door to the dining hall opened, Amarwen started in her chair only to find it was one of the staff responsible for keeping the table that evening. As a consequence, she was fidgeting like a grounded fish and monosyllabic. Hardly a delightful dinner companion and certainly not in keeping with everything she had learned. The tutors her mother had paid would be quite disappointed, and yet Halvarin and Michas seemed to be unaffected. As if they did not notice.

The door to the dining hall opened again and Amarwen, with some effort, did not look up. She did, however, start when one of the servants reached across to take the plate of food she had barely touched.

”Feeling unwell,” Halvarin inquired from down the end of the table but before she could answer, a page appeared at the door and instead of waiting ran straight into the hall.

Down the table, past Halvarin and Michas he ran and Amarwen climbed to her feet as he drew near. He offered her up a small, folded square of parchment that had been sealed with a grubby dollop of wax – candle wax, unmarked and uncoloured save for the dirt caught within its tallow. Message delivered, the page did not wait. The youth turned and ran right out, back the way he came, leaving Amarwen with the parchment and two men sitting, watching in silence.

Amarwen looked up to find Halvarin gazing at her intently. He arched a dark brow at her and she flicked her eyes to Michas. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his fingers over his middle. Amarwen sat again, broke the hasty seal and what she read made her blood turn cold.

”I…I think I am unwell. I should retire for the night,” Amarwen said just as the servants brought the main meal, ”Please excuse me.”

Her exit was swift and once she gained the door she broke out into an open run to sped past staff in a blur of ruby skirts and black hair. Back in the dining hall, Michas looked down at his freshly arrived dinner. It looked and smelled delicious. Far superior fare that that he enjoyed on an ordinary night at Osgiliath. But it was clear he’d not be enjoying it just yet.

”This, I take it, is not a usual evening in your household?”

“It is not,” Halvarin confirmed as he stepped out from his chair, ”I’m sorry Michas. I do not know what is unfolding, but I suspect it may be something you are best served avoiding.”

He strode down the hall, pausing at the entrance to their sleeping quarters and then pressing on. Amarwen, he was certain, had not retired to bed. Behind him, rather predictably, Michas followed along. He had never been one to pass up something like this and so he was on hand when Halvarin discovered that the door to Amarwen’s study had been locked.

"Go away!" Amarwen called from within when she heard him try the door.

Muttering, he dug into his pocket and withdrew the master key to the Lord Commander’s residence. There was only one and he had been swift to take it into his keeping upon arrival in Minas Anor. No telling what his wife might do with it. The door unlocked, Halvarin drew a deep breath to gird himself for a likely argument and opened the door. Michas, on his heels, shut it swiftly just as Amarwen turned about, a roll of daggers held open between her hands.

”A word, wife. Now,” Halvarin said as Amarwen glared at him.

”I've no time for arguments,” she replied, her voice as crisp as Halvarin’s.

”Well, that’s nice to hear because the one I did see was quite enough for me, ” Michas quipped, hoping to break the building tension.

For his efforts, both Amarwen and Halvarin scowled at him but at least they were united in their displeasure. Michas pressed his advantage, ”The message.”

Amarwen shook her head, lowered it to stare at the daggers spread out before her and then pressed out a reluctant sigh.

"I don’t know if it was deliberately burned or not,” Amarwen said, ”But the White Tree Inn was raided tonight. Arrests were made.”

“There are raids night and day in this city,” Halvarin observed.

”Never the White Tree,” Amarwen replied, "It was our most secure safe house. Until tonight.”

“Not our only, surely,” Halvarin returned and gestured at the weapons spread out on Amarwen's desk, "And no one arrested in the raid is significant enough to warrant your intervention, surely."

“He has a point,”[/i] Michas observed and Amarwen grimaced. Whatever had happened, it was clear that it had frightened and upset Amarwen. She was shaking and she curled her hands into fists to try to contain it.

”Sarael was at the inn,” she said in a low voice at which Halvarin sucked in a sharp breath.

Sarael! Amarwen had told him that she wanted Sarael spared the rebellion’s web, and he agreed. They might be caught fast in it but Sarael need not be. And should they be arrested, then Sarael could be spared. No one could care better for Mindacil than she and it was not their son’s fault that his parents were rebels engaged in high treason. But instead of that, Amarwen had sent Sarael to a rebel safe house that had been raided and then burned down. Sarael, who was known to be a senior member of the Lord Commander’s household. But Amarwen was not done.

”Who was with her,” Halvarin asked and Amarwen’s eyes closed at the question.

Her voice, when it came, was bleak, ”Aldamir.”

”Why would you do this to Sarael, after all we discussed?" Halvarin asked, baffled and disappointed.

”I did not know Aldamir was in Gondor until he approached Sarael this afternoon. If you take issue with her involvement, take it up with the Crown Prince!”

There was a snap to her final statement, something of her own temper slipping her control before she reigned it back, ”Though, truth be told, Sarael has been part of the rebellion for some time now. One of many revelations this day has brought.”

“But how can that be?” Michas asked and Amarwen rubbed a hand over her face.

”I do not know what would possess Aldamir to come here. I do not know why, after all these years, the White Tree is raided. I am not even certain that he has been arrested…though I must assume that he has been.”

“If he is,” Halvarin said quietly as he switched mental gears, ”Then as Lord Commander-“

“If they have Aldamir, you cannot touch this, Hal,” Amarwen said, ”You can’t even know that he is arrested. There is a reason I never recruited the high level authorities of this city. We need a delicate touch with your position. That has not changed.”

“You don’t know who the current networks are in the city,” Halvarin countered, ”Nor does Michas, for that matter!”

“I usually worked alone in Minas Anor,” Amarwen answered, her eyes falling to the daggers spread out in their roll on her desk, ”And tonight will be no different when I break Aldamir out and get him gone from this thrice cursed city!”

Halvarin was aghast, “You will be shot, just as Belas was!”

”Belas was a fine man and soldier but what I propose is not taught at the Guild,” she replied, ”I will do this, with or without your approval or aid. Aldamir is rarely without his shieldmaidens. They will prove assets provided I can locate them swiftly. One in particular, if she’s here.”

“Helda,” Michas breathed as he recalled the woman, and turned to Halvarin, ”If Helda is in the city, Hal…this might work.”

“I do not know this shieldmaiden and I do not share your optimism,” Halvarin shook his head unhappily, ”And how does any of this help Sarael?”

“I ask for three hours, Hal. I will do my best to get both of them out in that time," Amarwen unashamedly pleaded with her husband, her plan reassembling even as she spoke, "Then go to the prison and demand to see the prisoners. They will know you will have received word of the raid by some means. If you see Sarael amongst them, you may be about to vouch for her.”

“And if I see you? What am I do then, Amarwen?”

“If I fail, Halvarin, the rebellion is crushed. It all ends if I cannot win Aldamir free," Amarwen drew a deep breath and Michas turned his face away, sensing what she was about to say, "If that happens, you must denounce me as a traitor, get our son and flee for Rhovanion as swiftly as you can. You must do whatever must be done. As must we all in this war."

Halvarin wiped a hand over his face and then shook his head, ”I know it has to be done, Ami. I just…I cannot…”

Something in Amarwen’s face softened as she came forward and wrapped her arms around Halvarin.

”I know, Hal. Truly I do. It is as though you find yourself standing on a dock, waving farewell to the one you love the most knowing they may never come back,” she said softly and with that, Michas knew, gained not so much as Halvarin’s approval but something akin to his consent.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


It was no small thing to watch your wife slide into the darkness and lose herself in the shadows beyond. If this went just a little askew…a shiver ran down Halvarin’s spine and he tightened his hold on Mindacil, who slept in his arms unaware of what swirled around him. If Amarwen succeeded, there would a crown prince sleeping under this roof this night before they smuggled him out of the city. If she did not…there was more than the fate of the rebellion and Eldacar’s bid to retake the throne. If Amarwen did not succeed tonight, he would lose his wife and Mindacil would lose his mother.

Movement behind him in the doorway proved to be Michas. He offered Halvarin a sympathetic look, ”She’s done this countless times before, Hal. From all I’ve heard she’s-”

“One of the best,” Halvarin sighed, finishing the statement for his friend.

That was no shield against something going wrong, though, and both men knew it. Halvarin lowered his son into the cradle and made for the door Michas occupied.

It would take some time for him to adjust to the fact that Sarael, meek and polite and kind natured Sarael was a serving member of the rebellion. Though, in light of that revelation, it made her readiness to intervene against Castamir’s thugs in Pelargir less unlikely. And then there was the fact that Amarwen seemed to be quite familiar with the Crown Prince. She had never mentioned Aldamir to him before. His name had not once come up and she had not known he was in Gondor or Minas Anor…yet she knew who he would be travelling with.

Amarwen was, he knew, the leader of the rebellion in Gondor. There would be all manner of things and people she knew of in that capacity. Still, it was slightly unnerving to be on the edge of all of this despite the fact that he was her husband and a rebel himself. What had Amarwen been up to whilst he was away in Pelargir? What had she been doing here in Minas Anor? He’d been so busy himself that he couldn’t begin to guess.

”Still hungry?” he asked Michas once out in the hall.

”A little,” he replied and so they made for the kitchen to see what, of dinner, remained.

It was as they were picking at a bowl of venison stew that the kitchen door opened to admit none other than Sarael. She was dishevelled, covered in soot and her clothing torn and tattered. But there she was all the same. Her eyes darted around the kitchen before settling on Halvarin and Michas.

”My Lords,” she said, gaze darting out the door she had just crept through and then returning to the few kitchen staff still up at this hour.

”Sarael,” Halvarin replied, rising to his feet to clear the kitchen and send the staff to their rest.

Once that was done, Sarael opened the door wider to admit three others. Two women shuffled through the door, one of them very tall indeed, followed by a man who closed the door and nodded to Michas, who had risen to his feet and then offered a bow.

”This, I take it, is Lord Commander Halvarin,” the man said and Sarael nodded, still peering about the kitchen as if looking for someone else.

”Yes, your Highness,” Sarael answered, distracted, as her attention settled on Halvarin, ”Where is your wife, my Lord?”

“Was just wondering the same thing,” said the man, whom Halvarin had concluded was Prince Aldamir but paying courtesies to this man was the least of Halvarin’s concerns.

”She is not with you?” he asked Sarael who shook her head.

Dread took root in his stomach and Halvarin bowed over. He was due at the prison in two hours.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Getting into Minas Anor’s prison had never been particularly challenging. When one ingress was closed or repaired, another invariably opened and Amarwen knew this prison as well as the back of her hand. The way in had changed during her absence from the city, but once within it was all as she recalled. No, getting in was simple. It was getting out again that the challenge arose. Tonight…well tonight the earlier escape of one Shieldmaiden made getting out all but impossible. Guards swarmed, thick as ants and she knew better than to try her chances.

Amarwen would have to wait, bide her time. At least she knew Aldamir wasn’t in here for Helda would never had escaped the prison if the Prince was within and alive.

[elora]

Rhovanion ~ Winter 1442

Vilmaith was troubled when she discovered that Eldacar did not want her to go south to Gondor with the others. Instead he kept her north to continue overseeing the training of his new Rhovanion army. The King in Exile knew it was a risk sending Vilna and Vidnavi back with Helda and Aldamir, particularly when Vilna’s leg had yet to fully heal. She walked now with a noticeable limp and was not the nimble fighter she had been before Pelargir. Still, separating the sisters was difficult. If Vidnavi went somewhere, so did Vilna. Vilmaith understood this but she could not help by worry about the Prince and her three Shieldmaiden sisters in Gondor. It was a perilous place even if it was a risk Eldacar seemed willing to take.

It wasn’t long before Eldacar called Vilmaith to him.

”Vilmaith, training comes along well. I see you have identified several young leaders in the ranks and had them advanced.”

“Yes m’lord. They are well regarded by the soldiers and they make good decisions on field manoeuvres,” Vilmaith said.

Eldacar nodded and waved her to sit by him. He poured two drinks of clear distilled spirits into small goblets and one of these he passed to Vilmaith before he seated himself.

”I feared you had been lost during the sacking of Osgiliath. Hearing of Rhinnin’s death, and with Vilna and Vidnavi declared missing, of the shieldmaidens that came south with me in my royal service in 1430, only Helda remained. It was a relief when you came back north! And when Vilna and Vidnavi arrived recently, despite their famished state and Vilna’s injury, it assured me that the Shieldmaidens of Rhovanion are quite resilient. May Rhinnin always be remembered.”

Vilmaith sniffed the strong drink and sipped a small amount of it. Rhinnin had been a loss and Helda, her boon companion, had lost some of her bonhomie as a result.

She looked to Eldacar, ”You didn’t call me to reminisce and sing praises of the Shieldmaidens. Please tell me what you have in mind?”

Eldacar sipped his drink, ”I want you to take Vinyarion with some new regiments and run them south on the west side of the river. We will need good roads when we march.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Minas Anor ~ Winter 1442


Halvarin was surprised to find Aldamir, the son of Eldacar, standing in his kitchen. It was Sarael who convinced Aldamir that he hadn’t walked into a trap or been led to their doom and now it was Halvarin that worried, for where was Amarwen? She was off trying to locate and retrieve this very man from Minas Anor’s prisons. Such was her position within the rebellion that Amarwen only intervened on the most serious of matters. The most perilous. Meanwhile, he had to investigate how it was the White Tree Inn burned down. That would have to come later, after Beregil’s report on the incident.

Halvarin centred his spiralling thoughts and considered his guests. He had, right now, the ear of Prince Aldamir. The Crown Prince! While Sarael and Michas made sure they were secure, Halvarin took Aldamir aside.

”Tell me, how is Vinyarion? I hope he has remained safe through all this, but I have heard naught of his whereabouts.”

Aldamir nodded, ”He is in the north. He got out of Minas Ithil with the last company.”

“It is good to hear,” Halvarin replied and looked about to see that none of the household staff had stirred at this late hour.

”I have sworn fealty to the true king of Gondor, and I work to see that things are set to right in Gondor. My position as Castamir’s regional commander puts me in both a unique and dangerous position. Should my wife return and join us, know that it will be her that will liase between us. I must keep the appearance of being loyal to the usurper. I hope you understand this?”

Aldamir nodded even as there were voices in the back. Sarael spoke in hushed yet excited tones and she walked out with the Shieldmaidens and Amarwen, dressed in stealthy attire suited to an assassin rather than a noble woman. Aldamir smiled slightly as Amarwen froze. She hadn’t expected the prince, now the Crown Prince, to be in her house. Halvarin observed them for a moment, recalling a time that seemed another lifetime ago, yet was only a little over ten years.

He finally bestirred himself and said, ”Your Highness, I present you my wife, Merece.”

Aldamir’s brows lifted at his choice of name and Amarwen curtsied despite her lack of courtly garb, ”My lord, welcome. Come!”

Aldamir followed Merece to one of the smaller dining rooms at the rear of the house Sarael prepared baths for Vilna and Helda. She needed one herself but she would wait. Curious as he was at what might be said between Aldamir and Amarwen, he moved to the doorway to observe the front door. Bergil might arrive at any moment and he did, too soon, for there was a burned inn to investigate. Halvarin gave his wife a quick signal that he had to leave and accompanied Bergil out for the ruined White Tree Inn.

A safe house for the rebels, in use for years, he had learned this night. Only to burn down the very evening the Crown Prince happened to be under its roof. Too much of a coincidence, Halvarin thought to himself.

”You heard nothing of who may be responsible?” he asked Beregil.

”No, sir. My suspicion is it may be one of the old Castamirian cells. They for the most part incorporated themselves into his ranks when he took over, but I always suspected one, maybe two still operate here, serving him covertly.”

“Yes, my suspicions as well,” Halvarin answered, noting that it appeared Bergil too knew of the White Tree Inn’s true purpose. How many others did? Was it as secure as the rebellion thought it or had it been compromised for some time?

Halvarin considered that they had been too complacent to think that Castamir didn’t have his own clandestine agents about. In Pelargir he had his contacts inside, but not here. He had to be ever so careful. They would be watching Amarwen too, given Castamir’s desire to possess her. Yes… Halvarin looked about to see if anyone followed them but all appeared the same as it always did. He was the Lord High Commander. If Castamirian agents did not wish to see him dead, rouge rebels of the kind that had assassinated his father on the streets of Pelargir just might.

The inn was little a pile of rubble and smouldering wood beams when they arrived. It was fortunate that only two people died but many had wounded and these were tended in a makeshift shelter. Halvarin and Beregil stepped through the ruins looking for signs of life and any clue they could find.

It had gotten late by the time they were satisfied with the investigation. The clean-up would start in the morning. Halvarin wanted the debris removed something built in its place for he was not going to let Minas Anor become like Osgiliath. He ordered a full report from Beregil and after he left, Halvarin looked about in the street. According to two eye witnesses, the first flaming pitchball came in through the door when it was pushed open. The second came through a window, and a third came from the alley. It did not get too far as people had started to run outside, so Halvarin took a walk around to where the back door used to be.

This one was last and most hastily thrown. It was likely done by the same person who threw the first, causing the delay. Anxious to get away after two balls of pitch had been tossed, fearful of being discovered in possession of the third. Despite the dirt having been trampled, Halvarin found something. A burnt jacket sleeve. He picked up the remnant of cloth and found it had a cufflink… A Guild cufflink!

He quickly looked around and stuffed the remnant into his cloak. He knew now that it wasn’t any of the old cells, for they would not be so careless. Halvarin walked slowly looking for anything else, but with the moonlight waning now, he returned home. When he came toward his residence, there were two guards standing on each side. Halvarin feared then that Aldamir was discovered and had been arrested but as he approached, he could see they were Vilna and Helda in Gondorian cloaks and helms. Good enough for the darkness, but he waved then inside as he closed the door behind him.

”It is best you watch from this side of the door. If anyone breaks through, kill them.”

The Shieldmaidens were silent, and looked over to Amarwen who came from the back dining room. She shot the two women a tense look, at which the Shieldmaidens looked abashed and uncomfortable.

”I’d do what he says, were I you,” she informed them, her tone matching her nonplussed expression and then beckoned Halvarin to follow her.

[elora]

Osgiliath ~ Winter 1442


As soon as they had the relative privacy of the hall, Amarwen wound her arms around Halvarin and held onto him fiercely. She buried her face against his chest and could not be moved from that position. Halvarin leaned back against the wall to support their combined weight and wrapped his arms around his wife.

”A disaster, from top to tail, this night has been,” she whispered and breathed in deeply, ”What did you find at the inn?”

At her question, Halvarin dug into his pocket and extracted his discovery. Sharp eyed, Amarwen immediately noted the cufflink.

”New design,” she remarked softly as she turned it over and then pressed out a sigh, ”At least they’re sloppier than their predecessors.”

“What of our…house guests?”

“Aside from the two you have already encountered, the third rests in the guest quarters. As does Michas. I’ve dispatched Sarael to her rest as well. She’s had quite the trial today.” Again, he heard the buzz of anger in Amarwen’s voice but she shook her head and returned the torn sleeve to his keeping, ”On the morrow, our guests leave.”

“Is that wise?” he countered, ”The city is…restless. On edge. Watching.”

“Exactly…and if they are seen here, in the Lord Commander’s residence?” Amarwen shook her head firmly from side to side, ”I will not, I cannot, put our son in such peril.”

Their exchange had turned risky for a hallway and so Halvarin wrapped his hand around Amarwen’s and towed her after him to their bedroom. He closed the door and when he turned back again, Amarwen had sat on the end of their bed. She was bent forward and stared at the floor but his approach brought her eyes up to his.

”I know who the traitor is, Hal,” she said softly, her eyes both sad and angry, ”Proving it, though, will be difficult indeed.”

“Have you told Aldamir?” he asked and Amarwen grimaced.

”The Prince…he,” she sighed heavily and shook her head, ”They are here because they thought it was me.”

Halvarin stared at her, stunned, ”How can that be?”

“Half truths, assumptions,” Amarwen wearily answered, ”The usual tragedy of errors. And, because of that, the Prince is not inclined to so readily accept my word on the matter. One would think my parents had not laid their lives down for those of his own.”

Halvarin winced at that and shook his head, ”He came all the way from Rhovanion for this?”

“Ah, well, there at least I have glad tidings. It would appear that the men of Minas Ithil no longer support the usurper. Had not Helda discovered that I was the wife of the new High Lord Commander, there he would be now, shoring up support for his father.”

The bed shifted as Halvarin sat beside her and Amarwen let her head rest upon his shoulder.

”How did Helda come to discover you were in Minas Anor?”

“My error, it would seem, was in looking out of the window,” Amarwen answered and Halvarin felt his stomach tighten.

If Helda could so easily observe Amarwen, what was to stop a few rogue partisans unaware of her role within the rebellion? Or one of Castamir’s agents intent on delivering up the prize their lord so keenly desired.

”Come,” he said, unwilling to broach this now, ”We are both weary. To bed with us, my love.”

“Yes,” Amarwen replied fulsomely and it was not long before they had curled up and around each other under the covers.

With Halvarin’s warmth fitted at her back, the weight of his arm pulled over her and the other under her head, Amarwen drifted in that restless plane between wakefulness and sleep. Tonight, she had risked Sarael, Halvarin and yes, even baby Pip for this cause and it galled her. But after tonight, there would be changes. Yes. Because she knew who the traitor was and she would bring his mischief to an end once and for all.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Aldamir stared at the ceiling. It was still dark but dawn was not far off. They’d have to be on their way again. Amarwen had laid out how to get out of Minas Anor hours before and it was, he could admit, ingenious. Even in the city’s heightened state, he could be confident that he would be able to return to Minas Ithil without so much as a ripple.

His thoughts turned, then, to the other things they had discussed. Amarwen had been so offended at the suggestion that she was the traitor in their midst. In truth, by the time he’d had the opportunity to lay the accusation before her, he’d already acquired his own doubts. Sarael had led them faithfully to safety. It would have been so easy for her to betray them and she was, he knew, a loyal servant to Amarwen. Then there had been everything Michas had divulged on this score, whilst Halvarin was called away and Amarwen was busy tending to their son. Without Halvarin’s sizeable estate, the rebellion would not be as strong as it was now.

If he could establish that Amarwen and Halvarin had successfully expanded the network to Pelargir itself, as well as infiltrating the Guild…oh, he was so proud of her. She had been so young when he had met her, and she still was. But, if it all was true, Amarwen had achieved that which no one had deemed plausible. To turn the Guild upon itself…The woman that had been all but betrothed to him had come into her own. And as for that…well…

he was honest with himself, he could not say the same of the woman that was to be his second wife. He admired her. Appreciated her.. She was dear to him. But he did not love her as he had his first wife. Truth be told, to find her married instead to Halvarin of Pelargir was no great surprise. He had known from the first he had seen them set eyes upon each other at the feast ten years ago that there was more there than friendship. Despite her father’s assurances otherwise. Therald had not struck him as a deceitful man then and did not now. If he had been, he would have surely changed allegiances as so many others did rather than be captured, tortured and executed with his brother.

Moving carefully, Aldamir swung from his bed and padded towards the door. He cracked it to find Vilna standing outside. Where Helda was he could not guess, likely keeping a low profile for Amarwen had been furious with the Shieldmaiden for doubting her and Helda, being Helda, had taken it to heart. He knew she’d shake it off in time for such was Helda’s nature.

At his appearance, Vilna informed him, ”All is ready.”

“Give me ten,” Aldamir replied and at Vilna’s nod, closed the door again.

It did not take him long to ready himself. Despite his instincts, he had slept ready to move at a moment’s notice. That habit would die hard, he suspected. He raked a hand through his hair, noted a fey grey strands clung to his fingers when he withdrew them, and then considered the writing table in the room. It stood with all he needed and the urge to say something was strong in him.

Oh how her eyes had flashed, like the stars that burned a path to the sea from time to time, as he laid out to case against Amarwen. Her nostrils had flared and her hands had curled and had she wished to, she could have drawn any number of weapons she likely bore in her assassin’s garb. But Amarwen had not done any such thing.

Rather, she had dismantled every point, posed her own compelling questions and then dispatched him, like an errant boy, to his room to think about his misdeeds. Despite the fact that he was old enough to be her father, had once been betrothed to her in all but fact and was now the Crown Prince. Distant though her royal lineage might be, she had reminded him then of the fact that her veins carried the blood of Hyarmendacil as well.

A simple case of mistaken identity. It was as plausible, perhaps moreso, than the case Helda had brought him. Long did he consider writing something but in the end, Aldamir decided that it would be too risky to leave anything with his hand upon it.

And so, the Crown Prince slipped out of the guest quarters and made his way to the laundry. It lay quiet and still, Michas guarding the door from any household staff inclined to get an early start on the day. To his surprise, Aldamir found that both Amarwen and Halvarin waited within. He had thought they would withdraw, keep their distance. Halvarin had made it clear how precarious his position was. It was a risk Aldamir knew only too well.

Helda and Vilna murmured quiet thanks to Sarael, who had led them so ably, and then nodded to Halvarin. They paused, reluctant to hail Amarwen until she pulled first one and then the other to her. Aldamir noted that he was not the only one surprised.

”We will only prevail if we cleave together,” Amarwen said and both the Shieldmaidens nodded emphatically. With a brief glance to Aldamir, the Shieldmaidens slipped out of the laundry door to clear the way ahead. That left Aldamir behind. Halvarin met his eyes for a moment, inclined his head and wished him a safe path. The tension was palpable as he strode from the laundry, leaving Aldamir and Amarwen to face each other.

”I want to believe you,” he told her and then regretted that immediately, ”How old is your son?”

“He is not yet one,” Amarwen replied, her voice stiff, and Aldamir nodded.

”Protect your family, for when they are gone you have nothing,” he said.

Amarwen lifted her eyes from the floor and met his own solemnly, ”I know. A report on this will go to your father.”

Though he knew this was not the moment and that it never would be, Aldamir was struck by a sensation familiar to him. He quashed it, for Amarwen had married another and, with a nod of his head, joined the two Shieldmaidens waiting beyond the laundry. The dawn air was frigid. Bracing. Just what he needed and Aldamir drew it into his lungs.

He found the two women quietly discussing something between them and their conversation quickly curtailed at his approach.

”- can see why she straddled that sailor,” Helda said and Vilna shook her head.

”The way ahead is clear,” Vilna said as Helda rolled her shoulders.

’I’ll scout,” she declared and neither Aldamir nor Vilna objected.

The trio was soon on their way and slipped safely and unobserved out of the city just as Amarwen had said they would. In the laundry itself, Amarwen locked the door and turned for the threshold that Michas had guarded. She found Halvarin was there instead.

