Visitors Come to Court
Chapter 3 – At the King’s Table
Once through the gate, they came into a tall, narrow chamber, lighted by a shaft cut through the rock overhead. Beyond this the path ramped up slightly, until it came to another level chamber, with another light shaft above it. On up again went the passage through the rock, until they emerged again into daylight (and wind and snowfall), fairly in the middle of the lower plateau. They saw guards of the city now, two squads of four men each, who had been alerted to their coming, but knowing who came, stood in orderly array on either side of their path as they came forth from the tunnel.
The guards wore the same dark blue as Celepharn adorned with a similar emblem, though lesser in size than that the trio had seen on him at their first meeting. This was apparently the royal sign of this kingdom. The guards were tall men, but not so tall as Celepharn - each young and fit, and each armed with spear, shield and sword.
Just beyond the guards was an open square, about which ran a circular path. They had gone straight north through the tunnel’s passage and now turned sharply to the right, going eastward on the circular path. After a quarter circle, they took the road which led straight east, toward a cleft in the upper plateau, in which they now saw that there was a path up into that upper tier.
The city about them was filled with two and three story buildings, most of them close together, some with shops of different kinds at the ground level and living quarters above. In most cases, the highest floor was a half floor, the southern wall rising full height, with upper windows to allow in the light that passed over the house of their southern neighbor, and the roof sloping down to the north, allowing light to reach the house of their northern neighbor. Most were of stone, but some buildings were built partly, or entirely of wood.
Few people were about at this time, for winter was coming on in full, and it was cold, and the daylight was beginning to fade. Wisps of smoke came from most of the chimneys, as the occupants gathered at the fire to keep warm or to prepare their evening meal. These chimneys were usually built up along the taller southern sides of the structures, to reach higher and to soak up into the stone what warmth they could gather from the daytime sun.
They passed the open gate of a guardhouse at the foot of the next ramp, and one more gatehouse after they had climbed it. Inside this last guardhouse they turned to their left and the upper plateau of Fornost opened before them.
In the center was another square, or courtyard, and just beyond it, and to the left and right, were three large structures. The one directly before them was symmetrical about the courtyard and was the most impressive of the three. It was the palace of the Ruling House of Arthedain. Built of stone, it stood three stories tall below its roof, and the roof inclined steeply up from both sides, adding nearly as much height as the three stories below, 24 rangar (76 feet) to the peak. The main entrance at one end faced south onto the square and two wings of equal length stretched east and west.
The building to their left was not quite so tall nor so impressive, but it was nearly as large and certainly older. It looked as though it had gone through many additions, most of them done rather irregularly. This was the long home of the Princely House of Fornost, those who had succored King Amlaith the eldest son of Earendur at the time of Arnor’s division. For Amlaith’s wife was of that house, and her father and brothers had stood firmly by him at his great hour of need.
On either side, facing the courtyard more or less from southeast and southwest, two rows deep, stood the city estates of other nobles of the Realm – the greater ones to the inside and the lesser to the outside. But it was toward the third building on the courtyard itself, the one on the right, that Celepharn led them now. This was the Great Hall of Fornost, and it was here that people gathered together when the weather prohibited their meeting for assemblies out-of-doors. It was also where the king and his household gathered for their meals, and where he preferred to receive guests at mealtime.
The Great Hall was almost entirely one large room. It was two stories high to the springing of the roof, and its roof did not incline so steeply as that of the palace, but it was wide, spanned across by great timber trusses. On its west side two doors opened onto the courtyard at quarter points. Inside there was a great fireplace at each end and an open fire pit in the center. Balconies ran along the east and west sides, and passages connected it to the palace and to various ancillary buildings behind it, but also to the Tower of Fornost, which was behind it, and straight east from the Palace.
They made for the southern door, for it was the nearest. There they were met by a half dozen servants, one of whom took the bundle of Celepharn’s tent, which he had insisted on carrying himself the entire way, another took the great white fur robe and thick mittens, which Celepharn removed and handed to him. Other servants took charge of the three horses while their riders dismounted, then led them away to stables behind the Great Hall.
Once inside they walked through a small vestibule and then into the hall itself, where Celepharn led them to a long table before the fireplace at the far end. There they sat and began to warm themselves, Celepharn from his vigil, and his guests from their journey. Celepharn removed his great blue cloak, burgundy hat and scarf, then a long vest of olive green and long, brown outer tunic. Below this was the familiar blue tunic and gray undergarments they had seen him in at their first meeting. He took off his fingerless gloves and his boots, setting these last upon the hearth, open ends toward the fire. Warm robes and slippers were brought for him and his guests, who had removed their cloaks and their boots as well. Then they sat together on a long bench, resting their backs on the table and their feet on the great hearth. A serving girl brought them each a mug of hot tea.