”They have gone,” he observed as she walked towards him and Amarwen nodded, for this was so.

”I will hear if they are detained at any point along the way,” she replied as Halvarin slipped back into the laundry and closed the door.

”Good,” he said as he locked it and turned about to face her again.

”What are you doing?” Amarwen asked, intrigued as he came towards her.

He said not a word and instead pressed his mouth to hers. Halvarin kissed her in a way he had not done so for weeks now. Such had been the demands upon them both and those demands continued now but even so, they fell away as he pushed them further into the laundry.

[elora]

Minas Anor – November 1442

The lovers had fallen into a dreamy slumber in the laundry but as Halvarin stirred drowsily, laid out in a pile of laundered bedding beside Amarwen, it was to the sound of movement just outside the door. He had locked it, he was certain, but then what if there was more than one key? The sound of another key sliding into the lock prompted him to spring into action. He managed to pull his breeches into place before the door swung open and Amarwen was sleepily pulling a sheet over her as Sarael stepped through the door.

The maid froze as she clapped eyes on him standing there and exclaimed, ”Lord Halvarin!”

Amarwen woke proper at that and sat upright, revealing herself to be more than a rounded lump of laundry. Black hair touselled, Amarwen blinked as a flush spread over Sarael’s face. She was rapidly piecing together what she had walked in on.

“Lady Marece? I – I did not…I was…” Sarael stammered, ”I.. the laundry. I did not mean to interrupt…”

Whilst Sarael didn’t know what to say, little Mindacil began to squeal from her arms. He had espied his mother and he reached for her hungrily, small hands grasping in his need. Her clothing adjusted, Amarwen rose from the laundry and took him from Sarael. No sooner was he in Amarwen’s arms did the infant begin pulling at her clothing and she turned away to tend to her son. The sound of Mindacil greedily nuzzling was soon heard and Halvarin raked his fingers through his own rumpled dark hair as he watched on from his vantage.

”Lucky little monster,” he affectionately growled, mildly envious, and Amarwen looked up to flash him a brief, bright smile.

Movement at the edge of Halvarin’s vision turned his attention back to Sarael and he found she had started to leave, likely eager to quit the laundry as soon as she could.

Amusing as this might before for Amarwen and himself, he could appreciate just how uncomfortable the maid might be and they could ill afford to alienate Sarael. She knew too much after so long in their household, even if she did not know Amarwen’s true identity.

”Your tireless service to this house and my family is truly appreciated, Sarael,” he said in a bid to try to smooth the waters but this only served to deepen Sarael’s acute embarrassment.

She bobbed a curtsy, eyes locked on the floor and beside him Amarwen struggled with their son. Mindacil was unsettled and could not remain attached.

”Come my love, let us get out from under Sarael’s feet,” he said, ”Perhaps Pip will settle in more familiar surrounds.”

Mindacil continued to fuss as Amarwen carried him out of the laundry, past Sarael, and into the hall. Once there, Halvarin and Amarwen could no longer hold back their laughter though they kept it quiet lest Sarael hear them. This only agitated Mindacil further and Halvarin noted that the infant’s cheeks were a bright red. He took his squirming, irritable son from Amarwen’s arms and laid him over his shoulder. Mindacil did seem to settle a little as he took in this new arrangement but soon he was kicking and squirming. Little fists banged on Halvarin’s shoulder and Mindacil squawked in displeasure. Together, husband and wife retraced the path they had taken from the family quarters, the halls of the residence still slow and quiet in the early hour aside from Mindacil’s whining.

Instead of returning the child to the nursery, Halvarin carried him into the bedroom he shared with Amarwen and transferred Mindacil back to her. She laid the squirming lad out on their bed, peering at him intently, and gently placed the length of a finger in his mouth. He sucked on this noisily as Halvarin’s thoughts turned to the night before.

”Teething,” Amarwen sighed, ”Little wonder he is so irritable.”

She scooped Mindacil up into her arms, sat on the edge of the bed, and again tried to feed him. This time, he settled more readily, and Amarwen pressed out a sigh.

”I expect you will be kept busy today, my love,” she said and Halvarin nodded.

”Investigations into the fire will continue and then there is the matter of those arrested. I will be up to my ears in reports until well past sundown,” he replied and then shifted course, ”But, that is to be expected. Tell me more of this traitor, Ami.”

Amarwen shook her head slowly, ”Aldamir was right, Hal. I need more than my suspicions in this. Obvious as it may seem to me, it is entirely possible that I am mistaken.”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Minas Anor – November 1443


The small space smelled of rotting potatoes and damp but those pressed into it made no comment of it. Their attention lay elsewhere.

”Our error,” said one gap toothed matron, ”Was in thinking the death of the old Lord Commander would fix anything. Should have known he’d be replaced by another.”

Those around her nodded, some murmuring agreement at her statement. Their victory in killing Minas Anor’s previous Lord Commander had been short lived for the Usurper had been swift to appoint a successor. Since Lord Commander Halvarin’s arrival, their most prized location in the city had burned down and scores arrested. Some had managed to slip free, but not enough. They were reeling and they were on their own for the group of rebels that considered themselves the official resistance shied away from them. They were too concerned with keeping themselves secret and hidden but skulking in shadows would not break the usurper’s grip on the city.

The fire at the Harlond proved that bold action was what they needed. Two years ago now, they’d had the Guild in Minas Anor on the backfoot and what had the rebellion done? Retreated. Let it all go fallow.

There in the press of partisans stood a youth. Gangly he was now, his limbs stretching, but he had been a boy at the time of his arrest with the Harlond Five. He recalled well the woman that had come to steal him away on the eve of their execution. She came out of nowhere, appearing in the prison as if she had walked through the shadows. Black hair, she was very pretty and very good at picking locks.

He hadn’t been involved in the firing of Harlond but he’d been fiercely proud of it. Frightening as the prospect of hanging was, the other older partisans rounded up with him, had told him that everyone knew they were innocent. Even the Guildsmen that arrested and convicted them knew it. He’d been prepared to go to his death but the woman had come and taken him away with the others he’d been arrested to.

He’d had plans of settling when she took him to Edhellond. She’d found him a couple willing to take him in. He’d have a roof over his head, food in his belly and he’d not need to worry about being arrested. It had seemed nice…but then the woman had left and, well, old habits died hard so here he was, back in Minas Anor. Minas Anor, these people, they were his home and so the youth spoke up.

”We have to kill this new Lord Commander,” he said, ”And keep on killing them until they find us or the usurper withdraws.”

It seemed obvious enough to him and what was better, he knew already how they might accomplish this, ”My cousin Mardil has been appointed his adjutant. We already have our way in.”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Minas Anor – Mettarë


The Lord Commander’s residence was ablaze with lanterns that shone brightly during the annual mid-winter celebration. Many of the city’s great manses were thrown open and the city’s people wandered the snowy streets, sampling the food and drink as they passed up and down the wide avenues of the upper levels. There were fire eaters, tumblers and minstrels and in the small squares people gathered, danced and laughed with one another.

Mettarë always brought out a festive cheer, though the merriment seemed stark and almost desperate against the reality Gondor faced. Food again was scarce, the cost of bread and grain beyond what most could afford. Work was scarcer still, save those who had managed to secure positions in the various businesses of the city’s nobility. Why, the Lord Commander himself was said to employ scores alone, his empire reaching as far as Pelargir even! What would happen if, not when, Eldacar returned? Even if the line of Kings was restored and the usurper deposed, the people of Minas Anor knew their suffering would not be at an end.

Mardil knew that his commander, Lord Halvarin, bore considerable weight upon his shoulders. Yet, as he stepped into the entrance of the Lord Commander’s residence, he found his commander in good cheer. Lord Halvarin wore a broad smile and his eyes twinkled for there, at his side, was one of the fairest women Mardil had ever set eyes on. Lady Marece, the Lord Commander’s wife, was the niece of prominent Guild Captain Silares. He’d met her some weeks ago now and had been so overwhelmed that his tongue had unhelpfully adhered itself to the roof of his mouth. Tonight he had steeled himself and his tongue remained free as he closed on his Commander.

”A joyous Mettarë to you, Lord Commander,” he said, pleased with his composure and Lord Halvarin reached forward to grasp his forearm warmly.

”And to you, Mardil,” he replied and looked to Marece, ”Have you met my wife?”

“We have,” Lady Marece said, her smile such that he wondered if she had known just how she had affected him the last time.

Mardil clicked the heels of his well polished boots together and executed a crisp bow as she arched an ebony brow at him.

”My Lady,” he said, entirely coherent, and straightened whilst congratulating himself.

”Have you had a pleasant evening, Mardil?” Lady Marece inquired, a glass of wine dangling elegantly from one hand.

He drew his breath to comment just as he saw Sarael and all his composure and wits scattered. Sarael was not as beautiful as Lady Marece. She was not made of the same stuff, frankly, but this was what drew Mardil to her. Sarael held an honest, straightforward appeal whereas Lady Marece – well, she was dangerous even if she wasn’t his commanding officer’s wife. As Sarael took him in, her face lit with delight and she raised an arm overhead to wave at him. As if he’d fail to notice her.

Amarwen chuckled into her wine as Halvarin’s adjutant moved off, a man almost in a trance.

”Poor fellow,” Halvarin observed quietly, ”I think I know how that will end.”

“If he thinks Sarael an easy mark, he’s another thing coming to him,” Amarwen said and then turned to Halvarin, eyes alight with an idea, ”Let’s have your adjutant over to dinner.”

“If you agree to be on your very best behaviour, my love.”

“When am I not,” Amarwen returned, rising on her toes to nibble at Halvarin’s lower lip.

She knew what he thought of that and felt, rather than heard, his low rumbling moan against her.

As she sank back again, Halvarin murmured in her ear, ”The last dinner guest we had over resulted in you rushing out into the night!”

He referred, of course, to Michas and Amarwen sipped at her wine unruffled.

”Extenuating circumstances, and not of my making,” she replied and then turned as a roving band of minstrels paused before their door out in the street.

Amarwen turned back, eyes aglow and held out a hand to Halvarin, ”Dance with me, Lord Commander?”

His eyes did not leave hers as he raised her hand to his mouth and softly, sensuously pressed his lips to it.

Mardil was, it was safe to say, a little tipsy. Most of Minas Anor was, even the Lord Commander, his exquisite wife and Sarael. Sarael had even kissed him! Just a brief, fleeting brush of her lips against his. She was so shy. Still, there had been no mistaking what it was and so his heart nearly filled his entire chest and threatened to displace his stomach. Humming a snatch of music he had heard during the night, he danced lightly the remaining steps to his door and unlocked it.

It was dark within but it mattered not. Even a little tipsy, Mardil knew the layout like the back of his own hand. And so, when he heard movement in the shadows within, he was startled until he heard his cousin speak.

”Well?”

“No,” Mardil replied, ”I won’t do it. He’s a good man!“

“He’s one of them.”

“He has a baby son and a wife and-“

“We just want to talk to him. That’s all,” his young cousin said but the last Lord Commander his cousin had spoken too had ended up with his neck broken.

An accident, they said, but Mardil had his doubts. He should report his cousin…or warn the Lord Commander, at least, of the fate of his predecessor but if he did that then like as not he’d wind up in a cell himself. And he wasn’t a rebel. Not really.

”Please, Mardil.”

“I need to think about it,” he said, more in a bid to get his firebrand cousin out of his rooms as soon as possible.

”Don’t take too long…No telling what might happen if we have to find another way…”

With that his cousin was gone. His threat hung in the air long after.

[elora]

The festivities that marked Mettarë caused a momentary lull in his duties and a week later, Halvarin found that lull had ended. He spent little time at home for his duties as Lord Commander of the northern region were demanding. It was a role with varied responsibilities that proved time consuming. The mysterious circumstances surrounding his predecessor’s departure from the position only exacerbated that. Still, Halvarin felt he was making headway for the orders and edicts that had streamed from Castimir had now slowed to a trickle. He was hopeful, then, that in another week he might be able to spend more time at home. Mindacil was growing so very swiftly.

In order to reach that goal, Halvarin had pressing matters to attend to. There was the destruction of the Inn to address. The investigation for that continued and he plans to finalise for its reconstruction once the weather and season allowed. The city, thankfully, had not seen a repeat of that fiery violence since. Save for the unrest that flared in market places, driven by shortages, the city was quiet. However, those shortages concerned Halvarin deeply. The grain reserves strained, and the people were short of bread. This had prompted Halvarin’s introduction of rationing, a necessary if unpopular move as far as the citizen of Minas Anor were concerned. Aside from the merchants who had profited from the soaring prices, the city’s people seemed to take it in their stride. That said, Halvarin expected word would flow to Castimir’s ear. Once it did, Halvarin knew he’d have to deal with it.

Since the deposition of Eldacar, the seasons had been disrupted in Gondor. There was too much rain when it was not needed, and the sun and heat would dry everything out earlier and earlier each year. His wife believed this to be the land itself rebelling under an unjust and illegitimate king. Yet, if this were so, the farmers still somehow managed to eke out a crop. How they did it year by passing year, beset with one calamity or another, was nothing short of astonishing.

All of this was quite bad enough as it was. The ever-increasing tributes levied by Castamir made circumstances so desperate that in some tracts of Gondor, the ghastly spectre of famine had risen. Consequently, Halvarin knew he had to remain alert. To the people of Minas Anor, though he be the outward symbol of Castimir’s cruel reign, he did what he could to buffer the common folk of the north from that reign.

On this particular day, Halvarin had somewhat ambitious plans to return to home early. Early enough to find his son and wife awake. Perhaps even share an evening meal with them. With this in mind, he had arisen early to venture to the Harlond where he was to review the rebuilt quay. He’d not told Amarwen of this, for the events that had led to the quay being rebuilt were still difficult for them both. The weather was cold and icy. Travel to Harlond would prove slow but by the time he had concluded the review, Halvarin was optimistic that he’d be home again in time for dinner. He smiled to himself in anticipation at surprising Amarwen.

The erratic flurries of snow that had marked the morning thickened into a heavier fall that blew down the Anduin from the north. He and Mardil readied their horses for the return to Minas Anor under heavy skies that closed rapidly over their heads.

As they mounted, Mardil observed with a shiver, ”The ride back will be a chilly one. Visibility is terrible. I hope this blows over quickly.”

Now, Halvarin’s adjutant had already made an impression on him as a dedicated, driven young man. Still, even for Mardil, his manner of late had struck Halvarin as agitated. And so, as Mardil looked about them so did Halvarin for uneasiness was infectious. The heavier snow greedily ate up the sound around them. Harlond was muffled but not enough to deaden Halvarin’s hearing entirely. He swiftly turned to Mardil to find him toppling towards him. Halvarin rushed to catch the man before he crashed into the frozen ground when all went suddenly black. Something hit the back of Halvarin’s head.

A passing guard found Mardil laying in the snow some time later. He helped Mardil up to his feet and examined his head.

”I think this needs seeing to.”

Mardil studied his surrounds, blinking. The two horses stood there still but Halvarin was nowhere to be seen. And immediately, his cousin came to mind.

”Halvarin! The Lord Commander has been waylaid! He must be found! Surely there is something to follow in all this snow!”

These tidings were far from welcome and the guard soon realized this. Another Lord Commander gone missing, and this one on their watch. There would be trouble over this, he knew, and his misgivings grew when he realized the squall of snow had obscured any tracks. A search was performed all the same. They found nothing. No sign of the Lord Commander nor anyone else for that matter.

Mardil brooded over the grim task that lay ahead of him as his head was bandaged. To him would fall the responsibility of conveying the tidings to the Lord Commander’s wife. He issued orders to the city guard to sweep the area thoroughly. He instructed the Master of the Quay to thoroughly check anyone boarding vessels in Harlond. Further, no goods were to be loaded without a visual check. It was all Mardil could think of, bar locking down the quay itself, to prevent Halvarin from being spirited out of Harlond itself. He waited as long as he could before he made his way back to Minas Anor. The ill news he bore weighed heavily upon him.

Mardil arrived at the Lord Commander’s residence at evenfall. He straightened himself as best he could on his way to the door, drew a deep breath and knocked. It was not long before Sarael opened the door. She smiled, well pleased to find Mardil standing there.

”Adjutant Mardil, please come in. It is dreadfully cold out there. Whatever happened to you?”

Sarael closed the door after Mardil and peered at his bandaged head with no small degree of curiosity. He brushed, delicately, the snow out of hair as Lady Marece ventured into the entrance. Her son was happily held in her arms, nuzzling at his mother’s warmth. He swallowed as Lady Marece took in his appearance.

”M’lady Merece, there is no easy way to say this, but there was an incident in Harlond. We were set upon and Halvarin was taken. We are, as I stand here, searching for him even now. Your husband will be found.”

Sarael rushed to the side of Merece and took her infant son from the Lady’s arms as she swung away from Mardil. Not for the first time did Mardil observe a closeness, an intimacy, between the Lord Commander’s wife and the maid she entrusted her household to. Lady Marece drew a deep breath that quivered and then turned back to regard him. Her expression was wan but otherwise composed. A formidable woman, he thought to himself as his study fell to her hands. He saw she had curled her fingers tightly, but whether to prevent them from shaking or as a result of rising anger, he could not say.

”Adjutant Mardil,” she said "I would have you speak of what occurred.”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


A splitting headache greeted Halvarin upon stirring. Dark as it was, a small strip of light shone from under a door. He crawled over to peer under it but saw little of consequence. His ears, though, proved more valuable. There were voices he could hear and this drew his interest. He could not recognize them, and hence guess at who was responsible for this, but he could hear them arguing. His hearing strained to make out their words and when he could he grasped that the bone of contention was himself. Only…not, they argued, over what to do with them…

Halvarin peered about the room, or cell, he had woken in and confirmed that he was alone. There was no one else with him in here, but how many others were there confined in other cells like his own? As he considered this, the debate settled and shortly after that he heard the rattle of a key in the lock on his door. The door soon opened, bathing Halvarin in a momentarily blinding shaft of light that made him squint. Once his eyes adjusted, Halvarin found he was no longer alone. A man he had never seen before, with the weathered appearance of a fellow mariner, studied him. Another two men stood behind him.

”Lord Commander Halvarin, permit me to apologise for the manner in which you were brought to us.”

“What do you want?’ Halvarin demanded, no patience for empty apologies, ”Where is Mardil?”

The captor did not apologise to the prisoner and the two men that stood with his captor confirmed that this was not a social occasion. And now he understood Amarwen’s chilly contempt when their paths had first crossed at Osgiliath. His jailor turned as his two men escorted him out of his cell and into the lighted room beyond. He was seated on a stool before their exchange continued.

”It was necessary to have you taken unexpected,” he was told, ”Though unnecessary force was used to accomplish this feat. Your injuries will be tended to shortly.”

Halvarin took a deep breath, ”Who are you?”

His jailor dismissed the two men he had arrived with and, once this was done, seated himself on the other side of a small table.

”I am Canimir, and we are the Black Scouts, an elite unit that answers directly to Castamir. We brought him to power and we keep him there. It is good to know we have so successfully remained unseen, being that you, the regional commander of the northern provinces, do not know of us.” Canimir paused to offer what may have been a smile.

Halvarin studied Canimir and decided that these men were unlikely to bother with firing of the White Tree Inn. Even so, it was likely they knew who was. He played for time, adjusting his soiled coat.

“Why, then, snatch one of Castimir’s own commanders from his appointed duties? Do we not serve the same king?”

“We may well do, but the same cannot be said of others in your command. They gather already… planning harm and mayhem. It is this we watch for.”

Who did they suspect? Who did they watch? Amarwen? He knew that she had not been idle in Minas Anor. There was nothing for it but to confront it.

”May I get word to my wife? We have a young son and I do not wish for her to fret. I will tell her I was called away on an urgent matter for the realm.”

Canimir raised an eyebrow at this and rose to fetch a parchment, “You are quite smart Lord Commander, for this is precisely what we had planned. Read this, and then sign it.”

Halvarin sighed as he read the parchment and then shook his head laughing slightly.

”You are bold indeed to make such assumptions of the Lord Commander. She will know these are not my words.”

“By now, surely, you must know that Lord Commanders come and go quite easily.”

Halvarin sat back, “I may have no knowledge of my predecessor’s true fate, but I am sure that you do.”

He looked at Canimir as saw from the man’s reaction, or lack thereof, confirmation.

”Very well,” Halvarin relented, ”I will do this but I must write this in my own hand. My wife will recognize this. She knows it well…and only then will she know it to be authentic despite whatever she may have learned from my adjutant.”

Canimir scratched at his chin a moment, nodded and then motions for fresh parchment. Once this was to hand, Halvarin commenced scratching out a message in his own flowing script. It read much as the other had save for an addition at the end.

Trust that the stars of Varda shine upon us, my love. The cross is bright and the seven bind us together.

Uncertain as he was that Amarwen would understand, he had to trust to Varda and Amarwen’s wits. Halvarin signed it in his script and turned it over to Canimir for examination.

He scanned it quickly before he looked up again, “Stars?”

“I’m a Master Navigator of the Guild. What do you expect?”

Halvarin met Canimir’s scrutiny without flinching and after a long moment, the man rolled it up. He set a seal to it and issued it to another for immediate delivery.

”You must remain here, for now. For your own safety,” Halvarin touched his aching head as proof of that lie and Canimir was compelled to add, ”Again, I apologise for the rough manner in which you were dealt with.”

Halvarin nodded carefully at this, committing every detail of Canimir to memory for his next report. He was soon returned to a different cell where he found a cot, a proper one, had been installed. He fell onto it, exhausted, and was lost immediately in a deep sleep that only woke when he heard a muffled scream in the darkness.

He went to the door and found it locked once more. A prisoner still, prisoner even if he was not left to sleep on the stone floor of his old cell. Again, Halvarin was uncomfortably reminded of Amarwen’s early days in Osgiliath under his command. He pushed this aside and strained to hear more. Who else might be here, he wondered, but in short order the disturbance faded. He had little recourse but to bide his time and as he did so, Halvarin swore he would have his revenge upon the lawless rogues of Castamir’s… one day.

[elora]

Minas Anor – January 1443


Sarael clutched at her skirts nervously as she watched her mistress complete her preparations, ”This…this is dangerous, m’lady.”

“It is,” Marece concurred, her voice steady.

”It could well be a trap.”

“If so, they will soon come to rue it,” came the answer and Marece turned about to lift her chin, ”Will this serve?”

Sarael swallowed at the question and closed her eyes for her mistress looked every inch the part – prepared to do whatever needed to be done no matter how humiliating or repugnant. She ducked her head and heard the rustle of her mistress’ fine gown as she passed her by.

”You understand your own part?” Marece asked as Sarael fell into step behind her.

”Yes,” she answered with little enthusiasm, ”But I should rather remain with you.”

“That cannot be, Sarael. In any case, I will have Mardil with me,” Sarael nodded unhappily and Marece continued, ”You know the watchwords?”

“I have memorised them. Will they work?”

“Let us hope so,” Marece muttered, ”Partisans are an unruly lot. In truth, Sarael, it is you I worry for.”

“A fine pair we make, m’lady,” Sarael observed, ”Each of us fretting for the other.”

Marece turned about at that, pulling on richly embroidered gloves with a thick fur trim, and offered Sarael a brief smile.

”We had each best look to ourselves, I think,” she said softly and reached out both arms to grasp Sarael’s shoulders, ”Take care, Sarael…return to us safely.”

Marece gave her shoulders a brief squeeze before her hands dropped away. Out in the main parlour, Mardil waited. Marece had located for the young adjutant suitable garb for the weather and he’d managed to smooth his hair into something resembling order. Still, his features were pinched with alarm when Sarael and Marece joined him. Marece made for where her thick winter cloak hung and set to readying herself for the frigid streets without as Sarael drew closer to Mardil.

”These men…they are vipers, Mardil. They bear my mistress no good will.”

“How can you be so certain?” Mardil asked, puzzled for he had seen no such animosity in the men he was to escort the Lord Commander’s wife to. Why, they had even allowed the Lord Commander to write to his wife. He’d seen the missive delivered with his own eyes only an hour ago.

”Guard her well, Mardil, please?” Sarael implored and Mardil nodded, confused.

What else did Sarael think he would do, he wondered, but he not inquire further for Lady Marece drew near.

”Ready, Adjutant?” she inquired and at his sharp nod of assent, she drew up the deep and heavy cowl of her cloak.

Sarael remained where she was as the door swung closed after them both. Then, she turned away to seek out the partisans as Marece had bidden her. If they could be found.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


”Mistress Marece,” drawled a familiar looking guard as he climbed to his feet, ”What a delightful surprise this is!”

Amarwen supressed a grimace at his lizard like smile, pushed back her cowl and smoothed her carefully arranged hair. A braid of luxuriantly thick, glossy black hair fell from the crown of her head to her waist. It was perfectly woven. The man she faced had been one of the men the usurper had sent to break into her bedroom at Pelargir. Was he that had thrown her over his shoulder and she well remembered how bold his hands and eyes had been back then and since. And now he was here, in Minas Anor. No coincidence, she thought. She did not unclasp her cloak but rather pushed it back so that her gown was discernible.

”Motherhood becomes you, if I may be so bold to say so. How are you settling into Minas Anor? Yearn for Pelargir, yet?”

“What I miss, Canimir, is my husband. He was taken this evening, snatched off the very streets according to his adjutant,” she looked aside to where Mardil stood, ”Right under your noses.”

At this he spread his hands, ”Minas Anor can be an unruly city…surely you do not mean to imply that we had anything to do with this unhappy event.”

Amarwen lifted her chin to gaze steadily at Canimir. Then, slowly, she came forward. Closer and closer until she had to look up at him and he down at her. She saw his eyes flare at what he saw and behind her, Mardil cleared his throat uncomfortably.

”Allow me to make myself very clear,” she said softly and then ever so slightly parted her lips.

She let her words dangle as the tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip.

Canimir stared at her for a long moment before he cleared his throat, ”Well now, that is something we must look into.”

“Immediately?”

“Well, we are very busy,” he replied, cagey.

Amarwen threw back her shoulders and saw his eyes flare, ”So busy that you cannot lend aid to a loyal subject?”

Again Mardil cleared his throat but Canimir’s brows rose slightly, ”Perhaps…”

When he forgot what he was saying, a smile flickered over Amarwen’s lips. Canimir was not to know that she was, at that moment, considering just how much she would enjoy seeing this man in stocks being sentenced for his treachery by Eldacar.

”Perhaps we might be able to find the time,” Canimir recovered his wits and Amarwen stepped back just far enough to sink before him in a deep curtsy.

She peered upwards again through her thick dark lashes to find the man was transfixed. She could imagine what he was thinking of as she allowed her lips to ever so slightly part once more. All men were, by and large, the same in that respect.

”I would be ever so grateful,” she breathed.

Canimir cleared his throat and his eyes were greedy. Alight. She thought he might demand of her immediate satisfaction then and there. Mardil did too for he broke his silence for the first time.

He said, ”One of the disused dockside storehouses, I wager.”

“There are scores of those,” the guard snapped, displeased by the disruption and the delay that now loomed.

”Well I know it for I had them search through the afternoon. Sooner you assist, the better,” Mardil returned and, scowling, the guard pulled away.

He began to bark terse orders and in short time he set off, footsteps receding from hearing. Amarwen sank into a chair, hands shaking at what she had just done. Had she understood Halvarin’s message correctly? As for the partisans…and all she could do was hope. Hope that Sarael found them and warned them. Hope that they listened and followed her to a secure location, as secure as they could manage now the White Tree Inn was no more. Hope that the guard she had seduced would somehow meet with his reckoning before she crossed paths with him again. When she looked up to where Mardil stood, she found him staring at her.

”Who are you?” he asked in a low, quiet voice, ”What are you?”

Amarwen pushed out a sigh as she rose to her feet, ”I am doing what I can to find a way through this. Just as you are, Mardil. Now, let us go see to saving your cousin and my husband both.”

He gave her a jerky nod and, once she had pulled up her hood Amarwen followed Mardil back out into the cold night. Only would tell what happened from here. They walked in silence and as they did so, Amarwen could stop herself from placing a hand over her belly. It had yet to swell again but it would, she knew. Another child stirred within, though only she knew of it. She had to find Halvarin again. For Mindacil. For the child she carried now. She caught Mardil peering and her hand dropped away too late. He had seen and already he was guessing at what it meant.

[elora]

Harlond ~ November 1442 to January 1443

Vidnavi had accompanied Aldamir and her sister shieldmaidens across the river but that was as far as she went. Aldamir dispatched her to the Harlond, where he said there was an old contact of his. Her instruction was to locate him and await Aldamir to return from Minas Anor upon a boat and so Vidnavi searched the places Aldamir had told her of. Only, the man he named as 'Viper' was not to be found. Vidnavi set herself up inconspicuously at the Quay Tavern, a place that a few people told her he would be when she asked questions. She was careful not to touch anything drink than tea, for she needed to remain alert. She did not have her sisters with her this time.

A week crawled past and still Vidnavi could not locate this 'Viper'. She searched the Harlond carefully and found nothing of this man. Still, Vidnavi waited in the hope that something would shift to her favour. The morning of the last possible day she could came and Vidnavi went to her usual seat at the tavern and ordered tea. Her thoughts shifted from her futilie search and the arrangements she would need to set in place to secure a boat for the return to Minas Ithil. There had to be something she had missed, she thought as she sipped her tea.

Looking outside to the river she noticed there was an old fishing trawler tied up nearby. That dock had been vacant the whole time she had been there and so its arrival today sparked her interest. Vidnavi decided she'd wander by it for a closer inspection and she lifted her cup of tea to finish it. As she did so, she saw tea leaves swirling in the tea still within. This tea was fragrant and smooth and the swirling leaves seemed to capture her thoughts. She was not one for daydreams. That was the province of her twin sister, Vilna.

Squinting, Vidnavi set the cup down and when she looked up again she began to notice things. The serving maid was a different woman. She turned her head and looked toward the door and she noted a man standing there. He looked out of place to her and Vidnavia tensed as she reached for her knife. It was tucked away, well within grip, and the tap of her fingers upon its hilt offered her reassurance. When she looked to the door again, the man was not there but she had not seen him leave. Nor was he in the tavern.

Vidnavi searched the room as she stood up. A wave dizziness saw her steady herself against the table. Her hearing began to fade and her sight started to dance. She took a step for the door, lost her balance and crashed into another table. Then she saw the man again for he stepped right in front of her. She reached for her knife even as she fell into him and everything turned upside down and then went black. The man lifted Vidnavi's limp body up and over one shoulder easily, her knife clattering on the floor. Forgotten.

When Vidnavi regained her senses, everything was dark. She tried to move, but dizziness shot through her. She discovered shackles on her wrists and ankles.

"Sister, I miss you." she said to herself, her quiet words falling dead in the stifling thick air.

As she lay there she tried to make sense of what had happened. Her spinning mind made it difficult but in time she settled upon the tea. She'd had a cup of it each day over the past week and she remembered the leaves she'd seen in it. They were different. She should have paid that closer mind and now Vidnavi cursed herself for the foolish complacency that had landed her in this predicament. Vilna, she thought to herself, would never have fallen for so cheap a ploy.

Shifting, the chains of her shackles clinked. The sound dully echoed in the chamber. Vidnavi set to examining them for a weakness and found that whilst they were old, they were still thick and strong. The weakness, then, would be the lock and she set herself to breaking it. After some time, she had no idea how much, she ran out of strength and she was forced to stop and rest.

Vidnavi had no idea where she was, or who had marked her and taken her. If they were Castamirians, she could expect little more than death. She might even die here, left to starve or worse. She had no idea how much time had passed since she had been taken.She strained to hear a sound, any sound, but all she could hear was the thick heavy sound of her own movements before even that was swallowed up by the stone walls and ceiling. She tried to raise some wetness to her lips and it came with much work. She would need water and she would need it soon. She lay back against the wall and sighed, hoping that someone would come so she could vent her hatred. She had no idea how long it was when she heard the faint echo… a sound other than herself and soon, Vidnavi found herself wishing that they had left her alone.

Aldamir waited for three days with Vilna and Helda. Three anxious days for Vilna insisted on searching for her twin sister despite her injured leg. Aldamir forbade it and, fortunately, Helda sided with him. Thus, Vilna could only hope that Vidnavia kept her wits about her wherever she was. If Vidnavi was late, there would be a good reason for it. Needn't be a dire one either, Helda pointed out. They waited for as long as they could, lingering even as a river patrol almost discovered their position. That night, unable to tarry any longer, they crossed the river to the eastern shore and made for Minas Ithil - without Vidnavi.

Vidnavi was brought out of her cell after uncounted time. She was taken to another room and the light of a single candle made her eyes water. She squinted, trying to clear them and recognise the others in the room. All were strange to her, including a swarthy man who studied her coolly. Once she was certain her eyes had adjusted, Vidnavi tried to make her muscles work but she was easily overcome and pushed back down when she attempted to get up. A large man kept her pinned to the floor as the Haradian, was that what he was she wondered, approached. He grabbed her hair and peered at her scalp.

"Blonde. You are a Rhovanion wench. You will tell us why you are here, and perhaps things may go easier for you. Either way, your fate is the same."

Vidnavi said not a word as she glared up at the man. He reached for her hair again and hauled her up to her feet by it.

"It is a shame you have dyed it. If it were blonde and long, a much better price could be had. Haradian chiefs pay well for Rhovanion women. You, though, not so much."

Vidnavi tried to escape his grasp but he was strong and she was soon pinned to the ground again. She struggled as best she could, weakened by a lack of water and food, and the weight of the large man upon her back made it difficult to breathe. Despite her efforts to remain alert, it was only a matter of time before she succumbed. When Vidnavi awoke again, she was back in the dark stone room.

She managed to get her chained hand to feel her head and realised they had shorn her hair. The shackles on her wrists pulled against the chain and she pulled against them, frustration welling up into a hoarse shout that echoed uselessly around her. Vidnavi tipped her head forward and tried to get as comfortable as she could but could find no relief. What she didn't know then was that she would soon long for this quiet, dark expanses for they would come in time, with food and water. And she was to earn it. Again and again this happened, until her spirt broke.

Vidnavi had given up trying to guess how long it was since she was captured. She had not seen more than a torch light since that day in the room with the black men, and so had lost the ability to measure days. Time passed in long periods of silence and darkness, broken only by times of flickering torchlight and the torment that came with it. If she was lucky, she would be left a bruised, crumpled body on the floor where her abusers did not care to bother with chaining her. It allowed her to move and find comfort for a time.

This time, though, it was different. She could hear many footsteps approaching and Vidnavi steeled herself. The voice she could hear was different this time and, as the keys jingled and the door opened, Vidnavi pressed herself in the far corner to hug her knees. Her usual tormentors, though, did not enter the cell. A different man stood in the door and he quickly stepped aside to allow another to enter. This man said nothing, barely seemed to register her presence, as he bore down on her and emptied the large bucket he carried over Vidnavi's head.

She coughed, startled by the water that coursed over her, for she had expected him to use the bucket to beat her. Then came another bucket of water and after that a woman came in. The two men pulled Vidnavi to her feet, spitting and coughing at the water, and the women tossed a third bucket of water at her. Then the woman brusquely washed Vidnavi as if she were little more than a horse. With a final buket, a brown linen shift was pulled over her head.

"It is done," said the woman, the first words any had said and at that, the two men tried to walk Vidnavi out between them.

Her legs, however, could not support her weight and so two men were forced to drag and carry her by turns until they had gained an office. There they stepped away and Vidnavi did her best to stand in her weakened state.

"Well now, that is better, is it not Rhovanian?" Canimir said from behind his desk.

Slowly he stood, "Are you enjoying your special treat? I hope so, for I am not yet done with you."

Vidnavi made no response to that and Canimir slowly stood and came out to stand before her. The Rhovanion's arms hung limply, chains weighting them down. He lifted her head to peer into blue-grey eyes that were dull and vacant.

He nodded at that and let her head drop as he turned away, "Surely we have something better than that sack for her new life."

A wave of his hand brought the woman forward. She nodded at his statement and escorted the Rhovanion out as Canimir leaned on his desk. After a moment's careful thought he looked up to where his second lingered and then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Over this his quill flew and moments later he passed the message across to his second. He watched the man scan it carefully and then, with a salute, depart.

Alone, Canimir turned his thoughts to the day's events and what lay ahead for the evening. A slow smile spread over his features as he considered the options before him and then, after a time, he went to see Halvarin.

Canimir awoke him by shoving his door open so hard it banged against the wall, "I have expedited the search for you; giving it the highest priority. You may be found in a week or so, if… there is cooperation."

"Have you found who your spy is? If so, will you please tell me?" Halvarin paused at Canimir's lack of response and then sighed, "What is it you want of me?"

"Your wife…" Canimir replied, watching Halvarin's reaction.

When he got none, he pushed on, "She came to see me, pleaded in fact for my assistance in locating you. She is a very… persuasive woman. Naturally, I agreed in return for certain…favours. In your absence, command of Minas Anor falls to Bergil. I believe he got the order to do so today. Still, perhaps your wife will need to look in on me again a few more times before you are found."

Halvarin remained expressionless even as he conjured up several scenarios concerning Amarwen and this man. Did she know of him when he didn't? Even now there was much he did not know overly much of her activities, of what was within her power and how she might be willing to exercise it. Halvarin wondered at what she had said or done even as Canimir spoke again.

"I can see why you married her," he observed with a grin, "She is a remarkable woman."

Halvarin grit his teeth for he would not allow Canimir to unnerve him. His only response was to nod, for it was true and it was a truth he had long known. Denied a reaction, Canimir walked around Halvarin's room.

"Have you been more comfortable these last couple days? Would you enjoy some company, perhaps?"

"Do not think to tempt me, Canimir," Halvarin replied.

Canimir laughed, "A cellmate, no more than that for you, Lord Commander. As for me…well…I must be on my way for the night will be a busy one indeed."

The deadbolt clicked into place after Canimir's departure and though the man had gone, his cold smile lingered. Taunting. Halvarin returned to the cot with a sigh and tried to push it from his mind.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Minas Anor - January 1443


Amarwen spent the coming days locating Minas Anor's scattered partisans, a difficult task in the best of times made more onerous given their present circumstances. Unlike those of Pelargir, Minas Anor's partisans had no discernible leader. There was no one authorised to treat with or negotiate with and the groups were fractious to say the least. It kept her and Sarael frantic yet despite these difficulties, a meeting had been arranged between groups of partisans that had been unaware of the existence of others only days earlier.

With the destruction of the White Tree Inn, finding a suitable location for this meeting was the next challenge. A location that was secure, unlikely to be watched and therefore prevent Castimir from scooping up Minas Anor's partisans all in one fell swoop. That was where the work she had been doing to expand their business holdings into Minas Tirith laid dividends. So too did the tenuous noose she had placed around Canimir's neck.

Purchasing several warehouses was relatively straight forward but the same could not be said for keeping Canimir in check. He sent demand upon demand to meet with her, his intentions quite clear in the wording of his missives to her. Each time she acquiesced, Amarwen knew she was rolling the dice. She flattered the man, made sure he had more than enough to rest his greedy, lustful eyes upon and above all ensured his glass was very full. Canimir had a fine appreciation for expensive wine and the former Lord Commander had quite the cellar amassed. She put that wealth to good use and whilst Canimir enjoyed himself most fulsomely, she managed to fend off his advances.

Time would come, she knew, that he would grow weary of waking up in his own bed alone with a roaring head and little else he could recall. Canimir would realise what she was doing. But for now, it was all she could do for she needed to play for time whilst she organised the partisans and set them to work. What Halvarin would make of her methods…suffice it to say that she spent long hours awake at night pondering that unhappy thought. She needed Canimir pliant. She needed to be able to keep an eye on him herself.

And then, in the midst of this was Mindacil. He had noted his father's absence and it troubled him. Nor was he well pleased with the food Amarwen was trying to introduce her son to. Amarwen was being pulled in so many directions at once that it was a wonder she did not fly apart at the seams. She sat nursing her son pondering this as Sarael came into the bedroom. She watched the younger woman move about, setting things to rights in preparation for the night's sleep, and wondered just where she would be without Sarael.

"I have come to depend you so much," Amarwen remarked and this made Sarael look up at her, "Tomorrow, I am to meet Canimir again. I expect I will be quite late in returning."

Mindacil murmured, shifting in her arms at this, and Sarael nodded, "I will ensure the wet nurse is on hand, if required."

Then Sarael paused and came to sit by Amarwen, "But I fear…meeting with that man is not wise. You know what he wants!"

She took Amarwen's hand, "I will worry for you!"

"Dear Sarael, do not fret for me. If I have not your strength, what will carry me through this?" Amarwen asked, "We must find Halvarin, the sooner the better…already a week has passed."

"The last time that man was here, we scarcely rolled his sodden hide down the hill in time," Sarael remarked and Amarwen grimaced as Mindacil started to fuss.

She shifted him to the other side, but not soon enough for his liking, and it was some time before he settled again. And to think, she had another on the way. How was she to keep up with this?

"Once word reaches Castamir that another of his regional commanders has disappeared, we are all in grave danger. At best we will be on the streets. Halvarin must be found. He must remain regional commander. The key to that is Canimir. I will do what I must to see it done."

Sarael swallowed at that and looked aside briefly, her eyes bright with tears, "Take Mardil with you, then. Or someone…Anyone, m'lady. If you go alone to him there is nothing to stop him from holding you against your will. Remember what he did that night in Pelargir! He carried you off in no more than your nightdress. I do not think you should trust him."

"And I do not, but what has to be done will be done," Amarwen paused, "I must do this alone."

Sarael drew in a shaking breath and shook her head, uneasy as Amarwen pressed on, "I know it is a lot to ask…but to know that Mindacil is safe here, in your keeping…it will make it…easier."

"I would do anything for you m'Lady!" Sarael replied, solemn, and Amarwen was quiet for a moment before she embraced the maid.

"Then take some rest, whilst Pip sleeps," she said and they both looked down where Mindacil rested in Amarwen's arms.

Carefully, she laid the boy out in his cradle which had been brought out of the nursery and into the bedroom of late. Once her son was put to bed, Amarwen turned next to Sarael and reached for her hand.

"You too, Sarael. Rest here," Amarwen said and then looked aside to the wide bed, "I cannot stand it another night all on my own. I…I miss him…I"

Sarael hung her head with a sob and tightened her grip on Amarwen's hand. They climbed onto the bed and still Sarael wept.

"There will come a time," Amarwen said quietly as she smoothed Sarael's hair, "When all of this will pass. All our fears and labours will be taken from us and we will know peace."

"And until then?" Sarael asked in a shaking voice.

"Until then we fight with whatever strength and tools we have given to us," Amarwen answered.

Exhaustion claimed them both not long after and Mindacil, thankfully, slept into the coming morning. Sarael was up at the first light of day but Amarwen still slept. She arranged the pillows carefully and then carried Mindacil across so that he could nurse whilst his mother slept. He seemed content with this arrangement and Sarael sat nearby, watching and pondering until the child squirmed. This woke Amarwen who blinked sleeping down at her son and then smiled to see him. She rolled and set him to nursing again.

"Thank you, Sarael," she said, pushing her sleep tangled hair back.

Sarael nodded and quietly rose to her feet. Once she had quit the room, Amarwen set her mind to the day ahead of her. Amarwen took all the precautions she could. She retrieved from a trunk a dress she had not worn for some time. It was tight and left little to the imagination. She stared at it with some distaste and then shivered. She needed Halvarin set free this day and if this gown helped her achieve that...Amarwen drew in a deep breath that she pushed out again. Sarael was, of course, correct. Canimir could incarcerate her if he so wished and once she was his prisoner her capacity to control him would all but shattered. But, even should Canimir kill her as he just might, at least she knew that Sarael would care for Mindacil.

When the time came for her appointment with Canimir, Amarwen threw a long cloak over her to keep warm and dry. She kissed Mindacil, holding her son to her to breathe in his sweet scent and then made for the door with Sarael at her side. Nothing was said between them and Amarwen stepped out through the door with no more than a long, sorrowful gaze from Sarael. She bowed her head, drew up her cowl and made her way towards the Harlond.


Harlond ~ January 1443


It was early evening when she arrived at the door where she had met Canimir before. She drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and then knocked. When Canimir opened the door, he was well dressed in a black uniform that was simply adorned with the Usurper's crest on his left side of his chest. He stepped outside and closed the door, peering around as he did so before his gaze settled hungrily upon her.

"You look more enchanting each time I see you, Marece!"

She forced a smile, aware he could see nothing aside from her cloak. It must be the way her hair was set.

Canimir went on, "I would invite you in, but this is not a business call, but a pleasurable one. There is a place, overlooking the river to the south, where we may dine."

He offered his arm, and Merece hesitated before taking it. It was terrible what she was doing, but her hope of finding Halvarin and freeing him depended on it.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Halvarin had dozed off, but it didn't seem very long before the lock clicked, and the door opened again.

It was Canimir's second. He said, "You are being moved to new quarters. "

Halvarin stood and walked over to the door and followed the man down a long hall. He opened the door at the end and after Halvarin stepped into the dimly lit room, the door closed, and the lock bolted. Taking a few steps in, he could see it was a well-furnished room, but what made him pause was the woman seated in a chair at the far end. The wavering of the candle light caused shadows to dance, but Halvarin stepped closer to her.

"Vilna? What have they done to you?"

"Vidnavi," the woman corrected, her voice a low monotone voice.

But she looked up to meet Halvarin's eyes as her sister's name was mentioned. She asked, "Is.. is my sister well?"

Halvarin put his finger to his lips to request her silence and he looked carefully around the room. If it was a trap, he was too late for his initial words would spring it. But there was nobody coming to the door, and so he checked along the walls and looked at the ceiling. He had found what he was looking for. By the head of the bed, obscured by the headboard, was a hole. He pulled the bedframe out far enough to get a look into the hole. Yes, they would listen, but it appeared that nobody was there yet.

He quickly stood and pushed the bed back when he heard someone quietly enter the adjoining room. If he and Vidnavi were going to talk, they would have to be loud in noise and soft in whisper. He sat on the edge of the bed and the wood frame squeaked and creaked. A slight bouncing caused it to do so repeatedly. Perfect. He motioned to Vidnavi to come over, but she pressed herself into the far wall. Halvarin stood and came over to her and he could see her cringe. He shuffled his boot on the wood floorboard as he whispered to her.

"I will not touch you, Vidnavi. Please…trust me? Keep your voice down for they listen in the next room...and they have placed you here as bait." the statement made his skin crawl and Halvarin switched to his other foot.

The grating sliding noise continued and he whispered under it, "We must both play our parts. If we sit on the bed and bounce it some, and slide our feet occasionally while letting out a moan or some sound like we're..."

Halvarin stopped dragging his foot over the floor and motioned for quiet as he listened. When he looked back to Vidnavi, the prospect of freedom had lit something in her eyes. They both sat on the bed and it squeaked loudly beneath them. Halvarin grinned, satisfied with this arrangement for the bed protests with almost any movement.

He whispered in Vidnavi's ear, "I know who is responsible for this and I know that my wife will do all she can to find me. She will get me out and I ensure you come with me when she does. They know you to be Rhovanion but me they suppose to be loyal to Castamir. And that must continue, no matter what I might have to say or do."

He bounced harder as she turned to look into his eyes he saw some of her fight was returning. Vidnavi moaned loudly and began to bounce upon the bed harder. Halvarin heard a noise at the door and so he threw her down and rolled atop her. Just in time, for their captors pulled back a cover over the small barred panel set in the door to check. When the panel slid back into place, both Halvarin and Vidnavi sighed with relief.

Halvarin rolled off Vidnavi and sat up. The Shieldmaiden followed suit and Halvarin pondered the room again to consider his options for escape should Amarwen be unable to prevail.

[elora]

Harlond ~ January 1443


"And here we are, at last," Canimir all but purred as he cast the doors open.

Amarwen's stomach twisted as she saw what lay within but Canimir's hand in the small of her back pushed her across the threshold and into what was a vast…bedroom.

Wide doors at the far end had been thrown open and through those she could see the setting sun. Somewhere below, out of sight, would be the river view Canimir had spoken of. Large hearths roared with fire kept high to push the growing chill of the night out. Still, the room was cold. Or perhaps that was her blood now that the enormity of things was writ large.

"Impressive, is it not," Canimir asked as he closed the door behind her.

He chuckled in her ear as he reached around to unfasten her cloak, "Speechless, I see. I am pleased you like it."

Her cloak slipped from her shoulders to reveal her gown and Canimir growled low in his throat as he peered down at it.

"Well now," he murmured as he ran a hand down the curve of her flank, "This I appreciate, Marece… very much."

Canimir's hand on her hip tightened as he pressed into her and drew in a deep breath, "Intoxicating, but we have time aplenty for that tonight."

His need drove at her through her skirts and then he was gone. Canimir strode towards a bed heaped high with furs and tossed her cloak onto it without further thought. Next he made for a table set towards the open doors. She remained where she was as he poured out two glasses of wine, debating whether to make a run for it now. Canimir turned back to face her, the usurper's crest glinting. She eyed that and steadied her course. She would see this through.

"Come, my clever vixen, a toast."

Amarwen swallowed her revulsion and forced herself forward, step by step.

Canimir smiled at her, triumphant gleam in his eyes and then reached out to run his fingers along her jaw, "Don't be shy. That dress of yours will not allow it. Did you have it made for me, I wonder."

Amarwen pulled her chin from his grip, "You overestimate yourself, Canimir."

"And yet here you are."

"I am a woman of my word, …but I find myself wondering whether you are a man of yours. A week, and still no sign of my husband. Perhaps you are not as powerful as I had been led to believe."

Canimir smiled at that and took a draught of wine as his gaze wandered over her and then he was moving. He was swift. She could give him that as he pounced upon her, "I could take you here and now, woman, if I so desired. Is that powerful enough?"

He pulled at the shoulders of her gown, lowering the neckline scandalously. Amarwen forced herself to calm.

"Any man might make such a claim," she remarked and when she did not struggle nor plead, Canimir released her and turned back for the wine he had poured.

"Fear not, Marece, all is well in hand," he replied as he took up the glasses and held one out to her, "My word is my bond. Your husband will be freed all in good time."

"When?"

"Only you know the answer to that, my lovely," he replied and tipped his glass against her own. His gaze dropped to her neckline and lingered, "Soon, I hope. Very soon."

He took a mouthful of wine and then made a suggestion, "Perhaps… perhaps a gesture of good will."

"I am here, am I not," Amarwen replied and Canimir gave her one of his reptilian smiles.

"You most certainly are."

By her estimate, she had no more than an hour before he took matters into his own hands. Scant time indeed for all she had set in motion over the past week to come to fruition. Dare she hope in a man who went by the name "Viper"? She must, or all would come crashing down around her ears.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The Viper stared down at the body of a middle aged woman. She was the last of them, aside from the snake currently still behind closed doors. He bent to wipe his blade clean on her tunic. That done, he stepped over her corpse and padded back to the door again. The hall was clear, bodies aside. This woman of Aldamir's had better prove reliable, he thought to himself. He turned back to the antechamber and considered the various locked doors. He could knock them all in but that would create a disturbance. The keys were with the snake, as was Aldamir's woman. If she did not come soon, he'd have no choice but to wash his hands of this and quit.

There was movement out in the hall and he padded back to peer into it carefully. He saw someone and reached for one of his throwing knives. His hand froze, though, when he saw it was Aldamir's woman. She was….different than when he had seen her last. It wasn't she wore a dress that would make most brothel madams blush but rather her affect. Her manner was cold and grim as the night as she hurried down the hall and into the ante-chamber.

"Do you have it?" he asked as she arrived and she held out a hand and uncurled her fingers.

On her palm gleamed the crest that only Castimir's covert operatives possessed. The Viper let out a pent up breath, excited despite his long years. With this, and the knowledge she had mapped out as to the location of others, he could shatter the Usurper's sharpest weapon.

"Its keeper?" he asked as his fingers closed over it again.

"I snapped his neck," she replied, drew a breath and shook herself.

"What of the keys?" he asked and she blinked at him, grey eyes with pupils wide and dark within.

It was then he realised that her effect was likely shock more than anything else.

Muttering a curse, the Viper left her there to retrieve them. He followed the hall along and pushed open a door that should have been barred. There within was Canimir. Just as Aldamir's woman had said, she had snapped his neck, though the circumstances of doing so were jarring. Canimir lay slumped, legs hanging over the edge of his bed and his trews puddled around his ankles. Directly in front, on the floor, was a pool of blood and beside that, a woman's slipper. A woman's cloak lay haphazardly on the bed beside Canimir's body.