The hall was mostly deserted on their arrival, and for the first hour as they warmed themselves, the few servants who passed through kept to the far side. After that, a bustle of activity began steadily to grow, as preparations were made for the evening meal. By this time, the light from the high windows had shifted to the east wall as the sun descended toward the horizon outside. “Those of us in training eat two meals in winter, for the days are shorter, the food scarcer and the duty lighter.” Explained Celepharn. “In summer we also eat at mid-day, but in winter only at first light and at sunset.”
The table was set with simple fare; small baskets of coarse bread, fresh and warm, clay jars of butter and cheese, and a great pot of stew, with a pile of bowls about it. These were also placed on other tables in the hall – one row each down the east and west sides. Pitchers of drink, and sturdy mugs were set forth.
Celepharn and his companions had turned from the fire and stood to wait, the Pilgrim leaning on the staff he had kept with him. While the food was still coming out, a few nobles and officials and their ladies and children began to appear and stand near their appointed places. One official came to the small party and spoke in hushed tones with Celepharn, before calling servants to quickly re-arrange the benches at the head table, and to place two smaller tables crossways at each end. Then a few great, high-backed chairs were brought forth – the greatest placed at the center of the head table, with three others on each side. Celepharn stood by the smaller table on one side, while the three travelers were directed to the other.
Then from the half-level balcony to the left of the fireplace, a trumpet blew two notes, one low and one high. All became silent and turned their attention. Three couples descended a stone stair and approached the high-backed chairs. First came the Prince of Fornost and his wife, and they took the two chairs furthest to the right. They were a stately elder pair, his hair and beard shot with black and white, and his mantle and tunic were brown. Her hair now an even grey and she was arrayed in garments of dark purple. Next came Mallor, Heir to the Kingdom of Arthedain, and his wife, tall and slender, she still retained the beauty of youth, for she was young as the Dunedain account age. Mallor and his wife both wore blue, his garments darker and marked out with emblems of his rank, hers more simple, yet elegant. Mallor took the seat next to the greatest on the left side, or to the right of that seat, and his wife sat beside him. Then came King Beleg and his Queen, advancing slowly toward the remaining seats in the middle. The Queen advanced slowly but gracefully, her carriage straight and proud, and her own beauty had not faded with the years, but had been transformed. Her hair was as white as the snow outside, and she and her King wore garments of white and silver, covered with robes of crimson red.
Beleg and Mallor were like Celepharn in form, but both appeared far more stern and, like Fornost’s Prince, both wore beards, while Celepharn was clean-shaven. Mallor’s hair and short beard were black, but flecked with gray. Beleg’s hair and beard were white, for he was nearing 200 years of age. As he walked, with an attendant on each side, his eyes darted about the room even as his head remained fixed. Suddenly those eyes lit up and a great smile came unexpectedly to his face. He shook off his attendants and went around to the smaller table at the far end, straight toward one of Celepharn’s three guests.
“Elrohir!” he said with joy, as the two locked arms in greeting. “It has been many, many years. How is your… family?”
Elrohir smiled in return. “Greetings King Beleg! Both my father and mother are well, and so is my brother Elladan. My sister also is quite well. I see that your own family grows. Your grandson Celepharn is known to me now from his travels. And it is good to come into your home this day, for you were not yet King when last we met.”
“Yes – it has been long indeed! I have been King here for nearly threescore years. Wait now… Celepharn! Are these indeed the three travelers you met while out a-hunting? You failed to tell me that they were fair folk… least of all that among them was a dear companion of my youth!”
Celepharn came forward when addressed and bowed his head before his grandfather. “King Beleg, you commanded me to be silent and obey you before I could say so.”
“Yes, well… never mind then.” The King answered gruffly. And then returning to look at Elrohir, “My, my… you have not changed at all! Who now are your companions?”
“This is a lord in my father’s house, named Glorfindel,” began Elrohir, as Glorfindel inclined his head slightly, his face expressionless.
Beleg looked intently into his face, “Yes… I believe I have seen you there before – but that was when my own grandfather was King – and over all Arnor, not only Arthedain. Who then is this other?” he asked, turning his attention to the Pilgrim. “No Elf after all, is he?”
“A simple pilgrim for whom I was sent, to bring unto my father’s home. I was bringing him thither when your grandson graciously invited us to stay here at Fornost through the winter.”
“Hmmph!” replied Beleg, looking now intently into the Pilgrim’s face. “Just so you are no deserter or traitor, you are welcome at my table!
His guest met his gaze, first with gravity, but then with a slight smile as he answered, “Never yet have I turned from my duty, nor do I ever intend that I shall.”