He retrieved both slipper and cloak along with the keys and set off again. As he went, he marked blood stains along the corridor. They tracked all the way into the ante-chamber to where Aldamir's woman stood staring at her hands. Bruises showed along her finely chiselled jaw and her gown looked torn now that he studied it more closely but he could not see any blood seeping into the fabric itself. Perhaps it had been Canimir's blood, he thought. He dropped her slipper on the ground and pushed her cloak into her hands.

She blinked again before she stuffed a bare foot into the slipper and fumbled with the cloak as he asked, "Are you injured?"

The woman shook her head and so he pinned the crest to his chest.

"Wrong side," the woman said, "They wear it on the left."

The Viper grunted and switched sides, then he drew out the keys, "Ready to run like the wind?"

She stared at him and he wondered what Aldamir might say if he left her behind. She was likely a liability in this state. A liability he could ill afford. Tempted as he was, he wiped a hand over his face. This woman, Aldamir had made it clear, was important. For more reasons than one.

"I'll meet you outside. Any sign of trouble, run," the Viper said and for a moment he thought the woman would disagree.

He drew one of his knives and held it out to her. She stared at it for a moment, then nodded as she wrapped her hand around its hilt. The way she did so offered some faint comfort that the woman knew how to hold it. He waited until she had gotten down the corridor again, a trail of blood drops behind her and advanced on the cell doors.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Ordinarily, Vidnavi would have liked to spring through the door snarling and snapping like a veritable wolf. She did her best, given the circumstances, but it was hardly her finest showing. A man, bearing the crest of the enemy, hopped back easily enough.

"No time for that," barked the man Vidnavi had failed to tackle, "It will not be long before they discover us."

"Who are you," demanded the man that had been locked into the cell with Vidnavi. She did not know his name.

"Later," the newcomer hissed, "Do you want out or not?"

"Are you alone?" asked Vidnavi's cell mate as she darted past the newcomer and out into the ante chamber.

There was a woman lying face down on the floor, blood pooling around her. There was another puddle of blood elsewhere, drips leading in trails out into the hall. Vidnavia frowned at that and the looked up as the two men came out of the cells.

"What of the others"Vidnavi asked and the newcomer shook his head at her.

"You two are the only prisoners," he replied, his answer terse as he pushed past them and into the hall.

There he paused long enough to take stock and then he was off, vanishing into the shadows at a surprising rate.

"Can you walk," asked the man Vidnavi had been imprisoned with.

She pushed away from his concern and after the newcomer.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


"It is not a trap!" Gerdan shot back, irritated enough to raise his voice.

"The Lord Commander is no friend of ours,"[/i] came the reply.

"Merece is…I vouch for her. Am I your enemy?" Gerdan said, and scowled into the night.

This debate was past them, or so he thought. If it wasn't, why were they here now? And why had they agreed to meet on the morrow?

"She is the Lord Commander's wife," persisted his companion and Gerdan ground his teeth.

"And I tell you, were it not for her, I woulda swung for those fires a few years back. She's like us."

"You said she dumped you in Edhellond."

Aye, well she had, with a lovely couple and an apprenticeship as a baker as well. As if he could just bake bread and pastries for the rest of his life.

"She had work to do. Important business," Gerdan said.

"Assassinating the usurper and look how that turned out! I say it's a load of-"

"Hsst! Movement ahead!"

Gerdan gave off arguing and shimmied forward to reach his cousin. Mardil favoured him with a dark, ill-pleased glare that was partly due to what Mardil deem poor discipline and partly due to the fact that he was rubbing shoulders with partisans. He squinted at the alley ahead. It was soupy with fog from the river and aside from rats and the street cats that hunted them, abandoned. Or so he thought initially, until a pile of rubbish proved to be moving.

Someone crawled across the alley. Gerdan exchanged a look with Mardil and the two cousins warily padded out, weapons drawn. It was only when they were closer that they realised that the rubbish was a woman in a dress crawling painfully across the alley. She looked up at their arrival, fearful and Gerdan recognised her immediately as did Mardil. Both cousins stooped to collect up Marece just as a large mass loomed in the thick fog.

"Lord Commander?" Mardil asked, startled, as a man bent over Marece.

"Get us out of here," Halvarin hissed, "Fast."

[elora]

Harlond ~ January 1443

Halvarin found, upon emerging, that the air had warmed considerably since he had been taken. The soupy fog arose from the ground over the lingering remnants of all the earlier snowfall. Halvarin was grateful for the heavy, damp air. It aided them in slipping out from Harlond's Old Quarter undetected. The rainfall along with the melting snow made the streets slippery and treacherous, and it was soon evident to him that his wife required aid, and swiftly. All was in chaos, it seemed. He and Mardil, putative representatives of Castamir, were surrounded by Eldacarian partisans.

If that was not dire enough, should the night's raid on Castamir's Black Scouts be discovered, they would all be in great peril. Discovery would rest upon one thing, or so Halvarin thought to himself; whether Canimir and his men had acted of their own accord. If their actions had been at the behest of one of Castimir's Ministers, or indeed the Usurper himself, then their doom was all be certain.

All of this tumbled through Halvarin's mind as they struggled into a place suitable for a temporary pause. Amarwen had said nothing in this time, struggling to keep pace. She was weakening fast and once they had stopped she sank to the ground without a sound, hunched over. Halvarin kneeled beside her and placed a hand upon her back. She was shaking violently beneath his touch. He looked up to find Mardil peering at him. His adjutant perceived something was gravely amiss and wheeled about to issue commands.

These commands fell on deaf ears, few of the partisans inclined to accept his authority and the one able to command them now curled into a ball on the ground. Something had to be done, and soon, and so Mardil looked to Gerdan. His cousin blinked at him and gathered his thoughts.

"In dark times are friends found in unexpected places. Though our new friend be the Lord Commander of the North, an agent of the Usurper, know that he once held the command of Osgiliath. And there, he laboured to keep the Usurper's hand from crushing it."

"And how do you know this?" came the challenge.

Gerdan pointed at Marece, "Marece told me so."

"Well she might say so. She's his wife!" someone else countered and the partisans nodded to each other, dubious.

A woman near the back of the group spoke up, "That is Marece. I knew her when she worked the inn, there is no treachery in her heart!"

A murmur flowed through the partisans, and Halvarin could not be certain if it was ominous or not.

"Is it? Is that Marece?" came the inevitable questions and Gerdan nodded to himself

"Aye," he replied and glanced to Mardil, "And were it not for her, I would have swung for the Harlond Fires with the other four."

The mood of the partisans shifted at this confirmation for Gerdan had told his tale more than once since he and Marece had parted ways. A good many men and women had heard him speak of a woman, as dangerous as she was fair, labouring to bring down the usurper at the behest of Eldacar. He'd told his cousin, Mardil, too though he'd not been so foolish as to use her name with him. Mardil had scoffed, dismissing it as a folly as well he might, but now his incredulity had faded. Mardil looked up from Marece's crumpled form and his eyes locked with Gerdan. Now, he saw, his cousin believed him.

A woman, the one that had spoken of knowing Marece from before, pushed through the press and came forward to tend to her. She had to shoo Halvarin away so that she could examine Marece. With effort, the woman managed to move Marece onto her back. In the shifting, uncertain light of their lanterns, her skin was pale and damp with sweat. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes flickering. The woman tore at her sleeve and used the scrap to dab at Marece's damp face as she studied the stricken woman. Her gaze swept down over the scandalous dress and her eyes flared when she marked how skirts appeared darker. She reached a hand to touch the fabric and found it damp. When she pulled her fingers back to examine them, she closed her eyes and shook her head sorrowfully.

To have soaked through so much fabric, without any rent suggesting a knife wound, there was but one conclusion she could reach. The woman looked up to where Halvarin watched on.

"I am sorry, Lord Commander. The child she carried is lost."

Halvarin's eyes widened as colour washed from his face. The woman realised, then, that the Lord Commander had not known. She looked away and back to Marece.

"Any exertion now could induce further blood loss and she is already weak."

"There is no time to rest here," Mardil blurted out, unaware of how harsh his words might seem, "We must get to Minas Anor!"

Halvarin sank again to his knees and softly brushed his wife's cheek, "Gerdan, have you have a way to get us to Minas Anor quickly?"

"A tanner I know of will make for the markets this morning. You can hide in his wagon unseen," Gerdan replied and that was that.

Mardil and Gerdan found themselves remaining with the partisans so as to organise them further as best they could. Just before dawn, Halvarin and Marece were settled into the tanner's wagon and covered with his skins. The wagon lurched into a swaying, juddering roll as the tanner set out for the day's markets.

Once that had been done, the two cousins found themselves the focus of the gathered partisans. Some still voiced dissent.

"It is common knowledge that the usurper's informants are in the ranks of Eldacar's supporters. Killing a few of his Black Scouts is hardly the end of this. They will seek to avenge this and when that comes, and it will, we are all in danger. Each and every one of us!"

Gerdan swallowed, for this was impossible to counter, but the man was not done.

"I agree that we must unite, lest we be picked off one by one…but in knowing of each other, we place each each other in danger. And meeting like this?" the man threw up his arms and shook his head, his meaning clear.

"Such meetings are not called carelessly and witless! The need was dire, as you all saw," Gerdan retorted, but there were still some who agreed with the man.

Gerdan sighed and glanced to his cousin. He was surprised to see Mardil was himself preparing to speak.

"All of us must know that to oppose Castamir is itself inherently dangerous," he returned and cocked a brow, "Or did you all think you could do this safely from your own homes, tucked away before your fires with a meal filling your bellies and ale in hand?"

This was a dangerous ploy, Gerdan thought, but potentially a useful one for it revealed the man's argument as facile. But Mardil was not done with that.

He turned about, eyeing all he could see around him, "Whilst it is dangerous for you, consider the Lord Commander and his wife. They must feign loyalty to Castamir! They must smile, rub elbows, chatter pleasantly with the very people you quite rightly fear. If just one of you is a spy for the usurper, or known to one of his spies, they and all of us are doomed! One stray word, one mistimed glance may be all that is required to bring it all tumbling down."

Gerdan held his breath, waiting for someone to speak up and say that is precisely what they should do - bring down the Lord Commander and Marece so as to remove anyone who might be able to identify them as partisans. That call, though, did not come. Not now, at least, and so Gerdan took up the address once more.

"We are, all of us, Gondorians. Working for the good of our realm. With the Lord Commander and his lady wife returned to Minas Anor, they will resume their work to return our true king to our throne. And we will work with them. For Eldacar! For Gondor!"

There was a general agreement among the partisans, and Gerdan worked at giving each group a code name. He had devised a cypher that could be used to contact each other, and he gave all this to Mardil before he set out with speed to Minas Anor.


~ ~ ~


When they broke free of the cells, the Viper headed off with the others and Vidnavi followed until she could no longer keep up. She was startled when the man returned and struggled when he made to carry her. She did not trust him in the least and he was forced to set her down, glancing over his shoulder in the direction the others had fled.

"Lass, I saw you drinking tea when I came in. I was told you looked for me, and I counted my blessings that one so fair searched me out. I am sorry I could not stop them."

Vidnavi eyed him suspiciously as he set her back onto her feet.

"We must cover what happened here this night," he said as he returned his attention to Vidnavi, "Take Marece's horse and ride fast for Minas Anor. The Lord Commander and his wife will be there soon enough I suspect. I will make sure there is nothing to be found here to be followed."

Loathe as she was to trust him, Vidnavi had no desire to be found still on site should anyone come looking for the men that had captured her. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led outside by the Viper and to a horse. Then, weakened by her sustained captivity, Vidnavi endured the ignominy of being assisted onto the horse.

"Go" hissed the Viper, slapping the horse's rump. When Vidnavi peered back she found he had vanished.

She straightened and hunkered down, hoping that she could trust to the fog to shroud her and her cropped, blonde hair.


~ ~ ~

It was a grey foggy morning when Halvarin and Amarwen approached the gates of Minas Anor. At about the same time, both Mardil and Vidnavi overtook them. Halvarin had Vidnavi join Amarwen in the wagon, and he climbed onto the bench beside the tanner with an old cloak he had found in the skins thrown over his shoulders. Mardil continued on alone, easily able to pass through the city gates due to his rank and position. The Lord Commander's adjutant kept all manner of odd hours and his presence was not particularly noteworthy now. Had the morning guard arrived to relieve the previous watch, the tanner and his wagon might have known more exact scrutiny. As it was, the guards let them through with only cursory questioning.

With that hurdle surpassed, they next had to gain the Lord Commander's residence unmarked and hope that Sarael was there. In the skins, Vidnavi squirmed uncomfortably.

"Keep still," Halvarin hissed but the Shieldmaiden poked her head up enough to be heard.

"She's afire!"

Halvarin's jaw tensed at that but there was nothing that could be done just now.

"Keep still," he repeated through his teeth and Vidnavia subsided, muttering unhappily to herself in Rhovanion.

Halvarin guided the tanner up through the levels of the city, the wagon's wheels loud over the cobbled stones of the streets at that early hour, until they gained the Lord Commander's residence on the sixth level. Instead of pulling up at the front door, which he was all but certain was watched, he had the tanner make for the rear courtyard. It was here that wagons came, though not normally at so early an hour, to unload various supplies and provender for the residence.

As they pulled in, the rear door that led into the kitchen was abruptly pulled open. Halvarin braced himself for a berating from one of the household staff, knowing that the early hour would be looked upon kindly. Sarael filled the doorway, the thunderous scowl on her face replaced by one of powerful relief when she espied Halvarin's face under the tanner's old cloak. She sped forward towards the wagon and her expression shifted again into joy as skins were peeled back to reveal Amarwen. That joy, however, faltered when Sarael took in Amarwen's state and she blinked when Vidnavi materialised.

Mardil, who had ridden in with them, swung out of his saddle. He hurried Vidnavi out of the wagon and in through the kitchen door whilst Halvarin and Sarael aided Amarwen within. Halvarin noted that Mardil had aided the shieldmaiden as far as the kitchen where she had promptly sat on the bench, refusing to be aided further.

"We are in grave danger still, Mardil. I need you at my office as soon as you can manage. Search it. Determine what, if anything, has been taken," Halvarin ordered him and Mardil nodded, jerkily.

"And what of you?" he asked.

"I will come as soon as I may, after sunrise," Halvarin said as Sarael adjusted her hold on Amarwen.

Another nod from Mardil and he was on his way. Halvarin turned to study his adjutant's departure. He still was not confident he knew the true nature of Mardil's loyalties.

"M'lord," Sarael prompted and Halvarin turned back to find the maid struggling to keep Amarwen upright.

Together, they saw Amarwen laid abed, Sarael clucking her tongue sadly as Halvarin briefly relayed what little he knew.

Sarael said quietly with a shake of her head, "Had I known that she was with child…"

Halvarin's jaw feathered at the discovery that Sarael herself had not known. He shook a head too full with too many questions and not enough answers. It was then they heard Mindacil stir, his uncanny ability to sense his mother's presence not failing him this morning. Sarael wiped a hand over her face.

"That boy has been unable to settle all night," she exclaimed as she pulled the covers up over Amarwen and stepped back to scoop up what was left of her gown.

"Bring him here," Halvarin said and Sarael paused a moment, studying him, before she nodded and hastened from the bedroom.

He hoped she'd burn that blood soaked dress. Sarael soon returned with a restless, over tired Mindacil who did not brighten at all upon sight of his father. Instead, Mindacil seemed most wroth with his father's protracted absence. Halvarin tried to settle his son but Mindacil would have none of it and the sound of his malcontent was disturbing Amarwen.

"I will take him," Sarael said but Halvarin shook his head and instead followed his instinct to lay his son beside his mother.

This appeared to calm Amarwen and Mindacil both and Halvarin stepped back, uncertain of what he should say or do next. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides for a long moment.

"Will you remain, my Lord," Sarael asked as he studied his wife and son.

He knew that the sooner he rejoined Mardil in his office the better. A child, their child, had been lost this night. Son or daughter. He would never know their laughter, their smile, or the colour of their eyes. A ponderous grief stirred within him. To appear as though if nothing had happened was the best thing to do right now, all the while measuring reactions. The Black Scouts were right in one thing, there were spies in his ministry, and he would be evermore watchful, for he would discover them. For all of that, there were more pressing matters. The notion of leaving now was one he could not stomach.

Sarael hastened away for the door, her woollen skirts whispering with movement.

"Sarael?" he called after her, already shedding his jacket, "I want that dress burned."

"Yes, my Lord," she answered from the door and closed it softly after her.


~ ~ ~


Minas Ithil ~ January 1443…


There was little Aldamir could do to relieve the suffering of Vilna. Her sister's disappearance had left her despondant and this grief had rendered her nearly useless for field work. He kept her at Minas Ithil, where he could keep a close eye on her, but beyond that Aldamir did not know what else could be done. He sent Helda out, of course, to locate Vidnavi but this was fraught with danger. He feared losing another Shieldmaiden and so, when Helda was unable to locate anything of use, he called off any search a month later.

Vilna, though, refused to accept this. She said she could feel that her sister yet lived and used the idle winter days, constrained to Minas Ithtil, to strengthen her injured leg. Winter passed slowly and with it, Vilna's faith that her sister lived. Still, Vilna continued to train for it kept the blackness of her grief at bay. She would never walk normally again, she knew, but this did not mean she could not find a way to turn her injury to her advantage.

For his part, Aldamir took to working with her when he was not busy consolidating his father's former troops in Minas Ithil. With so much at stake, Aldamir knew he had little time to assist Vilna. Thus, when the season turned and the weather warmed enough to render the roads passable once more, he had little recourse but to return Vilna to Rhovanion. This left Helda with him now, his lone Shieldmaiden. Redoubtable, highly skilled, tough as hide and only as disciplined as she decided she wished to be in any given moment.

[elora]

Minas Anor ~ February 1443


It was late when Halvarin returned home. Three days had passed, each of them long and gruelling as he struggled with his grief and his fear. Amarwen knew little of this time, weakened and fevered, but Sarael saw it all. The Lord Commander would leave before dawn, calling in on the nursery to take in his sleeping son, and then remain away until midnight. Again he would stop in to look upon Mindacil and it was here Sarael found him now. Halvarin was so preoccupied with his son that he did not seem to be aware of her arrival. Yet, he spoke to her, dispelling any notion that he did not know she was there.

"How fares-" he was so weary he almost named Amarwen by her true name. Halvarin recovered just in time, "How fares my wife?"

Sarael's fingers wound together, sorrowful, "Stronger each day, m'Lord. She-"

She paused, bowing her head, and at this Halvarin gave off from watching his son's slumber in his cradle to approach Sarael where she stood in the door of the nursery.

"Speak freely, Sarael," he said and, head still bowed, she grimaced before she looked up and into Halvarin's face.

He looked so…forlorn and anguished. She swallowed thickly.

"M'Lady asks for you, m'Lord."

Halvarin pressed out a sigh and nodded. He wiped a hand over his face.

"Of course," he said, gathering himself visibly before Sarael, "I will go to her now."

Tears welled up in Sarael's eyes as she watched the Lord Commander wearily trudge down the hall. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and then pulled the nursery door to. Should Mindacil wake, the wet-nurse she had arranged would see to him.

Halvarin carefully pushed the door open to his bedroom. The hearth was well alight, tended so that it would last well into the night. The air within was warm. Aside from the crackle of the fire, it was also quiet. He slipped past the door and closer to the bed. Amarwen was asleep, a book lay over her chest. It slowly rose and fell with her breath. Her hair was spread like a black cloud over the snowy expanse of their pillows. He could see from the flutter of her long, dark lashes, that his wife slept. And dreamed. Every now and again, a loose hand resting atop the spread book twitched, fingers curling and then releasing.

He padded closer and gently removed the book. Second Age poetry, he saw and smiled. Amarwen had a fondness for the works of the newly flourishing court of the Noldor at that time. She had chased him when they were children, tormenting him with verse and laughing with such delight at his protests and groans. That memory of their childhood made Halvarin smile fondly before he knew it and it felt both wonderful and strange, as if his face was moving in ways it had not done so for some time.

Book set aside, Halvarin readied himself for bed as he had done so these three days passed. Umarked. He slipped under the weight of the bedding and drew towards Amarwen, again as he had done since their return. She shifted, somehow sensing his presence, and uttered something too soft and rapid for him to make sense of. Then she turned to her side and presented her back to him. All of this was as it had been, save in one respect. Instead of pulling away, Amarwen pressed back until she had fitted herself against him.

Halvarin caught his breath, startled by how much this meant to him. Amarwen sought him out. She sought him out. The weight of this settled over him, pressed into him and he drank it in. Thirsty for it. For her. For this. He slid his arm under her neck. She stirred again, murmured. He could not make sense of it, but she sounded like she was irritated, mildly. Then she adjusted herself and was still once more. He folded his other arm over her warmth, so careful not to wake her. Then slowly, so slowly, he felt himself sink. Warm, the scent of Amarwen's skin drawn deep into his lungs as he pressed his face to her shoulder. Sleep rushed up to claim him in a way it had not done for days. He surrendered to it gladly. Beyond this moment, nothing mattered any more.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Amarwen knew nothing of her initial return from the Harlond. She recalled the Viper handing her a knife and she remembered how she had staggered as best she could, the pain building, to keep watch. After that, it was all in jagged pieces until had woken in her own bed, staring at the canopy overhead and listening to the sound of Sarael rustling around the room. Since then, Amarwen had been beset with demands that she rest, that she heal. As if such a thing were possible. As for Halvarin, he left before dawn and returned late or Sarael told her. She did not know herself, for Halvarin had taken to sleeping in the nursery.

And so the days had trickled by, minute by aching minute, with little more to occupy her thoughts beyond worry. Worry over what was unfolding in the wake of their action that night. Worry that they had been compromised, fatally exposed. Worst of all was her creeping fear that Halvarin's absence was the result of anger…and he had every right to be angry. With her, with what he had been dragged into because of her, for what she had done to win his freedom and the terrible price paid.

Sarael, of course, assured her that this was not so. She said that Halvarin was busy, unable to set his duties aside no matter how badly he might wish to. But as the days and nights had passed, Sarael's assurances were not equal to the doubt racing through nearly every thought in Amarwen's head.

Last night, Sarael had tried to calm Amarwen with one of her favourite books of poetry, one her mother had read to her as a child. She had uttered gentle reassurances that all was not lost and yet again urged Amarwen to rest. Left to consider another long, lonely night, Amarwen had wept until she could weep no more and then, unable to sleep, had cracked open the book Sarael had brought to her. This was the last she recalled until now.

Amarwen closed her eyes again, reluctant to move and dispel this dream she found herself in. That was what this had to be, she thought, for there could be no forgiveness for what she had done. She swallowed and opened her eyes. Halvarin lay on his back, one arm flung over his head and the other looped under her. His hand rested on the slope of her waist and she watched his chest expand and shrink with each steady breath. Her hand was on his chest, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heart under her palm.

Tears prickled, for she missed him so keenly that it was a physical pain. Yet, what she might do to draw him back to her she did not know. And so she was left with this. His ghost, as real as the dull grey morning unfolding beyond the window, and yet impossible. For there was no forgiveness for what she had done and well did she know it.

Amarwen awoke again with a start, unaware that she had fallen asleep once more. Groggy, she tried to shake her mind free of its slowness.

"I have missed you so," Halvarin's words, the timbre of his voice, the rumble of his chest as he spoke did what she could not.

Bleariness fell away from her in an instant and she tilted her head to look up. Halvarin returned her study and she felt his arm flex under her.

"That being said, I can no longer feel my arm." he remarked.

With a hasty apology, Amarwen scrambled to move herself out of the way.

"Where are you going? Not so fast!" Halvarin remarked as he caught her once more.

Her breath caught in her throat as he drew her atop him. Her heart pounded in her throat as his hands stroked her tangled hair and then cupped her face.

"I am so sorry," Amarwen blurted and then closed her eyes at the flimsy sound of her quivering words. What was the point of this? There was nothing she could do to make this right again.

"You're shaking," Halvarin said and wrapped his arms to clasp her against him, "Oh my love, hush."

A sob hiccupped out of her, his tenderness striking her more deeply than any arrow might.

"I- I-"

"Shhhh….there is time enough for that…for now, I just need this. You."

And so she relented and allowed herself to settle into Halvarin until his heart beat into her ear and inexorably tugged her towards sleep.

"Must you leave today?" she asked.

"No, Ami," Halvarin answered, his own voice catching in his throat, "I will not leave you today."

A profound sign leaked out of her and she burrowed her face into his chest, pressing her lips against his skin.

"I love you," she whispered, profoundly grateful, and his arms tightened around her.

"My darling," Halvarin replied, emotion crowding him, but already he could feel Amarwen slipping back into the realms of sleep.

When Sarael peeked through the door and into the bedroom at mid morning, she heard the sound of breathing. Discretely, she glanced over to the bed and sure enough she saw the Lord Commander and his lady wife wrapped together, slumbering peacefully. A smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle and beneath that, a sense of relief. The worst had to be behind them now. She was sure of it.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Vidnavi looked up at the sound of movement and caught sight of Amarwen of Edhellond as she entered the parlour. It had been years since Vidnavi had last seen this noblewoman. She remembered the last encounter clearly for the young aristocrat had been full of vitality. A bright smile, a sharp wit and a keen eye for archery. That youthful innocence was now spent. The aristocrat that approached had been transformed into something dangerous and powerful.

She had to wonder at how she had settled the account between herself and Aldamir. Her husband, Halvarin, had said that Vilna was safe but what if that was a lie. What if Aldamir, Helda and Vilna had been murdered and that was why they had not come for her. What if this noblewoman, once betrothed to Aldamir and now married to a Castamirian Guild Officer, was their traitor. That, certainly, had been Helda's assessment.

"You look as bored as I," the noblewoman said without disassembly and Vidnavi nodded warily.

"They insist that I rest," Vidnavi replied, "But it is inactivity that has left me so weak!"

"Veritable house arrest," Amarwen said with a sigh as she took a seat and studied the hands in her lap.

"How did this happen?" Vidnavi asked, deliberately keeping her question broad.

Amarwen looked up at her and then to the door. She wiped a hand over her face and sighed again.

"I suspect the White Tree was attacked because the Prince was recognised. And once the White Tree was razed," she shook her head wearily from side to side, "The partisans decided they needed to strike at the Lord Commander, for it was he they blamed for the fire. In turn Castimir's spies swung into action for they saw the opportunity to mop up the partisans once and for all and close a wound opened since the Harlond fires."