“So – you are not one of those who rebelled against my father? Who helped to splinter his land asunder? You could be of the right age, if you have the life of the Dunedain.”
“I am not of the Dunedain, and my age is not a certain thing. But I do make the claim to be, what you would call… Faithful.”
“Very well then,” said the King, seemingly satisfied as he turned back toward his chair and appeared once more less energetic, calling his attendants back to assist him. “You may then share in my table, such as it is. Poor fare for a King’s table though, is it not?”
“Where I come from, it is the fellowship that makes a table rich or poor Your Majesty, and in that I judge already that I come to a great banquet feast.” Continued the Pilgrim.
The King now slowly lowered himself into his chair, and once he was seated, all others about the room seated themselves as well. Thus King Beleg now sat at the middle of the head table, and to his left were Queen Hiriluial, then the Prince of Fornost and next his wife. To the King’s right was Mallor, then his wife, Lady Tiriel, and into the seat on the far right slipped a lady in simple clothes, with a shawl over her head and shoulders. Celepharn was first on the crosswise table to the King’s right, and at the one to his left sat first the Pilgrim – his staff now leaning across his shoulder, then Elrohir, then Glorfindel.
“Perhaps,” replied the King. “But one cannot eat fellowship. And this table would be none the worse for a great roast pig, I judge.”
At that, Celepharn winced, but did not speak.
“And where you come from,” continued Beleg, reaching for a small loaf of bread and signaling for a bowl of stew, “how do they treat with a youngster who continually disobeys his rightful King and turns aside to his fancies?”
“Well…” said the stranger, speaking to the King as older men will speak of younger, “If it were in truth just his fancies, he need be trained to attend to his duties. But in some cases, a man turns aside from one task when he judges that a greater has arisen. At these times, the wise must weigh his decision and see if he has indeed chosen correctly. If not, he should be shown his error. Yet if he has chosen rightly, he ought to be commended for it.”
“Where then are you from?” asked the King, pausing from his meal and looking once more directly into the newcomer’s eyes.
“Oh,” laughed the old man, “I am from here and about – quite far away, really. Although of late I have been a guest in Lindon.”
“And more lately at Cardolan, you might say,” replied the King, returning his attention to his bowl. He paused again for a moment. “You remind me, almost, of some others who came to my table a few years ago. Older men, like yourself, traveling together and denying any connection to the division of our land. In fact… after only a short visit here, they were quite eager to get on to Rivendell – same place you’re making for. Curious that.”
“Your pardon, oh King,” interjected Celepharn. “When was this visit? I recall no such guests to your table.”
“Oh,” answered the King, sitting back in his chair, “it was while you were away up north, proving your worth, as some might say of you.” He briefly gave Celepharn a stern look, before growing reflective once more. “For he came at the very time we received word from Ciryandil, inviting us to Gondor to celebrate the one thousandth year since the fall of our great foe. Which I would fain not do – not without being High King over that land, as were my forefathers.” He looked once more on the Pilgrim. “The leader of that foursome, for four there were – oh how his eyes lit up at hearing that message. I should have thought he would go straightaway there himself.”
“Indeed he nearly did.” Said Elrohir. “For that very same group came indeed to my father’s home, staying only a short while, then asking aid in continuing on to Osgiliath. My father commanded Elladan lead them there, while I was sent to Cirdan, for we were told that one more would follow them to the Havens. So there I went, and waited, until he came.”
King Beleg listened intently to Elrohir, then slowly shifted his gaze to the Pilgrim. “Tell me more of Cardolan and Arthedain, if you would,” his guest inquired.
Just then a few roasts of fowl and coney were brought out and placed before them. The King waved back a servant who stepped up to carve some portions and gestured for the knife and fork himself. He pondered over the roast fowl before him before slowly beginning to slice into it.
“My forefathers, from Elendil, Isildur and Valandil, lived as Kings of all Arnor and High Kings over all the Dunedain. But as my grandfather descended into his final days, my father’s brothers began to work intrigues and to contest with my father for rulership of the land.” He began to slice more vigorously. “When at last my grandfather died, they had made their allegiances, and tore off for themselves a share of the Kingdom.” With that, his knife passed through the roast fowl with such force that it struck the platter below, severing off one side of the bird. Beleg stood at his work and began to cut with equal force into the other side. He continued, his voice quaking with rage, “So over my grandfather’s grave my uncles massed their armies for war with my father and with one another. But it was a war in which my father would have no part – nor would he command his own brothers slain, despite their great crimes!” And at that, the other side of the fowl was stricken from the remnant, and Beleg stood, his fork and knife aloft, his arms shaking with rage.