"Fires you started," Vidnavi observed and Amarwen looked away from her.

"Approved by Eldacar and Aldamir both," she replied, "But yes, set in motion by my hand."

Vidnavi was silent and in time Amarwen's gaze returned to her hands. It was something that Vidnavi had noted in her time spent recovering in the Lord Commander's residence. Amarwen would stare at her hands, sometimes for quite a while.

"Those spies, they took me," Vidnavi said and this broke Amarwen's scrutiny of her fingers, "Where are they now?"

"Those of Minas Anor and the Harlond are dead - mostly by the Viper's hand."

Vidnavi grunted at that for it had been the Viper she had been searching for when she was taken. She was not sure now whether she was grateful or angry with him. Perhaps both.

"How did you track him down?" Vidnavi asked and watched Amarwen's gaze lock on a bookshelf.

"I knew of him from my earlier time in Minas Anor," she said, referring to the initial years she had spent working to orchestrate Eldacar's network of resistance, "In the end, I had what he wanted."

"And what was that?"

Amarwen shook her head, unwilling to answer, and Vidnavi found herself wondering just how many secrets this woman had. And whether it would ever be possible to unravel them all. She wanted to get out of this place and return to her sister.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The Harlond - March 1443


The Viper shook his head at the woman and told her, "Can't be done. That husband of hers has the city locked down tighter than a fish's ar-"

"His adjutant will bring her to you," the woman said and then leaned back in her chair, "Though, if you say it can't be done then perhaps you are no longer the man you used to be."

The Viper drew in a breath and then smiled. This woman was not the partisan she would have him believe her to be. Her response was too akin to something Aldamir's woman might say. This woman was far deeper in her mistress' counsel than any partisan would be. The woman had slipped, revealed herself. He would have to look into that further, and carefully for Aldamir's woman would not take kindly to him sniffing around her people and this woman, whoever she was, was so skilled that he had believed her to be the partisan she claimed to be for weeks now.

Pushing that aside, he turned his attention to the other thing she had said. The Shieldmaid would be accompanied by the Lord Commander's adjutant himself. Two birds, he thought to himself, and he was the stone. Getting the shieldmaid to Minas Ithil unmarked would be difficult but...then, that way did his trail lie in any case. With the full blessing of Aldamir's woman, in fact. Her only requirement had been that he replace any he killed with people she could call on later, when it suited her.

"What am I to do with the adjutant?" he asked.

"She trusts you will choose wisely," the woman replied, though something about her seemed strained.

Choose wisely, eh? That could mean opening his neck for him at the first opportunity or letting him wander off back to Minas Anor and the service of her husband. The Viper grimaced as he realised what this was. This was her price for the fun he'd been having. This was mop up duty and he hated mop up duty.

"I hope she does not come to rue that latitude," he remarked, for it would not be on him if he made the wrong choice.

"There will be nowhere for you to hide if she does," the woman promised with a smile.

The Viper scowled for he knew Aldamir's woman had a reach that was wide and powerful. He threw down three coins, enough for the tea, and stalked off.

Sarael stared at the copper coins on the table and then closed her eyes. It was done. If Mardil proved treacherous, he would die. She washed a hand over her face, rose from her chair and set about quitting this place as quickly as she could, her mind troubled and heart heavy.

[elora]

Rhovanion borderlands- March 1443


Vilmaith and Vinyarion had laboured throughout winter to prepare the roads that would carry the King in Exile south. They left a small amount of forest to hide the roads from scouts of Gondor and aside from those working on the roads, no one bar the King and Prince Aldamir knew of their work. Scouts came and went from Gondor, most allied to their cause for otherwise they would have been waylaid or turned back well before. Word would come to those making the roads of any who might approach for their secrecy required careful sentries. When it did, Vilmaith who held the command of the eastern bank of the Anduin would come forth to watch who was passing.

And so, on a blustery February day, Vilmaith found herself watching a party of three. Two men, clad in the manner of Gondorian Rangers flanked a woman who limped between them. It was an unusual sight indeed and Vilmaith's eyes narrowed as she debated whether to let them pass as the others had. As she debated, the trio grew ever closer until finally Vilmaith recognised one of their number. The hair was different but she would recognise that face anywhere.

She ran forward out of the cover of the tree with a sudden cry.

"Vilna? Vilna!"

Yet as she Vilmaith ran to embrace her shield sister, Vilna did not respond. Her arms hung limply at her sides and, troubled, Vilmaith took Vilna from the Rangers and aided her from the track to sit on a nearby fallen tree. She cupped Vilna's face between her hands and peered into eyes that were red with fatigue and dull with despair.

"Oh Vilna…" she whispered, dismayed.

"Vidnavi is lost…" Vilna replied, her voice shaking and one of her hands rose to grasp Vilmaith's outstretched forearm, "First Rhinnin, now Vidnavi lost. I am crippled… only you and Helda remain of our sisterhood of Eldacar."

"Vidnavi is dead? How?" Vilmaith asked, the very thought of it striking grief like a stone struck against steel.

She brushed the dyed dark locks away from Vilna's face as the other woman's eyes closed briefly and then reopened to search Vilmaith's face.

"I felt her spirit break. If she is not dead, then she is broken. I can feel her no longer."

This admission shocked Vilmaith and she held Vilna close. They were quiet for a time as Vilmaith tried to sort through her thoughts. How was it possible to break the bond between Vilna and Vidnavi? The twin sisters had always been inseparable. Who could break Vidnavi for she was one of the strongest of them all? What had been done? Where were the others? Where was Aldamir and Helda? Were they also in peril? Had they perished too?

Vilmaith kissed Vilna softly on the cheek and stood up. Vilna was lost, perhaps the others were too, but she would not surrender the charge and fall into despair. The softness of her expression faded into something harder as she gazed down at Vilna.

"Shieldsister of Eldacar, now is not the time for despair! Awake! I have need of you!"

Vilna looked up at her in time to discover Vilmath's hand swinging fast to strike her cheek. She recoiled, glaring at Vilmaith who promptly moved to slap Vilna's other cheek. Her hand rose, fingers shaking, as anger stirred in Vilna and when Vilmath moved to slap her a third time, Vilna's hand intercepted the other woman. Her fingers closed around Vilmaith's wrist and she stood to drag Vilmaith towards her hard. Face to face they were, the two shieldmaidens breathing hard as they stared down at each other.

"Will you whimper more, Vilna, or will you avenge your sister?" Vilmaith asked her.

Vilna's lip curled in a sneer that faded at the mention of vengeance. Her grip on Vilmaith's wrist began to ease as that sank in and when she released her hand, Vilmaith nodded her satisfaction.

"My shieldsister has returned," she said, closing her other hand on Vilna's shoulder.

Vilna made to shake her off as she turned aside, head lowering. A shudder of emotion rippled through her and when she raised her head again tears shone on her face. There was spirit in Vilna's eyes once more and though Vilmaith said nothing on it, she thought that perhaps the same might be accomplished with Vidnavi. If the woman yet lived.


~ ~ ~


Minas Anor- March 1443


Halvarin was dismayed to find that he had erected a barrier around him in his grief that held everyone at bay. He walled himself in behind all that had occurred since he had been taken. All his fears, all the taunts, all that he feared Amarwen might have done to win his safety and the terrible price paid for it. But that night, as he held her soft warmth to him as they slept, brought to him a cascade of memories and dreams that had gathered over the years. Dreams of this, memories of yearning for this and fearing that it would never come to pass. Fears that it was impossible.

Difficult as this was for him to admit, Halvarin realised that night that the distance he had cultivated was nothing new. He had seen it time and again before now, in his own father. The wedge he was driving between them could very well become a permanent feature, the bedrock of their marriage, and that could never be. He loved Amarwen. He had done so for years now, longer than he had yet to admit to her in truth, and would always love her to the end of his days. He would not be the man his father was. He wanted this soft warmth filling his arms and heart, not that cold, chilly distance with so many empty hours with naught but his fears.

So it was that Halvarin set to rebuilding. It was difficult to do, for often he found himself having to set aside anger, guilt and remorse. He made a point of not leaving quite so early in the day and returning in the dusk. It set the entire household into something of a flux as they adjusted to this new schedule but he could see Amarwen respond and that was all that mattered to him.

No longer did he collapse into bed beside her on the point of exhaustion and so there were nights Halvarin desired Amarwen greatly. Yet he held himself in check, aware that his wife would choose the moment, when she was ready, for such joys. He held her close, stroked the soft skin of her belly, brushing the sweet lower curve of her breasts, and reflected on just how fortunate Mindacil was. Halvarin would fall asleep on such thoughts, his face burrowed in Amarwen's ebony hair, and daylight would find them still entwined.

So it was, nearing the end of February, he awoke to find his wife no longer lay beside him nestled in his arms. Instead, she sat above him and she was sliding herself over his unabashed harness. It was this sensation, this gentle sinuous motion that had woken him from a very similar dream indeed. Taken by surprise at his wakefulness, and Halvarin briefly wondered if he had ever slept through something like this before, Amarwen paused. He reached up for her, and sank his fingers through the weight of black hair at the nape of her neck.

He pulled her down towards him to claim her mouth as another hand slipped down over her hips and pressed her hard against him. She ground harder, his message clear to her, and Halvarin found himself straining to hold himself back. Grazing her lower lip he released her head and Amarwen rose again. She braced her weight on his chest and began to bounce, faster and faster until he could resist no longer. Halvarin's restraint broke in a hoarse cry of release, his hips bucking as he emptied himself into her and Amarwen collapsed atop him. Halvarin wrapped his arms around his panting wife, their racing hearts slowing until they both fell into a sated doze.

A brief morning nap, it seemed to Halvarin, when Sarael came to see if all was well.

"Good morning Sarael," he said as the maid stole discretely into the bedchamber.

Amarwen's loose hair was draped over Halvarin's face but he could make the maid out between the thick strands. At the sound of his voice, Amarwen picked her head up. She sighed Sarael, offered her a sleepy smile and then her eyes closed as her head dropped once more. She did not move from her position atop Halvarin.

"Good afternoon, m'lord and lady," Sarael said with some emphasis, "Mindacil has been good all morning while you…. rested but he grows restless now. Do you wish me to bring him in?"

Amarwen stirred at this and murmured assent as she nodded against Halvarin's shoulder.

"Please do, Sarael," Halvarin reaffirmed and Sarael turned away with a nod to see it done.

In the time it took to fetch their son, Amarwen had commenced to grumble about wet nurses.

"My mother never required one," she observed as she tied a robe around herself.

This was not the first Halvarin had heard her make such a remark and it troubled him.

"Your mother had not a rebellion to keep in check," he remarked as he tied his own robe closed.

"And a fine job I am doing of that, too," Amarwen muttered with a shake of her head but before Halvarin could respond Mindacil had arrived.

Halvarin took his son from Sarael and pressed a kiss to the boy's plump cheeks. Mindacil was gracious enough to tolerate this but his intentions were no mystery to anyone. He was reaching for his mother and the bounty she could provide to him even as Halvarin drew back. Mindacil squirmed, almost strong enough now to crawl over to Amarwen, and so Halvarin passed the boy across to his wife. Once he was there, Mindacil settled immediately into place, eyes closing as he fed for now all was right with his world. Every time Amarwen shifted, flinching as the boy's emerging teeth were felt, Mindacil's eyes would flick open.

He stared up at his mother, and then at his father as Halvarin moved to hold them both in his arms. Once Mindacil was assured he was not going to be interrupted, his grey eyes closed and he wound himself as tightly as he could around Amarwen. Halvarin kissed Amarwen's hair and smiled as he closed his eyes. Even this was more than he had ever dared dream possible. He had his wife and a bouncing baby son.

Unseen by Amarwen or Halvarin, Sarael quietly quit the bedchamber. As she closed the door, she leaned against it with a smile. The dark cloud that had settled over this house appeared to be breaking up. Her mistress and master were back.

February gave way to March and whilst Halvarin was spending far more time at home with his family, he was far from idle. In the time he spent away from them at his duties, Halvarin worked to solidify his ministry. He went over his records and had reassigned any he could not be confident of. Those that seemed surprised by his return were the first to go. His subterfuge was that coin was scarce and a reduction in staff reduced costs and freed up funds for other important needs: like repairs to the city and food to address the shortages. Still, Amarwen cautioned him to greater subtlety and so Halvarin also reassigned some he knew to harbour sympathies for Eldacar.

By the close of February, Halvarin was confident that his position had been shored up. At the start of March, he assumed temporary control of Minas Anor's military and its local command when Beregil was summoned to a new position in Pelargir. This was an unexpected boon indeed, for Amarwen was finalising the ordering of the partisans in both Minas Anor and the Harlond both. A new safehouse was established and whatever she had the Viper up to could be managed once word reached Minas Anor. When Amarwen said that Halvarin did not want to know what the Viper was doing, he was inclined to believe her. Lest anyone mutter at Halvarin's actions in assuming military control, he had word sent to Castamir by the usual channels that he had done so. Lastly, Halvarin sent word by more private means to those entrusted with overseeing the estate and holding in Pelargir. It was important that they knew he was in good health despite rumours to the contrary.

As March came around, Halvarin's work had led to one unfortunate outcome. His doubts concerning Mardil had not abated since that grim night in the Harlond. He sent a message to Osgiliath to his old friend Michas who had recommended Mardil to him. The young man, despite having a keen interest in their house maid Sarael, also had other contacts in the city. Unfortunate contacts, as Amarwen confirmed when he spoke of this to her. This led, in turn, to Amarwen inviting Mardil to dinner. The matter had to be resolved, she said, one way or the other and Halvarin knew this to be true. Mardil knew too much to be left as a loose end. Over dinner, Amarwen asked him a series of seemingly benign questions. Idle dinner chatter to the unskilled observer and Mardil seemed at his ease.

Still, Halvarin watched his wife raise one dark brow at an all too refined answer to a question he had almost missed. He frowned as he recalled what it was his wife had asked his adjutant. A query, he realised, about something that had occurred just before they had been set upon at the Harlond. How was it, he wondered again, that Mardil had been left with little more than a scuffed uniform whilst his head had almost been cracked open? How was it that they had known where they would be? Mardil had access to Halvarin's schedule in a way no others did. And if Mardil was an agent of the Usurper, then they were all in grave peril. So many questions…they could not be left unanswered.

Amarwen brushed aside the dubious answer smoothly, her aristocratic training coming to the fore as she neatly directed conversation onto something else. Still, her gaze locked with Halvarin's down the table for a moment and he inclined his head. It had to be. Mardil had to be tested. His wife set her glass down and glanced to where Sarael, who had joined them for dinner this evening, sat. Sarael looked down into her lap for a moment and then back up at Amarwen. She inclined her head and it was done. Mardil would be tested.

When Mardil was leaving, Sarael escorted him to the door where they lingered outside for a time. Sarael liked Mardil, though not in a romantic way, and with the growing concern around his allegiances, she would do what was necessary for them when it came to Mardil. Just as her mistress had done, Sarael used Mardil's growing interest in her to keep him close. When he asked if she might see him one evening, just the two of them, Sarael agreed. Any information she might gain of the adjutant could prove valuable. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek as he left, causing him to pause.

He turned to look at her and Sarael blushed prettily, making sure he saw this before she drew back inside the door and closed it.

[elora]

Minas Tirith - March, 1443


Mardil was sure someone was watching him. The small patch of skin between his shoulder blades had been itching for weeks now. Yet every time he looked about all looked as it should. No one stared or lurked. There had been no pointed questions. When people started to be reassigned, Mardil thought he had been discovered but for some reason, the Lord Commander did not reassign him. Then had come the invitation to dinner. Not from Halvarin but his wife. His dangerous, deadly wife. The number of dead in her wake at the Harlond proved to Mardil that Lady Marece was perhaps one of the most dangerous individuals he had encountered. But dinner had gone well.

He had not been poisoned, stabbed or throttled. He had not been imprisoned or interrogated. Instead, he had been wined and dined and had he not been aware of Lady Marece's activities he would have been utterly charmed. Sarael had been the one undimmed pleasure of the evening and when she had agreed to see him again, the tension he had felt building over the past two months faded into something bearable. Sarael was kind and sweet and her loyalty to the Lady Marece was admirable, even if her mistress was not. There was an innocence to Sarael and Mardil hoped that the young maid could be spared. The only way that might accomplished, he had already reasoned, was if he was able to win her over and so he continued to seek ways to spend time with her.

Thus, when the tap on the Lord Commander's office door proved to be Sarael, Mardil was more than a little pleased late that afternoon. He smiled widely as the pretty maid slipped in.

"A pleasure unlooked for," Mardil said as he rose, glancing over his shoulder to Halvarin's office behind him.

It was empty, for the Lord Commander was attending to the new duties he had recently taken on. It was late enough in the afternoon that Halvarin would likely go home immediately once they had concluded. Such was the new schedule of the Lord Commander now. He knew this not because he was Halvarin's adjutant but because he had been studying the habits and behaviours of the Lord Commander since he had arrived at his command.

Whereas Mardil was certain Lady Marece was an active, powerful rebel and traitor, the Lord Commander's alliegances were more difficult to discern. It was still possible that the man was unaware of his wife's activities. She was a beautiful woman and he had seen her use that and her wit to bend powerful men to her bidding. She had been so artful with Canimir that he was certain that was not the first time she had done such a thing.

"I am pleased to find you here, Adjutant Mardil," Sarael replied, her shawl slipping from her shoulders as she smiled at him shyly.

Mardil's smile widened as he gestured at the papers spread over his desk, "No shortage of work to do. Something I know you appreciate all too well. Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Colour came to Sarael's cheeks at the question and she glanced to the floor before she nodded.

"I did, Mardil. Very much," she said, looking up and catching his eye.

His heart sped a little at her soft tone and he felt bold enough to ask, "Is that why you are here?"

Sarael looked away again, "I come with a message."

"The Lord Commander is not here," he replied, slightly deflated.

"The message I bear is not for him," Sarael said and looked up at Mardil again.

He nodded slowly, "Very well, then."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Harlond- March, 1443


He'd gotten the Shieldmaiden off to Minas Ithil, tucked in an empty barrel and rattling along in a wagon. She'd been none too pleased, of course, but beggars could not be choosers. Now there was this task. The Viper considered the young man that lay on the timbers of the lower deck of his river boat. Battered as it was, it was his and the notion of knocking in the hull and sinking it all on account of this treacherous child irked him. Still, Aldamir's woman had been clear and everything he had observed confirmed that the Lord Commander's adjutant was a worm. Choose wisely, she had said, and so here he was.

Sighing, he set checking the chains he had used to secure the worm to the boat. Once that was done, the Viper went in search of his axe. It was time to knock some holes in the hull. He was doing exactly that when he heard the creak of floorboards overhead. He emerged from the storage area, his axe in hand, to find a figure stood over the prone, senseless adjutant. He stared at the intruder's back, startled that the man had managed to get below so swiftly.

The Viper hefted his axe. All he needed was one good, clear swing. Whoever this fellow was, he'd made a mistake coming aboard his boat today. Room enough below decks for two corpses and once the river crabs and fish had their way, little would be recognisable of the bodies if the boat was salvaged. Mop up, he hated it because when mopping up, it never seemed to rain but pour.

But before he could swing, the intruder spoke.

"I hope you've not done anything hasty."

The Viper scowled for it was not a man at all.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked and Aldamir's woman chuckled.

Deep in the cowl of her cloak, her head turned briefly before she resumed her study of the adjutant.

"Change of plans?" the Viper inquired next.

"You might say that," Aldamir's woman replied and turned briefly towards him. She held out a hand and he scowled again before he passed over his axe.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Mardil awoke with a start, his throbbing skull the worst of his injuried. He found himself in a soft bed, pillows of down cushioning his painful head. He was warm, the bedding soft around him and the room he found himself in was lovely. Totally foreign to him but lovely. Beyond the crackling of the nearby hearth, Mardil could hear little else. Carefully, he turned his head on the luxuriant pillows to the chief source of light. Sunlight tried to push through the window, weakened by the stiff and dolorous clouds of late winter beyond.

No matter, for the thin grey light was bolstered by the warmth of the hearth and several lanterns he could see set in strategic locations around the room. Returning his gaze to the creamy ceiling, he tried to assemble his recollections. They wavered. Harlond. A Shieldmaiden. A boat. His stomach turned just as he heard the door latch shift. Mardil tensed as Sarael slid into the room.

He blinked at her, astonished. Over her arm was draped a towel and she carried this over to a chair he had already marked bore fresh clothing. His clothing.

"Sarael," he said, his voice raw and husked.

Sarael did not pause at the sound of her name. She laid the towel over the back of the chair, gathered herself and turned about to face him. Her expression was inscrutable and her hands were folded before her.

"You will have questions," she said, statement and not a query.

Mardil struggled to push himself upright.

"Where am I? How did I get here? What's-"

"You will have questions and they will be answered," Sarael pushed on, "When you are ready, rise and dress."

"But where I am?" Mardil pressed, the covers dropping to reveal that he had been stripped.

Sarael did not blink nor flush but Mardil grabbed for the covers.

"You are safe," she replied, pausing for that to sink in, "And there are few who can claim that. Please, Mardil, consider carefully."

There was a note of plea in her voice and her eyes remained gravely locked on his. Sarael paused, looked aside and then made for the door.

"When you are ready," she said as she opened it again.

"Sarael!" Mardil called but she did not linger.

He was soon left to his own devices. The adjutant stared at the chair. On the nearby table was a wide bowl that held a jug. Presumably for him to freshen himself. He frowned, the action making his head ache worse as his forehead compressed. Sighing, he pushed the covers back and swung his legs over the edge of his comfortable bed. There was no sense of delaying what seemed inevitable. However, if whoever was behind this thought he was defeated, he would prove this wrong.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Amarwen reached for the steaming pot of tea and lifted it. Mardil had yet to surface but she was confident in Sarael's assessment. He would not linger overlong. She filled one porcelain cup with the fragrant liquid within. Then she moved to fill another just as the door opened to reveal Mardil. He had dressed and peered at her and scowled. In response, Amarwen smiled to herself and lifted the tea pot so that the tea fell in a smooth cascade.

There was toast on the table too. Fresh butter and beautifully bitter sweet marmalade. The eggs and bacon would not be far off, she knew. Bacon. Very hard to find. Very expensive when you succeeded. But worth it for this, she felt.

Still scowling, her husband's adjutant pushed forward past the threshold and towards her.

"I have nothing to say to you," he informed her and Amarwen nodded.

She gestured at the toast, "Good - for that will not stay warm forever."

Amarwen pushed one of the filled cups towards him as he fell into a chair, "Lemon or cream?"

Sour enough to rival any lemon, Mardil reached for the honey instead. As she watched him dribble this into his tea, Amarwen reflected on a joke she would have shared with Halvarin were he seated across from her. Catching herself in this, she looked down and saw her hands. Her hands. Squeezing the life out of-

"What do you want?"

Mardil's question interrupted her as the best possible time, "I want you, like the rest of the people of Gondor, to survive this ruin and upheaval."

"You sow ruin and upheaval."

Amarwen sighed, "As do you Mardil, for you serve two masters."

Mardil set down his cup of tea.

"Sarael…she is fond of you. And I am fond of Sarael."

"Am I to thank you?"

Amarwen's smile was sad, "No. For I will ask of you no more than you already do."

Mardil frowned, "I don't understand."

"We both, I think, work to see the people of Gondor served well. It matters not who sits the throne. Rather, it is what is done."

"Yes."

Amarwen nodded and leaned back.

"Is that all?"

"Yes," Amarwen answered as she sipped at her tea. The door opened, and the eggs and bacon arrived.

"Mardil, you are a young man in a difficult position. I wish you no bad will."

"Who are you?!"

Amarwen shook her head at the question and considered her hands again. The sound of bones cracking, flesh crushing. The sound of rattling breath. Who was she indeed to be killing with her bare hands?

"You are free to leave when you wish," she answered, pushed back her chair and rose.

Mardil stared up at her, his expression unreadable, and she walked away. It was done. If she did not miss her guess, Mardil would prove useful provided a gentle hand was used. Feed him the right misinformation and he could be potent indeed when he fed that onto his Unsurper masters. And watch him. Closely.

That matter seen do, Amarwen turned next to the matter. She had found a suitable location for a new safe house. But there was still work to be done to acquire the property around the war machines on the banks of the Anduin. When Castamir called for them to be pressed into action, she was determined to hold all access and control of him in her own firm grip. No longer would the great Anduin be used as a wedge to divide their strength.

When Halvarin returned at the end of the day, Amarwen fell into his arms and lost herself in his embrace.

"I love you," she whispered as she buried her face into his neck.

Halvarin's arms tightened around her, "And I you."

He paused before he said, " Mardil returned to his duties today."

"It is done, then," she said.

"Are you certain?" Halvarin pressed and Amarwen shook her head.

For there was little certain in this day and age.

[elora]

April 1443 ~ Minas Anor


Halvarin was careful in his handling of Mardil. He had to keep things as they were so as not to disrupt the status quo, yet he also had to control the information that Mardhil supplied back to Castimir. If any, that was. There was no way Halvarin know what Mardil reported but caution dictated that he presumes Mardil reported everything he could. Precautionary measures were, therefore, required.

All codes from the meeting of the partisans were changed, and those that Mardil could identify were shifted. The partisans started working in cells so should anyone get arrested or otherwise vanish, the information that could be extracted was be limited. Halvarin wanted to institute measures that protected Amarwen for Mardil knew too much of her activities as well. Amarwen, though, informed him that she considered the risk minimal on that score and should she be mistaken she had her own measures in place. Halvarin decided that it was best to take his wife at her word.

He also knew that he needed to run his operations largely beyond the knowledge of Mardil. For that he needed someone he could trust implicitly and his wife came to mind immediately. However, she needed the cover of secrecy still to be most effectively and if she took on that role she would be too visible. Castimir was already pursuing Marece as it was. If he discovered that she was Amarwen, all they had worked for would come tumbling down.

Halvarin needed someone that was not in Castimir's sights under one name or the other. He decided to ask Michas to take up command of Minas Anor. Osgiliath was well established as an Eldacarian city, and Michas' second, an Ithilien Ranger from Minas Ithil named Giaras, would be a wise commander of Osgiliath. They could now claim a position of strength with the three northern cities firmly in the hands of the Eldacarian underground. He wrote the orders for command changes then and there. Having Michas close, but not so close to draw suspicion that Halvarin is using him as his de-facto adjutant would serve them well.


= = = = = = =

Beginning of May 1443


Halvarin and Michas discussed the river defences as they walked the Anduin's southern bank of Harlond. They had much to discuss, for Michas spoke of the restlessness that some had in wanting to move against Castamir. He was fairly confident Giaras would maintain order and keep all the preparations that have been done in Osgiliath well hidden. Marece would have their hides if all that had been done there was thrown into disarray by impatience. They discussed the need for them when Castamir's ships would attempt to come upriver when Eldacar was ready to reclaim his crown. Part of their discussion was also about what to do should any of the units manning the ballista turned out to be pro-Castamir.

Michas said, "We can never be sure who is with us completely. For the most part, the Anorien soldiers as well as the Ithilien soldiers will be for returning Eldacar to the throne. But it is difficult to access the lower level With Castamir's lack of caring for the northern provinces, it has made our preparation easier."

Halvarin nodded in agreement, "In any case, my wife has been acquiring the property around each defensive installation. Should it be necessary, forces will be on hand to flood any that prove stubborn adherents to the usurper."

Then he asked of Mardil, "You recommended Mardil to me. Were you aware that he had been compromised by Castamir?"

"No," Michas replied bluntly.

Halvarin sighed at the question, "Is it possible he knows anything of your work in Osgiliath?"

"Mardil was not involved with any of the resistance nor had access to it. Your lovely wife would have my hide were it any other way. That said, I do not know what he managed to discover on his own whilst stationed there. For what it is worth, one of my final orders to Giaras before I left was to alter the structure of communications. We will receive the new code names shortly."

What Michas did not tell Halvarin was that he received regular communications from Amarwen as well. A key leader in the resistence, he was routinely reporting on queries and responding to orders from her. His presence in Minas Anor, so close, would make that work a great deal easier but he had yet to ascertain just how much Halvarin knew. He would continue to play his cards close to his chest until he could do so.

For his part Halvarin was pleased with Michas' report and he turned his thoughts to the misinformation he would feed Mardil. Already he had proposed a plan to Amarwen as they lay abed. There they had discussed and refined it and by this point, the plan had been considered by the commander of Calenardhon. His full approval had been sent back, a result not unsurprising given the nature of the proposal sent to him. The people of Calenardhon were the most eager to declare openly against Castamir. No so much for the love of Eldacar, but to be rid of the burden of tributes that supported the maritime provinces.

The plan was simple. Word would be sent to Castamir via Mardil that the men of Calenardhon were going to secede from Gondor. If Castamir acted, he would send a significant force in response. Halvarin would likely receive the orders to quell the secessionists, and he would send a couple units west. He would have ready one unit of Anoriens from Osgiliath, and one of Anoriens from Minas Anor. As there would be no rebellion, it would give the soldiers a chance to stop at their homes for a day or so.

However, there was the chance that the Usurper dispatched a naval force to land at the mouth of the Isen River and march east. In that instance the Calenardhonions would fall in for siege at the fortresses of Isengard and Agarond, and those not able to gain the fortresses would harass the approaching armies as they retreated north into Enedwaith. Things would become somewhat difficult should Castamir order both invasion and Halvarin's move west, but that could be addressed should it come to pass.

And in the process they would test their ability to feed misinformation into Castamir's ministry.

Halvarin told Michas, "I have sent a message to Isengard that will have them at the ready. You and Giaras must be ready to do your part should it become necessary."

The hardy men of Calenardhon would be ready should this first diversion that Halvarin fed Mardil came to fruit and Halvarin had to feed him some information of substance. Otherwise, the adjutant would become get suspicious. The month had so far produced little more than procedural orders for Mardil to carry out. Halvarin was due to put some feigned trust in him, and so called him in for a meeting.

"Mardil, it has been too long since we had talked long and I have need of your advice," Halvarin said.

Mardil's ears seemed to pick up at the prospect of some relief from his boredom and perhaps something else in the offing.

"There are tidings from the west that are…troubling. It would appear that Calenardhon is about to erupt into secession. I've had Michas and Giaras send envoys to the Commander of Calenardhon to see if there is any substance to the rumours. If I can settle this easily without Castamir knowing, all will be better for us here. Or so I believe," Halvarin paused and leaned forward to consider his adjutant, "Tell me Mardil, do you think I have done the right thing?"

"This is a serious matter Halvarin. Do you think it wise not to tell Castamir?"

Halvarin shook his head "I'm sure Castamir has much more important things to worry about in the south to be bothered by a few upstarts in the far west of the realm. I will send word, though, should it be necessary and I will take your concern under advisement."

Mardil frowned to himself as Halvarin continued, "I thank you for your thoughts on the matter."

The adjutant opened his mouth to say something but this was not a discussion and Halvarin's purpose in calling him in had been served.

"Now I believe there is a certain lady out in the foyer awaiting you?" the Lord Commander inquired before Mardil could get a word out, "You can go. I'll close up the office."

The adjutant blinked as he glanced for the window and discovered the time. Dismissed, he shot to his feet and found that Sarael was indeed awaiting him. She wore a fine dress in anticipation an evening out with Mardil. When he saw her he was taken aback for a moment and Sarael blushed. She said,

"We were going to the theatre tonight, and it starts soon. Are you ready?"

Mardil took Sarael's arm without delay, leaving Halvarin at his desk wondering and hoping that the information he had fed to Mardil would be passed on. Only time would tell now. He then got up and headed for the door, for he was not going to miss a dinner with Amarwen. He had not missed one since he had returned from his captivity.

[elora]

September 1443 ~ Minas Anor



Amarwen tapped a finger on the table as she waited. Michas and Halvarin were quietly talking amongst themselves, their long years as friends showing in the way the two men stood so closely together utterly at their ease despite the circumstances under which they had gathered. Then again, she reflected, perhaps she was the only one as nervous she was. The moment she had been working for all of these years, on her own and with so many others, was here. Almost. She could taste it.

As her thoughts ran, Michas swatted at Halvarin's shoulder.

"No!" he exclaimed, "Seriously?"

"Absolutely," Halvarin replied, a slow smile lighting his features.

Michas swung about to consider her and Amarwen's finger paused its tapping, "I lost that archery tournament to you?"

What archery tournament? Or, rather, which one? There had been a time when she had competed at quite a number of them. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific," Amarwen replied which only made Michas' brows shoot up and Halvarin's smile grow even broader as he rocked back on his heels, enjoying himself.

"Won so many of them, eh?" Michas chuckled.

"Yes," Amarwen said levelly and Michas began to laugh until he realised that she was entirely serious.

"Osgiliath," he clarified and Amarwen nodded slowly in return.

"You shot wide, as I recall. A surprising lapse given your training."

"That Shieldmaiden spooked me," Michas replied, cheeks reddening as he regarded Halvarin.

Halvarin rubbed at his closely cropped beard and weighed in at last, relishing what he was about to say, "Or perhaps you were just a little distracted by your fellow competitors. I distinctly recall you describing a certain green silk dress."

Amarwen forgot herself enough to laugh at that, "And well you can talk, Halvarin of Pelargir!"

Now it was Halvarin's turn to flush and Michas chortled. Into this, then, walked one Prince of Dol Amroth. In their levity, it took a moment for Amarwen to realise he had arrived but once she had she rose to her feet.

"Amarwen," the Prince said without hesitation and she was moving to embrace this man that she thought of as kin, "You look well."

He gathered her hands in his own and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Uncle," she said quietly, the name by which she had always addressed him privately and then turned to where her husband and Michas waited.

"My lord, I introduce you to Lord Commander Halvarin, Navigator Prime of the Mariner's Guild and my husband. With him, the current Commander of Minas Arnor, Michas also of the Mariner's Guild. Michas is a-"

"Poor shot when it comes to archery tournaments," Michas supplied with a grin, "Erstwhile soldier, before command took me."

The Prince of Dol Amroth came forward to exchange his greetings, first with Michas and then with Halvarin.

"Navigator Primw but not Master?" he asked and Halvarin looked aside to Amarwen for a moment.

She nodded and Halvarin replied, "I was considered in the wake of my father's death but another, more senior than I, was selected."

"Have you designs on captaincy?"

"Not unless I can pick my own crew," Halvarin replied and smiled to where Amarwen watched on, "And our son is a little young, yet, for the rank of cabin boy."

The Prince's face alighted, "A son?"

He turned to Amarwen, "Oh, this is wonderful tidings indeed. What is his name? How old is he?"

"Mindacil," Amarwen replied as Halvarin came to stand beside her and wrap an arm across her back to rest a hand on her hip, "He has just had his first birthday and, if I do not miss my guess, is presently wreaking havoc upon a newly tidied house."

Throughout this, Michas hung back but once they reached a natural pause he cleared his throat, "I cannot image we are able to linger here over long."

"No indeed," Amarwen confirmed with a nod to Michas, "The usurper's over reaction to the false threat of Calenardhon confirms for us that the stage, finally is set."

"False threat?" the Prince echoed and Amarwen smiled faintly.

"Yes, Uncle…and with all the pieces in place, the time has come for the final act."

It was here, at last, and Amarwen set about unveiling the entire sweep of her work over the years. From the caches installed and stocked to the brim to the confederations of partisans distributed around the realm. From the seeds planted within the Guild to the siege engines secured within their grasp. From the dismantling of his covert operatives and the decimation of his ocean and river fleets to the misinformation being fed to those remained. And not to mention the financial ruin they could cause once their called in their debts. Castimir had overplayed his hand badly.

"Our error, before, was in the under-estimation of Castimir's hunger to secure power. As Calenardhon proves, the Usurper is equally over zealous in keeping that which he has stolen. This serves us well, for he over -commits and depletes his forces…and the general populace is left to wonder at what point his zealous cruelty will come to a stop. Each action he takes sends to us more sympathizers."

All three men were silent as they absorbed this. Michas looked surprised at the full scope of it all. Halvarin too and both men looked to her as if they had not seen her before this day. The Prince of Dol Amroth, though, looked troubled and it was he that spoke first.

"The bloodshed will be terrible," he observed, "No matter what you do to contain it."

"We will attempt, insofar as we may, to defray that. Discouraging the Usurper is not, I have found, an easy thing to do but we will try."

"Ordinary people will, once again, be lost," he said.

Amarwen nodded for there was no denying this, "They are lost already, Uncle. They work themselves into early graves paying tributes. They freeze in cells that they do not belong in. They watch their children starve, denied another year's harvest as the land rebels against a false king."

She drew a breath, "The moment Castamir seized the throne he condemned us all to this. Gondor cannot endure under his yoke."

But, even as Amarwen spoke, what Halvarin and Michas both noted was what she did not speak of. She made no mention of Aldamir's work at Minas Ithil, for example and there were a number of other significant omissions. Not mistakes, Halvarin thought as he glanced to his friend. Amarwen had deliberately left these things out. Mardil, for example. Michas thought it odd, meanwhile, that Amarwen had made no mention of the roads laid down, ready for use by Eldacar's army.

"And what of the traitor within our ranks?" Michas asked.

"Identified and contained," Amarwen replied, "For the nonce, it behoves us to keep him where his is. Another adjutant, if you will."

Slowly Michas nodded and he crossed his arms as he considered Halvarin briefly.

"What next, then?" the Prince of Dol Amroth inquired.

"Carefully arranged uprisings, whilst Castamir is preoccupied at Calenardhon. We want his attention carefully fixed on the West, where we have the strength of numbers and provisions. Partisans only, unarmed from our caches."

"And those that seek to flee this violence?" the Prince inquired.

"I hope that they will find refuge, as always they have, Uncle. As indeed I did, upon a time."

He sighed at this but nodded, as if resigned.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


It was late, almost midnight, when Halvarin rested his head upon Amarwen's bared stomach. Their skin was slick with sweat and their hearts still raced with their exertions.

"I did not know," Halvarin panted against her skin, "Just how much you had in motion."

"Does it surprise you?" Amarwen asked in return and Halvarin picked up his head to gaze up at her lazily.

His fingers traced the contours before his eyes and he smiled as she sucked in a sharp breath.

"What surprised me is what you did not say."

Amarwen ruffled Halvarin's dark hair at that, smiling herself, "Ah, well, if I told all my secrets, what mystery would have to tempt you to remain by my side?"

"I remain at your side, woman, because I know and love you so well," he replied, his hand settling strategically to gently squeeze.

Amarwen could not help but arch at the sensation he coaxed from her. Once it passed, she stared up at the canopy for a long moment.

"Would you know all my secrets, Halvarin?' she inquired.

He rolled his eyes at the question, "I doubt such a thing is even possible."

Amarwen smiled at his statement and reached down to set her hands around his face. Gently, she eased her husband up until he lay over her in full. Then she pulled his ear towards her and whispered. Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke and Halvarin went utterly still.

"A child?" he asked, his voice quivering as he moved to meet her gaze.

Amarwen nodded and she caught the flash of a grin before he kissed her soundly. She was again with child, and the rebellion was coming fast to fruition.

[elora]

Late November 1443 - Rhovania


Autumn had been wet and now winter had come early to Rhovania. Eldacar and Vinyarion, accompanied by Shieldmaidens Vilmaith and Vilna, met at length with the King of Rhovania. Vilna spoke of the regions of Gondor that would come to Eldacar upon his return. They already had Ithilien, Anorien and Calenardhon firmly in hand. The people of Calenardhon already chafed to throw off Castimir's rule and declare openly for Eldacar. However, the King in exile was concerned about the state of the southern provinces, Lossarnarch in particular for those people had suffered heavily when the Usurper had first embarked upon his campaign.

It was here that Vinyarion offered his grandfather counsel of a kind that even he would have been astonished at years ago, before civil strife had blighted their realm. He had led a somewhat charmed existence then, idle for the most part. The outbreak of the Kin Strife had thrown everything into flux and no one had emerged unchanged. Vinyarion had shed his indolent, frivolous shell and it was a sober, thoughtful prince in exile that addressed his king now.

"We all grieve the suffering and death that is to come, yet in Lossarnarch it has already begun to unravel. There is turmoil there and my father has sent word that our strength waxes. Why, even Castamir's own Lord Commander of the northern region supports you!"

"The Regional Commander, that would be the son of the slain Guild Master, would it not?" Eldacar asked as he looked over the state of the armies Vinyarion and Vilmaith had raised in Rhovania.

"Aye, Halvarin, Prime Navigator of the Mariner's Guild, appointed by Castamir himself," Vinyarion replied, naming his friend of old. Tidings that Halvarin had thrown off his father's misguided loyalties to declare for the true king had offered no small relief to Vinyarion. He had shed the blood of too many friends over these wretched years as it was.

Eldacar looked to the map of Gondor and focused on the stronghold of Pelargir, "Tell me how this is good for us?"

At this, Vinyarion looked to Vilna for it had been she to carry tidings from Minas Anor and his father.

"M'lord, I went to his house, observed with my own eyes. The Lord Commander is true to his word" Vilna paused here to glance tacitly to her sister in arms, [/i]"And he is married to one of our own."

"Who?"[/i] Eldacar demanded, looking up from the map.

"A member of the resistance within Gondor. He had ample opportunity to betray us, turn us over to Castamir. I do not think there is any loyalty to the usurper in this Guildsman."

Eldacar nodded slowly, "I wish to hear from my son on this, but I think as soon as we can be ready in spring, we must move. Have our people prepare. It will be a hard fight. One we cannot lose."

Vinyarion, Vilmaith, and Vilna each inclined their heads and took their leave. There was much to do in the coming seven months.

As they walked, Vinyarion angled towards Vilna, "Who is this woman Halvarin married? You know, do you not?"

Again the two Shieldmaidens glanced to each other and it was Vilmaith who answered, "That is for your father to divulge, Prince."

Once a Shieldmaiden had decided not to tell you something, there was little that could be done about it. Vinyarion had learned that already. But, still, he could help but wonder. Had Halvarin managed to turn someone senior in the usurper's court? Was that why they were so reluctant to name his wife, for fear that she would be mistrusted? Should they both survive what was to come, there was much for the two friends to discuss.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


January 1444 ~ Minas Anor


The winter, whilst incessantly damp, proved not to be as cold as it had been in recent years. That said, the rain seemed endless. The fields of the Pelennor had been transformed into soft marshland. It made movement beyond the high road formed of sturdy rock nigh impossible. As for that road, it too suffered in the soggy conditions. The stones were dislodged and undermined such that wagons, particularly those heavily laden, could not pass upon it.

The river was the only way to navigate and get supply to Osgiliath and that had become treacherous with its high flows and dangerous currents. To the west, the Entwash had created a huge lake over its marshlands and the only way to get west was by the Stonewain valley. But even that road was prone to sudden slides of mud and rock.

In Minas Anor, Halvarin continued to work on arranging people into key positions as information came available from Amarwen's sources. Everything seemed to point to a big push come the spring, hopefully after the land had dried out enough to allow for the movement of forces and war machines. He was able to feed Mardil just enough information to keep him from suspecting anything. A few small nuggets, things Amarwen deemed they could afford to have uncovered, amid the misdirection and dross. Michas proved invaluable in keeping Mardil safely contained.

At home, though they were both busy, Amarwen coped admirably well with the illness that accompanied the early stages of pregnancy. Halvarin had been at sea when she was carrying Mindacil, utterly unaware and Halvarin had quietly mourned the fact that he had not been able to be there as his son grew and then was born. Thus, given a second chance to witness such a wonder, Halvarin found himself both astonished and overjoyed despite the troubled times in which they lived.

The tide was turning, as Amarwen had said some months ago now. It seemed to him that the Usurper had all but ceded anything north of the line they had fashioned south of Minas Anor. It had taken years, but the north had proven too vexatious for the Guild's liking. Amarwen was, he knew, quite pleased with this for it meant the best opportunity for Eldacar's forces to return to Gondor proper unmarked. If all went as well as she hoped, they may well reach the caches she had been building and dug in before Castamir realised what was underway.

Halvarin himself worried about the possibility of being reassigned somewhere to the south by Castamir. It was entirely possible that he would be called back behind the Usurper's line and should that come to pass, he knew that he could not go. That they had been able to survive as long as they had within Castamir's Gondor was remarkable, but the time was coming when that would come to an end. They would have to declare against Castamir and once that occurred, civil war would again return to Minas Anor.

One night after Mindacil went to sleep, Halvarin found himself seated atop his bed. Amarwen was beside him, reading through reports she had not been able to clear prior to dinner.

"Such times we live in, my love." he sighed and at this Amarwen looked up from the report to study him, "The weight grows and the dam will burst forth just as the Anduin rages now."

She lowered the report she had been studying and turned towards him as Halvarn pushed on,

"The few reports I've been able to obtain from Osgiliath say that the weather is cold enough past Cair Andros for this rain to fall as snow. It has impeded all movement, but word had come to them. Eldacar, with counsel from the shieldmaidens Vilmaith and Vilna, had convinced King of Rhovania to commit his armies!"

Amarwen did not look at all surprised and just how she had gotten word of this given how difficult it was to move anything puzzled him. And then it occurred to him: Aldamir was in Minas Ithil. Not so very far away at all.

"I received such tidings myself today," she confirmed.

"How?"

With a faint smile, Amarwen answered, "The way is hard only for those forced to travel by land, my love."

"Bird," Halvarin instantly guessed and Amarwen's smile grew.

"Little detail can be sent in such a fashion, and what does come is perforce coded."

"So I am not telling you that which you already know," Halvarin stated and Amarwen's smile became mischievous for a moment.

"You continue to prove most useful, husband," she remarked and Halvarin shook his head slightly before he continued on.

"They will watch east of the river and against the Easterlings while Eldacar's forces move south in force. Rhovanian's legions will follow in reserve! Liberation will come!"

Halvarin tried not to let his excitement get the better of him but they were at the tipping point that they had laboured for and risked so much. There was much to still be done, and the days ahead would be grim, darkened by yet more blood spilt, but beyond that should they prevail, peace. A prosperous peace, where he could raise a family with his beloved wife without constantly looking over their shoulder. He looked to Amarwen and smiled for she was radiant. Their unborn child was slowly swelling her belly and he rested his hand upon her stomach as he leaned in to kiss her.

As he drank from her lips, his hand slipped lower still and Amarwen jumped as his hand brushed over sensitive skin.

She grabbed his hand as he kissed her again, revelling in her reaction, "Surely you cannot fear falling with child now, can you?"

"Silly man…" she retorted, breaking off as his fingers went back to their work.

As he drank from her lips, his hand slipped lower still until Amarwen jumped.

She grabbed his hand as he kissed her again, revelling in her reaction, "Surely you cannot fear falling with child now, can you?"

"Silly man…" she retorted as they entwined. Come what may, at least they had found each other in this ruin, and claimed their lives as their own. All those years of yearning and sorrow that this might never come to pass had fallen away. No one stood between them now.

"Oh Amarwen, my love…" he groaned against her skin and after that he surrendered himself to the wonder of her embrace.

[elora]

Edhellond ~ February 1444


Beregon was sleeping when a pigeon landed on the sill of his window. He did not stir, unaware of its presence until the pigeon grew impatient. What woke him was the disturbance the pigeon made. When he prized his window over, he was astonished to find the source of the ruckus was something as humble as this bird. It immediately came within, along with a blast of cold air wet with a recent coastal storm.

Once inside, the bird landed with a plop onto his desk. There, it promptly relieved itself over his mostly written report. Beady eyes fixed on him as its head turned this way and that. Smug, he wondered, given what it had just left on a report he'd been working on for days? Beregon stared right back at it and this was how he noticed that the pigeon had something affixed to its leg.

Removing it, he unfurled a small scrap of curled paper and peered at what appeared upon it. Then he swore for it would require decoding. So much for sleep. In all, the process took Beregon an hour but once he had transcribed the message, his chair creaked under his weight. He lent back, all thought of the pigeon fled from his mind as he weighed up what he had learned.

His chair scraped over the floor and Beregon padded to his door to prop it open. Down below he could make the lights of those ships at anchor in Edhellond's harbour. Night lanterns had been lit. So too had the fuse, long in the laying, for the war to come. He studied the swaying lights below at length before he withdrew and closed his door once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Osgiliath - April 1444


Amarwen placed a protective hand over her growing belly as she looked about. The road to Osgiliath had been as dismal as Halvarin had warned her of. That she was here, and he was not, was another thing he'd not been well pleased over but it could not be helped. Eldacar's forces would soon be here and she needed to see for herself that all she had laboured for over the years was ready for them.

It wasn't that she mistrusted Michas' reports on the matter. It wasn't either, the fact that Mindacil was starting to explore the power of temper tantrums. Osgiliath was a key staging point for Eldacar's forces. They would have to move as lightly as possible and it was here that they would expect to be provisioned for the war ahead of them. From here they would fan out into other strongholds to position themselves. Minas Ithil and Minas Anor were just two such locations and they could not store such a large provision of materiel in either location.

Osgiliath was the key for their return. At least, the beginning of their return. Control of the Anduin was another vital aspect she had been working on, from who owned the dockside buildings and what was in them to the war machines on the river shore. As for Pelargir, the Usurper's stronghold in the north, she'd bring that down from within. Her uncle Carlin had been a very busy man, as had Captain Silares. There was a sizeable contingent of like minded Guildsmen working with them, each of them painstakingly vetted to ensure they were not infiltrators. It had been a difficult, perilous approach and one that Beregon had spoken against but it had managed to yield results. Or it would, once it came down to it.

Now she looked at the cavernous space that she had once despaired of ever filling. In those early days, reeling from her grief and horror and rage at what had befallen her people and her family, she had spent no few hours despairing of what might be accomplished to turn back the inexorable tide. It had seemed overwhelming and she had felt wholly inadequate. There had been many times since then that she had foundered but now here she was. What she saw was precisely in order, just as Michas had assured her it would be.

Hoisting her torch overhead, Amarwen picked her way carefully through the provisions towards the next cavern. She had plotted out five that she considered dry and stable enough for storage and she wanted to see each for herself.

It was still very cold down here for the stones and earth around her had yet to relinquish all of winter's embrace. Her breath plumed in the air before her and overhead the torch hissed and spat. In the subterranean quiet, it sounded preternaturally loud. The urge to be quite gripped her, even though she was confident she was here alone. She had been very clear in her stipulations. No one was to meet her.

She was to appear and disappear here in Osgiliath as if no more than a shadow. She was not so heavy with child as to make this impracticable and that, too, was what had spurred her on now. In a month, perhaps less, she would not be able to conceal her state with clever garb. People would notice she was with child and that would make her conspicuous. A woman with child, travelling alone…very conspicuous. She had delayed for along as she could, reluctant to do anything that might endanger the child she carried. If she lost another, she did not think she could bear it.

So far, so good, for she was just one of a number shuffling through Osgiliath's gates from the ruined road. So many on foot, for it was largely unpassable by wagon, no one had thrown her a second glance. Provided all was in order, she may even be able to set about returning to Minas Anor this very day…though if she left it too late it would too dangerous to take the road by evening. Finding quarters as an unescorted woman in these unsettled time would be challenging, but it was that or announce her presence to the members of the resistance in Osgiliath. The fewer waves made, she thought, the better which is why she threw her torch to the ground and froze.

A sound.

Not her torch. Not her breathing. Not her footsteps. Someone else was down here. Doused in darkness, Amarwen reached for the pallet beside her as her ears strained. She would have to feel her way along to the outer edge of the cavern and then…hope her memory of this place had held up to the rigours of time. There were many ways in and out of the caverns but only a select few were reliable and safe. As she racked her memory of this place, questions tumbled over her mind.

Had she been followed down here? Had someone identified her? Had she been compromised? Were these rebels, like her or partisans? Were they, in fact, men of Castimir? Had they over-estimated their ascendancy in Osgiliath? What if she could not find her way out again? What if she chose the wrong tunnel? How long could she last down here? Would it be long enough for those in Minas Anor to realise something was awry and come for her?

Amarwen rounded the corner of the pallet and raised an arm into the darkness. She struck out cautiously, hoping to feel the cold rough brush of stone any moment now. Panic was lurking. She could feel the scrabble and scuttle of its chitinous legs within. Then, unyielding stone met the palm of her hand with a chill kiss. The edge of the cavern.

"Just set him down. Need to get a better look at him anyway."

A woman's voice echoed and Amarwen again froze. She heard panting. Someone was being carried. Someone was in pain. Someone had come afoul of the precautions laid in the tunnels around these caverns. Someone was not supposed to be here.

"Where is the kit?"

It was the same woman. Amarwen did not recognise her voice but whoever this woman was, she was accustomed to command. Her tone was clip, iron clad. How many were there, Amarwen wondered, amongst other things. She edged towards the woman's voice and glimpsed a soft glow ahead. They had a torch! Immediately her mind began to spun. She considered her circumstances. In her present garb, she could say that she had been scavenging for food for her family, become lost and disorientated.

They might believe her. They probably would arrest her, but then they'd bring her up and she knew quite well how to get out of Osgiliath's prison cells. That was one lesson she had not forgotten over the years. If she was lost down here, she'd likely die, and Amarwen continued creeping forwards to the light.

She crouched beside a pallet and peered past it to a small knot of people. A torch had been stuck into the ground by a man stretched out nearby. What drew Amarwen's eye was the woman tending the man. She did not know her, but she knew what a Shieldmaiden looked like. She stared at the Shieldmaiden and then considered where the others might be. There had to be others, for the woman had been talking to someone other than the injured-

A hand descended over Amarwen's mouth and nose and she was reefed backwards off her feet. In the poorly lit cavern, it was disorientating as she struggled to free herself. As the hold on her slipped as they fought for balance, Amarwen surged forward once more. Except, the space she surged into was occupied by a large crate of canvas sheets. She hit it hard enough that she bounced off it again and back into her assailant. She knew no more.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Vilmaith scowled as she looked over to the soldier. It was probably just another starving local scavenging for food she thought. Certainly, appeared that way for the woman's clothing was hard used and oft repaired…entirely inadequate for the weather which probably suggested she spent her time down here in the caverns. Just how the wretch had gotten through the tangle of snares that had claimed Vinyarion, Vilmaith did not know.

It had been a reasonably short lived altercation. A brief struggle, though the scavenger had managed to slip the soldier just the once she'd then careened into a pallet and taken care of matters nicely for them. The soldier dragged her back towards the torchlight. She'd need to be searched for weapons, bound and gagged and then…well…they'd have a difficult decision to make.

How much had she seen was the question, and what might she make of it? Who might she tell? The soldier let the unconscious woman drop a safe distance away from Vinyarion. The prince had propped himself onto his elbows to watch and Vilmath remained where she was, strapping his right ankle. Hopefully a strain and not a sprain, she told herself, as the soldier bound her hands and feet and set to checking the scavenger over for weapons.

He grunted at the second dagger. Perhaps not a mere scavenger after all, Vilmaith amended as more weapons were found.

"Her hair, check that too. There enough of it to hide something in there too," Vinyarion advised and the soldier shifted rake his fingers through very dark hair.

He found nothing but, being a thorough man, he flipped the woman's head over to check the other side and Vinyarion promptly choked on his own tongue.

"Amarwen?" he squawked, his voice rising two octaves.

Either by coincidence or because she recognised her name, the bound woman stirred. She was groggy and blinked against the sudden flare of the nearby torch. Now, Vilmaith had never encountered Amarwen of Edhellond before but she knew Vinyarion had.

"Untie her," Vinyarion demanded, pulling himself onto his hands and knees.

The soldier paused just as the woman rolled towards Vinyarion's voice.

"What are you doing down here?" Vinyarion inquired as the soldier bent to undo his handiwork.

"They're my caches! What you are doing in them!"

"Just as well we are, my Lady, for how else were you going to find your way out of them?"

The Prince had observed her lack of her own lighting and by now Amarwen's freed hands were untying her ankles.

She rolled her eyes at the question posed and Vilmaith answered for her, "Steal ours."

Amarwen of Edhellond…Vilmaith had heard a lot about this woman charged by Eldacar himself to lead and shape the resistence within Gondor. Betrothed against her will to the king's son, Vinyarion's father, but married to the son of the former Guild Master. Halvarin of Pelargir, Lord Commander of the North and once Commander of Osgiliath. And, now that Vilmaith considered her long enough, the prisoner that had been rounded up with her some years back in Osgiliath. Prisoner…seventy six, sent to the library by the man she had since wed. What tangled webs, the Shieldmaiden thought to herself. Had the woman lured the now Lord Commander over to them? If so, it was a masterful stroke that would serve them well. She hoped that this might be enough to win the aristocrat clemency when it came to the matter of her betrothal to Prince Aldamir.

"Can he walk?" Amarwen asked, addressing the question to Vilmaith.

The Shieldmaiden nodded at the question and asked one of her own, "Do you know how to get out of here safely?"

Amarwen smiled at that, "Provided Michas has not added improvements in his tenure, I think so."

"You designed these?" Vinyarion exclaimed as Amarwen reached for the torch and gained her feet.

She lifted a shoulder at the question, "The caverns and tunnels, no. The snares and traps…"

"Devious woman," he remarked at which Amarwen's smile grew.

She said nothing to that but Vilmaith found herself liking the noble woman. Cut from a similar cloth, she thought, aristocratic birth aside.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Vinyarion could not believe that seated across from the humble fire they had raised in the night was Amarwen. It had been years since he had seen her last and when he heard the position his grandfather had appointed her, he had been puzzled. Amarwen of Edhellond was of high noble birth, educated in all the gentle arts a young woman of that stature was expected to master. Language, music, art and the like.

He had found it difficult to reconcile his impression of her with the role she had served in. But, then, this war had left none of them unchanged. He'd gone from mostly superfluous member of the royal family to third in line to the throne. And he'd seen for himself just how well she had mastered her current role. His ankle was still wrapped from one of her devious snares. Beautiful and clever she had always been…devious and dangerous though…this was new. Or was it? Had his grandfather seen years ago what he only noticed now?

"Why did you not come north like the others did?" he asked her.

Amarwen lifted a battered tin mug of tea and blew over it to cool it, "I could tell you that I would never have been permitted to reach Rhovania."

"Likely true," Vinyarion said, aware of just how keenly the usurper sought any means to confer legitimacy to his rule. Castimir's ploys were what had led to his father agreeing to wed this woman.

But now she pushed out a sigh and sipped at her tea, "Mostly, though, I wanted revenge. Rhovania could not offer me that fast enough, and so I remained."

"To make Castamir's life miserable."

"He deserves it," she answered and took another sip of her tea.

"Treason seems to be agreeing with you, my Lady. Why, you're positively glowing."

Before the war, her eyes would have narrowed at a statement like that and rightly so for there would have been a sting in its tail. He had found sparring with Amarwen rather pleasing but now she did not glare at him at all. Rather, her eyes lowered and she rested her hand over her belly.

"Have you heard from Halvarin?" he asked next, for the one thing he and Amarwen had always agreed upon was their mutual friend.

In that sense, he reflected now, they had almost been rivals. Amarwen went very still at the question and her eyes lifted to where she knew Vilmaith was seated. Back from the fire, the Shieldmaiden had kept to herself since they had made camp. The grind of her blade over her whetstone paused.

"He does not know," Vilmaith said. Amarwen pushed a heavy breath out through her nose, frowned at the fire and then set her tin mug down.

"I married Halvarin some years ago now," she said and stroked her belly, "And all going well, I will bear him a second child in a matter of months."

"I thought you'd just gotten a little fat!"

Vinyarion frowned at the statement that had just come out of his mouth and then replaced it with something more sensible, "Does my father know?"

"We have reached an accord," Amarwen levelly replied and Vinyarion could not help but wonder at that. He glanced aside to Vilmaith, who seemed to know far more of this than he, and found she was untroubled by Amarwen's assertion.

"Halvarin married…and a father…"[/i] Vinyarion shook his head slowly from side to side, "Wonders will never cease. I am almost tempted to accompany you back to Minas Anor to see this marvel for myself."

Vilmaith looked up at that as Amarwen shook her head.

"Our work here continues unaltered, m'lord," the Shieldmaiden declared flatly.

"Agreed. If you should be identified with us, what time we do yet have in Minas Anor would be shortened further. There is much we need to finish before Halvarin and I must openly declare a stand."

"The city will slide in chaos when that occurs," Vilmaith observed.

Amarwen's reply was stark, "Aye and with that the opening salvo for the war proper. I would not bring that to us any faster than it already approaches."

"Fine," Vinyarion grumbled, though he wasn't sure how him being identified would lead to the declaration of war.

With Vilmaith and Amarwen both united against him, he knew better than to challenge them. The night passed quietly after that and come the dawn, Amarwen was already slipping away for Minas Anor. Vinyarion watched her departure thoughtfully for a long moment and then turned back to where Vilmaith and the one soldier they had brought with them prepared to return to their forces in Rhovania. Now that they had confirmed all was in readiness, they could press ahead for Osgiliath.

"Would we have time to slip down to Minas Ithil," he asked the pair.

"How fast can you hobble?" asked the soldier in return, at which Vilmaith grinned mercilessly.

Vinyarion did not bristle, though, for his pride was not so easily pricked these days, "I need to speak with my father."

Vilmaith shrugged at that and so they set off for their return, via Minas Ithil.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Minas Anor - April 1444


Amarwen pressed through the kitchen doors with the dying rays of the day transforming the White City into a riot of burnt amber and luminescent red. Within the kitchen was well underway with preparations for the evening meal and through this came a child's piercing shriek of sheer joy and after that came a familiar rumble. Mindacil's shriek turned into laughter at his father's impersonation of an oliphaunt and soon enough she caught sight of her son.

He ran on chubby legs, squealing with delight through the kitchen until he spotted her in the doorway. Immediately he made for her skirts, plunging into their protection chortling like a madman as Halvarin came into view. Unlike his son, the Lord Commander could not go racing through a busy kitchen without being castigated. Halvarin's eyes were alight with his own delight, both at the game he was playing with their firstborn and for seeing her returned whole and hale.

"WHERE IS MY SON?" Halvarin boomed, his voice echoing and Amarwen heard Mindacil chortle again somewhere in her skirts.

"Have you seen him, wife?" Halvarin pressed, striding towards her.

She smiled at the question and his arms wrapped around her. Would not be long before he could not be able to lift her up and away, she knew, but that was yet to come. Halvarin plucked her up and swung her about to reveal Mindacil squatting like a jolly mushroom. He sprang up to his feet again, a sweet smile of unabated innocence lighting his face.

"Why, how did that boy get there?" Amarwen inquired as Halvarin set her down again. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks as he pulled Mindacil up his hip.

"I've got you now," he told the boy, who did not look the least bit perturbed by his recent apprehension.

Amarwen's arm snaked around Halvarin to tickle Mindacil. He squirmed, screwing up his nose. Halvarin turned slightly into her and she quite forgot what she was doing when their lips met.

"I've got you too," Halvarin murmured as he drew back again.

She sighed at that and then caught Mindacil watching. He watched his parents like a veritable hawk. Amarwen lifted a hand to gently tweak his little button nose.

"Have you been behaving yourself for your father, young man?" she inquired for this venture away to Osgiliath was the first time she had left Mindacil in Halvarin's care. They both seemed to be in one piece, as near as she could tell.

"Of course he has! I run a tight ship!" Halvarin replied at which she cocked a brow. Halvarin pushed on, "How did things fare?"

"Well, all told," Amarwen replied, "Encountered a mutual friend unexpectedly."

They started walking out of the kitchen where there were too many listening ears. Whilst there were no Castamirian agents in their household, not all of them were aligned to Eldacar either. A necessary balance to ensure the Lord Commander's household looked, to outward inspection, as it should.

Halvarin's arm remained around her as they wove through the residence. As she walked, she calculated time from what she had learned from Vilmaith and Vinyarion. They should have dug in at Osgiliath by midsummer and from there…it would have to be swift, well calculated and timed. Precise.

"I need more birds," Amarwen commented as all of this tabulated.

Halvarin swung Mindacil down and the toddler shot off ahead of his parents. Lazy black curls bounced on his shoulders. His father's hair, she thought to herself. What would the next one have? Boy or girl?

"Will it happen as swiftly as it seems?" Halvarin asked and Amarwen nodded.

"It is already underway. Initial staging should be completed by midsummer."

It was then she understood something. If it unfolded the way she anticipated, she could well be delivering a child in a city under siege. A city in which they are hunted as traitors. A hand came to rest on her belly at this thought and Halvarin read it well.

"Whatever comes to pass," he said gently, kissing her temple as they walked and breathing her in, "We face it together."

"And we will prevail," she answered and looked up into Halvarin's face.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation…but even so they were both wondering what measures may need to be laid to ensure the safety of their young son and the child in her belly when war came.

[elora]

May 1444 ~ Minas Anor


The sun broke through the clouds at midday for the first in months. Faint spring warmth could be felt as the damp stones of the city shone. The scent of moss and mildew wafted up with the evaporating water and a sense of relief, almost good cheer, unfurled through streets that had dwelled under grey skies for so long.

Aware that he was a symbol of Castamir’s rule, Halvarin had worn his old plain grey-green cloak for his walk down to the markets on the first level. The feeling of the people he found milling about seemed different to him than the year prior. Food remained scant still, but he felt a sliver of hope now amongst the hardship. This, he knew, likely came from the rumours spreading through the city. There were whispers that the Return of Eldacar had come. Halvarin knew the time would soon come where he would have to openly declare his command loyal to King Eldacar. Once that came to pass, blood would be spilled. There would be no safety for him or his family irrespective of how things went. And so, whilst Halvarin could sense the hope of renewal he could also taste doom as he started to walk back from the markets.

On his approach to the rampart for the second level, Halvarin thought he saw a familiar face. A face from many years ago, in Osgiliath when Valacar had still been king. He paused for a closer look, puzzled, but the familiar person slipped into the shadows among the crowd. Halvarin searched his memory as he tried to remember the name. It was lost in memory of a sad and uncertain time and he could not dredge it free. He shook it off as he returned home on the sixth level.

Sarael greeted him at the door, ”You are home early m’Lord.”

“I have an important matter I must discuss with,” he collected himself just in time, ”My wife.”

So closely involved was Sarael with their family and household, it was difficult to remember that she was not aware of Amarwen’s true identity. Or was she, Halvarin wondered, for Sarael had proved herself surprisingly resourceful. The maid inclined her head under his study and took her leave to announce his arrival. Halvarin followed, wondering just what it was he had interrupted. Almost anything, if he knew his wife well.

Amarwen came out of the back room when she heard he was home, informed by the ever dutiful Sarael of his early arrival. She closed the door after her just as he rounded the corner of the hall it opened onto, unperturbed or flustered but still determined to keep that door and whatever was behind it concealed. He smiled to himself as he took her into his arms and soundly kissed her. Pressed against his wife and his child both, Halvarin looked closely at Amarwen’s face. She returned his gaze, wide grey eyes untroubled.

“There is movement in the wind,” he said, “Has any word come to you from Osgiliath?

Amarwen reaction was subtle. Had he not known her as well as he did, it could easily have been missed. A simple shift in her breathing, even if her expression and gaze remained steady.

”Come,” she murmured and pressed her hand gently to his face. A tender caress and then she pulled away.

Halvarin followed her in silence. He watched her nod pleasantly to the household staff going about their daily tasks, pausing once to confirm a rather detailed set of instructions concerning the larder. Again, Halvarin was reminded of Osgiliath under Valacar’s rule. There, Amarwen had remarked to on how dull it was to manage a household. Dull though it may be to her, it was more complex than Halvarin understood. So many details to see to and she dealt with them in her stride on their way to her study.

He studied the carpet upon which he stood as his wife closed the door. The latch clicked and then came the sound of her skirts as she turned about. Halvarin kept his eyes on the carpet. On its pattern of winding vines and tendrils interspersed with blooms.

”It is dangerous, my love, for you to be out in the city amongst the restless citizens,” Amarwen observed from behind him.

Halvarin’s eyes tracked to the hem of his cloak, still around his shoulders. She had guessed why he wore it for she knew him as well as he knew her. He unfastened it and laid it over his arm as he turned to face her.

”Have you any word from Aldamir of late?” Amarwen’s head shook from side to side and she came towards him, her eyes intently on his.

Halvarin pushed a hand through his hair, ”I think the lead forces of Eldacar’s army are moving south in stealth. I expect word at any time and when it comes, I will have to declare the northern command will stand with Eldacar.”

“And is it?” Amarwen inquired softly, studying him. Her question was directed not at him but those under his command. Purging his ranks of Castamirians had proven fraught and there lingered, at least in his wife’s mind, the spectre that some remained hidden still.

”We shall soon find out,” Halvarin answered and lifted his arms towards her.

Amarwen came to him and his hands felt to her swelling stomach. Through the folds of her gown he stroked the child that lay within as his thoughts turned. All they had laboured for was coming to fruition and he knew how carefully their plans were laid. Layer upon layer of them and his wife had spent her time over the past month checking for contingencies. She, too, feared the coming bloodshed even if she was staunch in her belief that it was necessary. A second failure could not be borne. And into this strife would this child come, for Eldacar’s return to power was unlikely to occur unchecked.

Halvarin caressed Amarwen’s stomach a final time before turning away. He went then to the bookshelf and drew out a volume on river currents. It was well thumbed and between two pages he extracted a map. This he laid out over his wife’s desk to study the seasonal flows charted upon it. Then he turned his attention to the astronomical charts. In this time, Amarwen remained still and quiet.

”Aldamir must have given the order, and he gathers strength in stealth at Minas Ithil. I suspect Michas has done the same west of the river,” Halvarin said with a nod of his head. He looked to his wife, ”We need to set things in motion here, but it would be more assuring to have word from the north.”

Concerned that he, and possibly Amarwen as well, could be cut from the final plan of Eldacar’s, Halvarin had set some plans in place of his own since Aldamir’s sojourn under his roof. For, it would fare smoother for all if the woman once betrothed to Aldamir and the man she had married instead fell in the battle to return his father to the throne. He’d not breathed a word of this to Amarwen, of course. There was already so much upon her shoulders and, at least to his mind, it was his duty to secure the safety of his family. Again, he heard her skirts whisper as she came to stand beside him.

He looked at Amarwen, ”What do you think my love. Can you find out if it is time?”

Once he sent out the orders to his command, there would be no going back.

”I will try,” Amarwen answered, her hand covering one of his and squeezing.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Pelargir – May 1444


A ragged, weatherworn rider came in to the city with speed, having ridden through a low pass in the west of the White Mountains and through the lowlands of the southern provinces. The rider wore a cloak of the Guild and when he came to the Guild chamber Castamir used as his palace, he was stopped by the door warden.

”Halt and declare yourself!”

“Caulusia am I, of the third fleet. I bear urgent news for the King!”

The warden studied the condition of the messenger and it did not appear to him that this man had arrived by ship. Caulusia looked to have travelled far on horseback and so, with a nod, the warden permitted the man within. Inside, Caulusia was met by the Master of the Guild and one of the King’s chief counsellors. Both men had heard the exchange outside the door with the warden and both men marked Caulusia’s worn appearance.

The counsellor demanded, “What news draws you overland, away from our fleet?”

Desertions were on the rise, though none had been unwise enough to present themselves at the Guildhouse like this. Caulusia removed his cloak and revealed tangled long dark hair and bloodshot eyes that squinted in fatigue. At the Guildmaster’s request water was brought and this Caulusua downed swiftly before he answered.

”Our fleet… our army… it’s gone! I am standardbearer of the third Marine Army. I was knocked from my horse and survived by pulling the bodies of our fallen over me. We were decimated.”

Both the Master of the Guild and the Counsellor stared at him, uncomprehending.

“How is this possible?”[/i] the Counsellor slowly asked as grim understanding dawned, ”How is it those Calenardhon rebels defeated a first-line army?”

Caulusia nodded fumbled with a worn satchel, saying, ”Yes and no, m’Lords.”

He drew out a tattered, bloodied map that he laid out on the nearest table. Pointing at the River Adorn, Caulusia said, ”The Rebels met us not far from landing but they were not many and they retreated in good order. They preferred to ambush our advance units and then fade. We marched on with some losses, but no substantial opposition. At the River Adorn we saw an army of Calenardhons awaiting on the other bank. We set to cross, and as battle started, our left flank was attacked in force.”

Caulusia’s finger pointed at a place on the River Isen west of their positions and said, ”Wild men in brown leather armed with axes, savages, drove into our rear and showed no mercy. We did capture one and what we could discern was their hatred of the destroyers from tall ships. We were too few to contend with the numbers, and as our support was decimated, our attack across the river faltered.

“Then the Calenardhons attacked in force across the river. They at least showed compassion for any who surrendered. The wild men did not, and they went on to burn the ships. I waited a day and a night before moving.”

The Guildmaster squinted at the map, ”Three first line ships destroyed and an army wiped out? Where was Halvarin’s eastern army? They should have been in place to move against the Calenardhons!”

Caulusia shrugged, ”We had no word and there was no sign. We were alone there and we paid dearly for it.”

The Guildmaster looked again at the map, ”You get some rest. Food will be brought to you, and you can clean up. I expect the King will want to hear this from you himself-”

“I have heard it once.” Castamir said as he stepped out from the pillar he had been standing by.

Caulusia immediately bowed down and both the Master of the Guild and the King’s Counsellor lowered their eyes in deference.

”Be at ease,” Castamir said as he approached the map, ”You have done well standardbearer to bring news. Take, now your rest.”

Caulusia bowed again and edged to the door. As soon as it closed, Castamir turned back to the map.

”Little has been heard from Minas Anor of late,” observed the Counsellor and Castamir pressed out a heavy breath.

”I fear too much trust has been placed in the son of my good friend Calimir.”

The Master of the Guild swallowed, for Calimir had been his friend as well. That his son could betray his king, his Guild and his father’s memory wounded him.

”Have we been betrayed?” he asked, stomach knotting at the question.

The King’s jaw clenched, ”We must move our armies north as soon as feasible.”

Both the Master of the Guild and the Counsellor nodded for such had been the counsel for some time now. No longer was the King content to keep his gaze southward. Messengers were sent to Harondor to sail to Umbar with tidings. Word was also sent to the garrisons in the north…but if the Northern Commander had indeed betrayed them, was the north already lost?

[elora]

Minas Anor – June 1444


”Mistress!”

Marece flinched at Sarael’s dismayed tone. Her outstretched fingers curled back against her palm and she pushed out a heavy breath as Sarael hastened to her side.

”There is nothing come in,” Sarael remarked, peering at the birds.

She looked askance to Marece, ”What is so pressing, m’Lady, that keeps you from your rest?”

Marece scowled, her advanced state of pregnancy rendering her far more irritable than usual.

”Am I prisoner in my own house now?” she grumbled as she moved away. As she groused, her hand fell to her swollen belly. She felt as big as a barn even if Halvarin assured her this was not the case at all. He lied. Men lied. They all did.

’M’Lady, you are nearly nine months gone now. You must rest.”

“I cannot!” Marece protested and an arm shooting up of its own accord, ”How am I to rest with so much to do?”

Sarael looked sidelong at the birds and then warily back to Marece, ”All is well in hand, m’Lady.”

“No. No it is not!” Marece insisted and then, to her immense irritation and embarrassment, she burst into tears.

Cursing, Marece spun away as fast as she could. In doing so, she managed to knock a table over for she routinely misjudged her girth. This did not improve her disposition in the least but Sarael was not discouraged. This, as far as she was concerned, was to be expected for it had been this way with Mindacil. Marece had grown restless, snapping one moment and weeping the next as her time neared.

This was why Sarael had to try very hard not to roll her eyes when Halvarin remarked how much he regretted his absence the first time. It was also why she urged her mistress to rest. If her disposition was any indication she would deliver very soon indeed. Had the baby dropped lower, she wondered?

Sarael came forward to wrap a solicitous arm around her mistress’ shoulders. She left the overturned table for someone else to remedy and guided Marece, sniffling still as she wrestled with her emotional storm, back to her parlour.

”Why has there been no word, Sarael? I promised him I would find out and it’s been a month.”

“Perhaps there is nothing to say,” Sarael answered and looked sideways to see that this had not soothed her mistress. Marece issued a gusty sigh and fell to brooding. Easing her through doorways and between furniture was a delicate task but Sarael accomplished it all the same. Marece sat, entirely disgruntled with nearly everything, in a puddle of sunlight.

Sarael stood back, hands clasped and ventured, ”Is there something in particular you would like me to look into perhaps?”

Marece looked to the door, ”Close it.”

Sarael was swift to comply and no sooner had she done so did Marece sigh, ”It is time. It is finally time.”

Thinking Marece referred to the impending birth of her child, Sarael stiffened and then spun for the door, ”I will fetch the water and the-“

“No! Not that!” Marece snapped, irritated again, ”Though I doubt it will be long now.”

Her voice trailed off and when Sarael had turned back again she found Marece looking down at her belly. Introspective. Both women started at a knock on the parlour door. Sarael yanked it ajar.

”What is it!” she barked at the scullion boy that stood on the other side.

”Your pardon, Mistress,” his voice shook, ’Th-The Cook said to come right away.”

“I am busy!”

“He-he-he said now,” the lad persisted. That he did not wilt under Sarael’s glare only confirmed the urgency.

”Very well,” she growled, closed the door and looked back to where Marece sat, ’Forgive me, m’Lady, but an urgent matter has arisen.”

“Yes, yes…see to it. Promise you will return, though.”

“Of course!” Sarael assured her and slipped through the door. The scullion boy waited for her and she impatiently beckoned him on, walking a swift clip at his heels to the kitchen.

”Well? What is it?” Sarael demanded upon entry.

Near the rear door, the kitchen staff were clustered. One of the cooks, a woman of middle years, looked up at Sarael.

”I fear it is too late,” she said, and both the woman’s expression and her tone of voice pulled Sarael over to them.

On the floor lay a girl. She couldn’t be more than twenty, Sarael thought, and it looked very much like she was dead. Not an easy death either. Shocked, Sarael shooed people away to kneel by the girl’s side.

’Who is she?” Sarael asked as she studied the girl. Thin wrists and ragged clothing, already put to hard use. Ratty hair so filthy that it fell in hanks from her scalp. The blood on her clothes was still fresh.

”Thought you might know,” replied the head cook, a burly man with a permanently flushed face. Sarael, however, did not know who this unfortunate girl was. Or why she might have come here. She bent to see if the girl still drew breath and heard a collective gasp of surprise go up from those looking on.

The girl was alive, barely, and Sarael strained to hear her cracked, frayed voice. Her heart rose to her throat as she listened and when the girl slumped back, message delivered, Sarael remained frozen.

”She can’t remain here,” the head cook growled.

Sarael slowly shook her head from side to side and climbed to her feet.

”What would you have us do, Mistress Sarael?” asked one of the other cooks.

Sarael answered by rote, turned and hastened back to the parlour. She slipped through the door to find Marece remained within, now dozing in the chair she had left her in. Loathe as she was to wake her, this could very well be the word her mistress was waiting upon. Reluctantly, she gently shook Marece’s shoulder until her mistress awoke.

”Forgive me, m’Lady, but the tidings are dire,” she said as Marece groggily blinked, ”Halvarin has been discovered.”

Marece went very still at this, ”Are you certain?”

“Word reached Pelargir from Calenardhon.”

“Impossible! Those not slain were all captured.”

“Not all, m’Lady, for one brought tidings to Pelargir from the battlefield itself.”

“To whom?” Marece demanded.

Sarael swallowed, ”The Usurper himself. He gathers his forces even now.”

Marece stared up at Sarael, aghast. A hand lifted to her mouth and her eyes closed.

”What would you have me do?” Sarael pressed as Marece’s head lowered.

”Halvarin must be warned. If the Guild knows, they will not wait for the Usurper’s forces before they move against him.”

“But surely Mardil will notice if Halvarin rushes away now.”

“Tell them that that the child comes,” Marece quietly said and Sarael turned to go.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Mardil shuffled through the morning dispatches. There was little out of the ordinary and so with a sigh he set about reading them. Some he set aside for the city commander, Michas. Some were reports for Halvarin himself, Northern Lord Commander. These Mardil read over carefully indeed before he set them down. That left two for him which were likely to be purely administrative. The first was a requisition for new boots. Mardil was already formulating his response to that as he opened the second. The second was terse and brief. Very clear.

He looked up and around and then back at the dispatch in hand. The order was clear. The Lord Commander was to be arrested along with his entire household and staff. The charges were severe; dereliction of duty and worse still, high treason. Mardil swallowed, folded it up and then opened the case of the lantern at his desk. He fed the dispatch into its flames as he decided what was to be done.

[elora]

The Kin-Strife of Gondor flared back to dreadful light with a single fight. It occurred within a unit of men stationed at one of the forts south of Minas Anor. Conflicting orders arrived from two Regional Commands. One set came from Regional Command North in Minas Anor. The other came from Regional Command South in Pelargir. The men assigned to the forts just south of Harlond were the 2nd Lossarnech, and they had mixed loyalties. The Eldacar faction had held most of the forts but too many with Castamirian loyalties had gotten away. The simmering pot began to boil over and once that began, there was no putting the lid back on it. This the commander of the 2nd Lossarnach knew. He now looked to the other units to see where their loyalties stood.

In Minas Anor, unrest in some of the units erupted when rogue officers gathered men loyal to Castamir to them. These men, somehow informed by Mardil prepared to execute the orders Mardil had received. They were glad, excited to root out the treachery they perceived at the heart of the city. But, not all the men serving in Minas Anor were loyal to Castimir. As word spread of the orders, it was almost inevitable that these men also hear. Thus, when the orders reached the ears of Michas, he rushed to gather all the men that were loyal to their cause. As he gathered them together, he saw just how well organised their opponents were and he suspected they had been preparing for this moment for some time. Just as they had been. Fortunately, most stayed loyal to the command amongst the confusion.

In Osgiliath, anyone known or suspected to be loyal to Castamir were arrested by the city command. Scouts from Vinyarion’s army had come and they were greeted as liberators! To the east, Vilmaith’s army came to Minas Ithil and Aldamir sent men south in Ithilien to bolster the defence against any movement up from Harondor. The watch on the river was strengthened, and runners were sent to Minas Anor. Aldamir had to let Amarwen know the time had come. They needed to take up their positions, claim the siege engines, and be ready at the Harlond. If they held the river, Castimir would not be able to split their forces in twain this time and he knew Amarwen had laid in measures from Pelargir north to Osgiliath.


~ ~ ~


Sarael rushed to the office in search of Halvarin but he was not there. Mardil met her at the door.

”My pardons for my intrusion, but I seek Halvarin. I have urgent news for him!”

Mardil was silent for a moment, then said, ”Yes… yes, come in. Halvarin is due back shortly. Meanwhile, wait here and keep me company.”

Sarael entered the office and Mardil shut the door. He silently turned the key and locked it without Sarael noticing. If he was going to move against Halvarin, it will be much easier if they came to him. Though, Merece would be difficult for she was heavy with child. He turned to Sarael who stood with her back to him.

She said, ”I must find Halvarin. Merece is in need of-”

Mardil’s arm slid around her stomach and his other hand slapped over her mouth. She struggled but could not get away from him. He threw her down to the floor hard and she tried to scramble away. He was soon atop her, his weight pinning her down before she could get far. Sarael screamed but his hand slapped over her mouth. She hit him with her fists as he forced himself upon her. Mardil slapped her hard, and Sarael tasted blood as her head snapped to the side.

”For too long have you sought to ensnare me with your charms! No more… You will be the first of that traitorous house I arrest.”

Sarael fought on, scratching and gouging. Mardil hit her repeatedly and she knew that she would soon lose consciousness. Though her flesh crawled, Sarael finally allowed Mardil to lay down upon her. He fumbled with their clothing as her hand closed on the hilt of his knife. She slid it out slowly so he would not notice. Not quietly enough, though, for Mardil tensed as he realised she had not surrendered at all. She plunged the knife into his side with all of her strength and loathing.

A sucking, wet sound came as she pulled it out and plunged it again. Blood poured from the first wound and Mardil gasped with shock and pain. His hands closed around her throat and with a last burst of life, he twisted her head in a bid to snap her neck. His strength failed him as he lost blood and soon he was limp.

That the office door was locked troubled Halvarin. He was puzzling over it as he unlocked it with his own set of keys and stopped, aghast at what he found. Sarael lay beneath Mardil on the floor, surround by a pool of congealing blood. Sarael laboured for breath and he knelt to roll Mardil off her. Halvarin lifted her out of the blood and eased her on his desk.

Sarael grabbed at Halvarin as he set her down, her speech rasped.

”The baby… it comes… he knows…”

Halvarin brought water to her from a nearby jug. Sarael took it from him, drinking deeply and wincing as she did so. He could see livid marks appearing on her neck. The shape of a man’s fingers.

”What happened here?” he asked solemnly as he went to lock the door once more.

Sarael coughed and drank again, ”Merece sent me to find you and Mardil attacked me. You have been discovered. Mardil said I was the first to be arrested.“

“I’ll take you back to the house-” Halvarin replied and lifted Sarael in his arms for she was still unsteady after the assault she had fought off.

They got a few steps closer to the door when it was kicked in. Two men rushed forward brandishing bared swords. When they saw Mardil dead on the floor, one moved toward Halvarin and Sarael. Halvarin let Sarael’s legs slip to the floor and he grabbed and threw his knife, hitting the man in the neck. Blood spewed out as he gurgled, gripping at the knife in his throat. The other man paused and crouched defensively. Halvarin noted the pin he had, and remembered where he saw it before. Black Scouts!

Sarael stepped back and leaned against Halvarin’s desk as the Castamirian spoke.

”Halvarin, you are hereby relieved of your command, and are under arrest for sedition, and for murder of two of the King’s men…”

Halvarin dived down to Mardil when he heard the sound of a sword meeting flesh. The blade punched through and out the man’s front. Halvarin jumped back up having retrieved the knife pulled from Mardil’s side.

Sarael called out, ”Michas!”

“Come, we have no time!”

Michas waved for Halvarin and Sarael to leave as two more men watched outside the door. Halvarin passed Sarael the knife he had retrieved, then picked up his knife and the sword that the Black Scout had dropped. He helped Sarael to the door as she was still trying to breath.

In the hall, Michas offered a scant report of the rapidly unfolding situation.

”We have been compromised, at last. His loyalists rise. You and your family are in grave peril!”

As they moved along the hall, some men came down from the direction of Halvarin’s house. They paused upon sighting Michas and Halvarin both. They were out of breath and flushed, as if they had sprinted.

One said, ”We tried to reach to your house, Lord Commander, but there were too many. We fought them but could not get through. They’ve taken your wife!”

This hit Halvarin like a physical blow. The dread he felt tasted of old iron, thick on his tongue.

“Mindacil! Did they take him?” Sarael asked as Halvarin tried to push past the soldiers.

He paused when more soldiers came, one carrying Mindacil, ”This one is clever. He found his way out unnoticed.”

Halvarin wrapped his arms around his son and held him close, breathing him in, as Sarael plucked at his sleeve.

”Merece! She sent me to you because she thought the baby comes,” she said in a low, urgent voice.

Overhearing this, Michas blanched and he looked to the officer that had found Halvarin’s son. Halvarin kissed the young boy, who whilst relieved to be in his father’s arms, was clearly frightened by what he had observed unfold. With great difficulty, he passed Mindacil to Sarael. The boy went to her gladly, for she was another friendly, loved face amongst so many grim men. She smoothed his dark hair and Halvarin wiped his hands over his face. That Amarwen had been taken, possibly in labour, was enough to make him shake.

”They couldn’t have taken her far!” he said. ”Let’s go!”

The officer shook his head. ”We can’t get back there. Their numbers are yet too many, and ours too few.”

Michas met his old friend’s anguished gaze. ”The city erupts and chaos will soon reign in the streets. The moment has come when each man of Gondor must choose with who they stand. Come Halvarin, the men who stand for the return of Eldacar need their leadership! The Castamirians are not so many in Minas Anor that the city will fall. And it would seem that those Black Scouts were not all dealt with.”

The sound of clashing steel was drawing steadily closer and Halvarin knew they could not hold there for long. He and his family had been targeted, but it seemed Mardil had set things in motion. Plans meticulously crafted and laid in preparation for just this moment. They retreated down the causeway to a part of the city that Michas’s men had secured.

[elora]

”WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A thick oak door, reinforced with blackened, rusty metal bolts, slammed into place. She was sealed into a tiny cell that was dark and persistently cold, despite the season outside. Amarwen prowled, frantic with fear. Where was Mindacil? He’d winkled away in the chaos. Where was Halvarin? Had they snared him as well? She’d let the household go, declaring the risk they were all in. Some had spat in her face but so many more had remained. Doughty. Determined not to run like scared rats. Had one of them gotten Mindacil to safety? Had they slipped free?

She rubbed at her lower back. It was stubbornly aching. Michas would know what to do. She knew that. They’d been over it so many times. Firstly, they needed to secure the positions along the river. Then word had to be gotten south to Pelargir – otherwise her uncle and Silares would not know to put out for sea and the positions she had established there would not be hardened for combat. She meant to take out as much of the Usurper’s powerful navy as she could. That son of a misbegotten troll would not have the river either. Not this time.

Then there was Osgiliath. Had the advance forces landed there yet? She hoped so, for they’d need to secure that to launch on the rest of the realm. Most of her plans had not factored on being so swiftly arrested. She hoped she had told enough to others to counteract this development. Michas and Halvarin would know what to do here. Vinyarion and his father were poised in Osgiliath and Minas Ithil respectively. She had done everything she had to do. All she needed to do now is remain calm and deliver the child she carried before they broke her. For they would. She knew that for a certainty.

Where was Mindacil? She had meant to have him well clear of Minas Anor at this juncture. Safely in Sarael’s keeping, for there were few others she would entrust with such an undertaking, and on his way out of this. Not Edhellond, of course, for that is the first place they would go once they broke her. No, Calambel – a sleepy little hamlet where a woman travelling with a young boy might be taken in. Halvarin and she had discussed it at length and were agreed. He’d see it done, if he still had his freedom and Sarael had hers.

Out, beyond the heavy door of her little cell, Amarwen could hear commotion. Shouting, cursing. Someone was fighting against their arrest. She heard the din pick up in cells around her. Like a pack of dogs, baying, they were. It made her shudder but soon she threw her voice in with theirs.

”WHERE IS MY SON? WHERE IS MY SON?”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The cells were packed and still more were flooding in. There was fighting in the streets. Brawls and riots for the most, yet between that and the arrest of the Lord Commander’s household, there was scarcely room to swing a cat. That one of the prisoner’s was a heavily pregnant woman was the least of his concerns. Rather, he was preoccupied with keeping the walls and gates of the prison intact. There had been several attempts on both once the sun set and it was not yet midnight.

Pushing out a sigh, the man responsible for the prison looked up when his door opened. He saw, immediately, two men. Both were Black Scouts and he pushed to his feet and hoped his distaste was not immediately apparent. They entered, cold eyes flicked this way and that, before settling on him.

”Keys,” one said, voice dull with disinterest. His fingers fumbled to free them from his belt. They jangled as he handed them across his desk to the man that had demanded them.

”Out,” said the other, similarly apathetic, and he scurried out of the door, eager to quit his office and put distance between himself and the Black Scouts.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


He shuffled the keys one by one until he found the one he was after. He fit it to the lock and turned it. A metallic squeal as he pulled the door open. The only light there was came from the guttering torches outside the cell. It revealed a stone floor strewn with rotting straw. There was movement in the deeper shadows and then a voice.

”WHERE IS MY SON?”

Correct cell confirmed, he stood aside to clear the door. A pause, for the woman within was not a fool. Once caution was served, he saw the hem of her skirts and then the prisoner herself. Her expression could be described in one word: murderous. Though she was heavy with child, he felt his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. Her eyes fell to the pin he wore.

He said nothing as he jerked his head to the hall. Eying him as if he were a snake ready to strike, the prisoner eased out of the cell. Once there he watched her mark out the various points of entry. She stiffed as he took her elbow in a firm grip and hauled her along to the office they had appropriated. He pushed her into it and sealed the door after him.

”Mistress Merece, you look as though you would appreciate a chair.”

“I want nothing from the likes of you,” the prisoner returned, her tone haughty as any princess.

”Not even an update on the whereabouts of your son?”

Her chin lowered a little and he saw her hands curl and uncurl at her sides.

”I wish I could tell you, put your mind to ease. We will continue to search for him. Couldn’t have a boy of such tender years wandering the now dangerous streets. We’re looking for your husband too, as it so happens. The charges against him are egregious. What sort of man lets his wife bear the brunt of justice meant for him? His very pregnant wife. How far along are you?”

Again her hands curled and uncurled. The prisoner said nothing.

”I’d say eight…if not nine months. Has the babe dropped yet?”

Still no response. ”Matters not. All I need do is wait. Until it comes. Until you find yourself alone, in the darkness. Screaming.”

The prisoner lifted her chin again and his fellow Black Scout turned away with a shrug.

”Presuming you both survive, the whelp with you, I will take it too. I will take everything, Mistress Marece. Where is your husband?”

The prisoner sucked in a deep breath and hissed, ”Go to hell.”

“I rather think it will come to you and in short order too. Enjoy.”

The initial questioning concluded, he returned the prisoner to her dark cell, careful to secure the door. This was one prisoner that could not be permitted to escape.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The Viper kept his position without breaking cover. Inwardly, though, he was railing like a common sailor. This was all kinds of a mess. He’d had a deal with Aldamir’s woman to take out every last Black Scout. A deal he had clearly failed to deliver on and near as he could tell the consequences of that failure were dire. Heads would roll. Most likely his and he had an attachment to his own head. What a mess. But, then, given the unrest in the streets…If he fed the right people the truth – that a heavily pregnant woman was held prisoner, to be interrogated mercilessly…that her son was missing…why, it was a perfect outrage. How better to illustrate the cruelty to those as yet undecided.

And so that meant she had to remain where she was for now. Wouldn’t do to pull her out until the entire city was frothing at the mouth, baying for blood. Aldamir would understand and she’d long know what she was getting herself into.

As the Viper scurried along in the darkness, Amarwen realised that the ache of her lower back was something else entirely. Labour had begun. She hoped she could endure it without giving the animals that held her the satisfaction of her screams.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The early dawn light was still grainy as the wetnurse was escorted into the prison. Flanked by two men, both bearing the fearsome emblem of the Black Scouts, she pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders. She ached in trembling silence for the babe that should be tucked in her arms. The babe she had buried only the day before. A fugue, they say, but she knew otherwise. The land itself sickened and the most vulnerable bore the brunt, as always. Such talk was treason and so she did not voice it.

The two men walked in silence, oblivious to the cries of those in the cells. She could hear the sound of beatings. Cries of pains. Curses and pleads. Groans. The door they led her to was silent. The air here was still, as if all locked away in this area held their collective breath. Keys jangled and then hinges squealed.

There, on the rotting straw, lay a woman. She was white as a sheet, exhausted. Not entirely conscious. The wetnurse recognised, at once, that the woman had recently given birth. Alone, in the darkness, in this cell. She’d been unable to cut the cord. She’d torn at her skirts for something to wrap the newborn in and she clutched it to her in arms ferociously tight.

”Take it,” said one of the Black Scouts and pushed her forward. The scent of blood hung in the air.

The wetnurse came forward and wondered where the woman might lie. Without alternate bedding or fresh straw, the risk of infection or dreadful bleeding was very high. The woman’s eyes rolled and fluttered open as she knelt by her.

”No,” she whispered in a desiccated voice and she realised there was not even water in this forsaken place.

”Take it,” came the order anew, ”Or we will dash its brains out now and be done with it.”

Tears came to the woman’s eyes as she looked up into her face.

”I will care for it,” she said as she prized the infant’s tiny body away. It stirred, puckered its mouth and gave a quivering, pitiful wail.

”Please,” said the woman, pleading and she nodded understanding. She would not have been able to determine whether the child was a boy or girl in the uncertain light.

Pulling the rough, hasty swaddling aside, the wetnurse checked.

”A girl.”

“Alenna,” the woman said, ”Alenna.”

She slumped back, weakened and the wet nurse climbed to her feet. The child wailed still, hungry and cold. The wetnurse responded without thinking. She tucked the girl, Alenna, under her shawl and shifted until she felt the infant latch. Strong. Alenna was strong. Once she was cleaned up and properly swaddled, Alenna was likely to flourish where her own babe foundered. Her own babe had never suckled as lustily as this.

”I’m sorry,” she said as she was pulled roughly back out of the cell.

The hinges squealed again as the door was sealed. More jangling keys. The Black Scouts started off and it seemed as though they had forgotten her.

”Sirs,” she called after them and they turned back. ”What would you have me do?”

They exchanged a look, ”Return here every day, in this hour.”

She frowned, not understanding, but they did not deign to explain it. And so a day passed and she did return. She was again taken to the cell and once there she was to feed Alenna as her mother was forced to watch on. It was then that she grasped the monstrosity of what was occurring. The cruelty of stealing a newborn child from a mother’s arms and forcing her to watch it being nurtured by its thief. And, as the days passed and Alenna’s mother did not seem to be recovering, she realised that the woman was slowly dying. For they had not changed the straw.

Yet, she feared for her own life and that of tiny Alenna. The men that had forced her into this had threated to murder the infant. And so the wetnurse said nothing as her misgivings mounted, day by day and in a week, on a glorious summer day, a public trial was held right before the gallows.

She was shocked to see Alenna’s mother pulled out, so weakened that she could barely stand and blinking at the bright sunlight. Those watching, and there were a great many gathered, murmured at the sight before them. Her skin had greyed as infection claimed her.

”Mistress Marece, you stand charged with High Treason, conspiracy to commit High Treason and other foul acts against His Royal Highness, King Castimir, First of His Name. How answer you?”

The voice that rang out was powerful and compelling. As the charges were read out, the wetnurse glanced down to the infant sleeping in her arms. She was sweetly oblivious. The wetnurse heard a faint sound and she looked up to the find the authorities leaning, in all their finery, towards the accused.

”What? What did she say? Speak up or hold your tongue!”

“WHERE ARE MY BABIES?!”

It burst out of Alenna’s mother like a summer storm and the force of it made her sag over the rough wooden stall she had been placed in. The wetnurse watched her struggle to push herself upright. The sun, when it hit her eyes, revealed a fevered glint.

”If you will not answer the charges, you will found guilty and hanged!”

The crowd murmured ominously and the wetnurse tightened her arms around Alenna, shivering.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


The Viper darted through the press drawn by this terrible spectacle. Proving her aristocratic heritage, Aldamir’s woman was putting on a fine show. A little too fine, he thought, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. The crowd was on the cusp. Just a bit of a nudge and it would spill over. A word here and there, and he was in a hurry, as he was aware that there were others here hell bent on retrieving Aldamir’s woman come what may.

”Poor wretch! She’s dead on her feet. How can they be so cruel,” he said in a solicitous tone.

At that a tall man whirled, his eyes alight with fury. The Viper recognised the man he’d released from cells in The Harlond, along with the Rhovanion, some months ago now. The husband of Aldamir’s woman, if he wasn’t mistaken. A navigator…senior…couldn’t place his name as he danced out of fellow’s grip and smack into another’s. He was caught fast and Halvarin, yes he had the name now, surged forward. He gathered a fist full of the Viper’s tunic and hauled him forward.

”Now, now, we’re all on the same side here,” the Viper said.

”I know this one,” said another, ”He serves only himself.”

“I know who he is, Michas,” Halvarin growled and the Viper was pleased to see a familiar woman reach up to touch his arm.

”We may have need of him yet, m’Lord,” Sarael said.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


”- the charges, you will be found guilty and hanged!”

Amarwen could feel herself spinning. Sometimes she could hold herself upright and sometimes she was falling. And the bleeding, it had not stopped. Something was very wrong but it didn’t matter. So long as Alenna, Mindacil and Halvarin were safe and everyone knew what to do, it really didn’t matter any more. Her task was done. The end was nigh and the prospect of laying down the enormous weight was undeniably appealing. She wished she could see them again. She wished she could hold them again. She wished she could see the day the rightful King returned and sat his throne.

She pushed back from the rickety stall front she was leaning against and narrowly caught herself on the rear barrier. If she was going to die here, then she would die for who she was. She would die for the truth.

”I will give you your answer,” she said, her voice faint but picking up strength. She had no need to hold anything back in reserve now.

Amarwen tipped her face up to the bright blue sky. The sun made her fevered flesh shiver but she threw her arms out.

”My father was captured with Crown Prince Ornedil. He surrendered under the terms of ransom and for that he was tortured to his death. But that was not enough. No. For his remains were carted about and hung from gibbets for all to see the crows make sport of.”

She lowered her arms. ”My mother was slaughtered before my eyes because she would not bend knee to a false and cruel king. I am not guilty of High Treason for CASTAMIR IS NO KING!

"I am the voice in your heads demanding to know when is enough enough. I am the thorn in your despicable side. I am but one set of many hands that will tear you down from your stolen seats. My name is Amarwen of Edhellond and you will answer me this: WHERE ARE MY BABIES?!”

At first there was silence. As if the crowd had sucked back like the low tide. And then it surged, roaring. She felt her knees fail her as she sank into the makeshift stall. All she could smell was blood. Her own. But it mattered not for Minas Anor was finally stirred to life.

[elora]

”Eldacar is King! Down with the usurper!”

Someone in the crowd cried out after hearing Amarwen’s words! A din of yeas raised through the crowd. Then someone yelled out,

”That Rhovanion half-breed is no king of Numenorean Gondor! Long live King Castamir!”

A somewhat lesser din of yeas went up with a jeer of boos… the air was filled with such intensity and the soldiers were looking uneasy. The kingdom was dividing ….

”Amarwen of Edhellond!”

The voice boomed out across the square, bouncing off people and the stones alike as the guards attempted to quell the crowd’s disorder.

”Stripped of your titles and land, your once proud House denounced. Already you have been tried and guilty you have been found of High Treason most foul!”

The jeering from the crowd intensified and it was this that restored Amarwen to her senses. She clung to the stall around her as her strength ebbed, ever weaker.

”You were sentenced in accordance with the laws of our realm to die for your crimes. And, as you are clearly alive still, that sentence will be carried out today, forthwith!”

Amarwen lifted her head barely and made out men, all in uniform, hurrying towards her. Their faces were grim and in their eyes death. They made considerable haste, gripping their weapons as they crossed the space. Elsewhere, to the side, some of the crowd broke through the cordon. There were cries of anger and pain and then the thrum of an arrow. A man fell to the stones, an arrow protruding from his neck.

This alerted the crowd to the previously unknown presence of archers from upon high. Amarwen lowered her head again. Of course the Black Scouts would have prepared for unrest. It was not long after that before the stall she clung to was pulled from her grip. Weakened, she fell to her knees between the men crowding around her. They pulled her up and bound her elbows behind her.

”Recant your treachery and mercy will be granted. Our sovereign lord, Castamir, King of Gondor is compassionate. He wishes this, our realm, to be healed. Set aside your treason, Amarwen of Edhellond, and your life will be yours. You will, once again, hold your children in your arms. By the grace of Castimir, Saviour of Gondor.”

Still her head was bowed and her eyes closed. The crowd had quietened to a murmur again although there were fitful outcries. She heard a man shout that she should save herself. Of course, the offer was not a genuine one. Amarwen knew that. As soon as she recanted, betrayed her people and her king and House and her husband, they would very quickly and quietly end her life. Out of sight. An accident. A sickness brought on poison. Anything to ensure she did not ever rise again to cause them so much woe. And they did not even know what she had been doing.

The laughter that bubbled out shocked even her. They were going to execute her without even knowing the full extent of her supposed treachery. The laughter kept coming from her, increasing in strength as the men around her clenched their fists. She forced it to stop and lifted her head.

”Castamir the defiler! Usurper! Murd-“

The blow came from beyond her range of sight. She sagged sideways, ears ringing and blood filling her mouth. This she spat out as she was hauled up by the ropes. The sunlight transformed the blood into a spray of rubies that glittered. Amarwen was dragged to her feet.

”So be it.”

Again, her senses swum. The guards pulled her across to the scaffold. She could not climb the rough wooden steps and so they thrust her up it. Then she was forced to kneel before a stone. She had just enough time to take in the executioner. His black hood concealed his face but she caught the cold gleam of his eyes and his sword. It was large, very sharp.

Another twang of a bow and this time a woman fell through the cordon. The arrow, this time, had found her thigh and she shrieked with agony. Through her doubling vision, Amarwen saw the faces of the crowd. They blurred, angry, frightened. Men, women, children. Aghast. Vengeful.

”Amarwen of Edhellond, set aside your pride and your folly. Renounce your-“

“NEVER!” Amarwen screamed, ”RISE! ELDACAR COMES! FIGHT!”

A knee to her back slammed her forwards. She hit the executioner’s block hard enough to drive the air from her. Her body, struggling to heal from delivering her daughter only days ago, was awash with fire. Amarwen lost consciousness as her hair was roughly pulled aside. Her entire body went slack. She did not hear the mighty howl of the crowd and she did not see how they surged the already overtaxed guards maintaining the cordon. She did not see how so many of them cast their weapons down or instead, turned them on their fellows. She did not know of the melee, vicious and sudden, that broke out on the scaffold behind her.

The square devolved into a rapid, ferocious riot.