The Queen looked with concern up at her husband and Mallor stood up beside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder, then slowly removing knife and fork from his hands, turned them back over to the servant. At his prompting, Beleg returned to his seat once more but continued his tale, his voice still tense but now under control, “Yet while my father would not have them slain, I marred one of them – my uncle Caryontar. Yes, with a long shot indeed, as he rallied his forces to take the city of Annuminas. My shot threw them all into disarray, and placed me at great risk. I was only rescued by my cousin here,” he nodded toward the Prince of Fornost, “and some nobles of distant kin to us. I turned to see them slain, unable to give them aid.” He paused and looked toward his Queen, who averted her eyes downward. “But I have given aid where I may… to their sons and nephews, their sister and… widow.” Beleg reached his hand over to his wife and placed a finger below her chin, gently lifting it up. She took his hand in both of hers and turned to look long into his eyes.
Then Beleg turned back to his guests, “So where once there was Arnor, we now have Arthedain, and Cardolan and Rhudaur. A quarrelsome lot, the other two – but I leave them to their squabbles. What do they fight for but the chance to bow before Gondor, which now only dallies with them both – even while some guess that Tarannon himself was in secret party with my uncles in their rebellion against my father, for they both had given him aid in his wars to the south. And now my cousins reap their own turmoil out of what their fathers did. But all these things are widely known, are they not?”
“As for Gondor – once Arnor was divided and her rightful King made king only of a part of what his father held – for what reason would they acknowledge him as High King, who could not rule over his own brothers? Thus… the High Kingship has passed from our people. No… I would not go to see the grandeur of Gondor in these days!”
They ate in silence for a while, for nobody wished to speak when the King was in a foul mood – as he all too often was. Especially when the talk had turned to the breaking of Arnor. But after a bit, the Pilgrim turned up his head to thank the serving girl as she filled his mug with a dark, steaming drink. He took a sip, then sat back and watched as she continued on her way, noting how she glanced anon at Celepharn, and how she lingered while serving him, then kept her eyes upon him as she moved onward. He noted too how some of the young noblewomen at the tables, attendants of the Queen and of the Heir’s wife, might discreetly turn their eyes to him for a moment, then look away. Celepharn seemed unaware of all this, but the King was looking again right into the Pilgrim’s eyes when they returned toward him, and his eyes showed that he had observed what the Pilgrim had been watching.
The Pilgrim spoke once more with a twinkle in his eye, “King Beleg, it seems that not all here hold your grandson in as low regard as you do. Surely a young man like himself would find the favor of any maiden in the land.” Those around the table looked up, except for the young ladies who had been stealing glances before – for they each suddenly found something of great interest on their plate or lap and some blushed lightly. The serving girl finished her pouring and went briskly off to the lower tables.
“Does this amuse you?” asked the King. “Know, Pilgrim, that we Dunedain are not as the Men of Darkness nor even the Middle Men. In all these matters, we live as the Eldar, though perhaps it is no longer so in the Court of Cardolan?”
“Well enough then, but even the Eldar wed, as have you and your son. Celepharn, are you not of an age to wed the young maiden of your choosing?” he asked, looking at the younger man.
Celepharn seemed uncertain about whether to answer, but all turned their attention toward him, even the King.
“I have only seen twenty and five winters. Among lesser men, aye – many would already be husbands and fathers. But it is not so for us Dunedain. One of our ladies may wed at 30 or 40, but a young man at 50 or 60 – unless he is of royal or high noble birth, for then he must be at least 70. For a young man must make something of himself before he weds, and one of high birth has much to learn.”
“Seventy years you must be? Is it not difficult for a young man to wait so long?”
“It is…” and Celepharn glanced over at his parents and grandparents before continuing, “… an opportunity to learn self-control. One who would rule his people must learn to rule himself.”
“Well spoken!” said the King, and his mood seemed to lighten a little. “There might be hope for you still. Just learn to keep your promises – or not to make them. ‘Let the young men catch their deer, and the old men the geese and the children gather the berries, for I will bring down the bear and the boar’ you said. Well – none saw you bring down the bear whose coat you have, and the boar you have not brought back yet.” And then added as he turned back to the meal before him, “And forty-five or even fifty more years will do you good.” The Pilgrim looked intently around the table at each face. His eyes rested at last on Tiriel, mother of Celepharn, who kept glancing anxiously toward her son.
At just that moment a messenger strode hurriedly into the hall. He looked every bit a young nobleman, garbed in blue trimmed out with red, with the emblem of a rayed star on his left breast. He descending the same stairs by which the King and his entourage had arrived. He then made directly for the King, bent low beside him and spoke softly with King Beleg and Mallor. When he was finished he returned briskly by the way he had come.
The King turned his gaze back toward Celepharn. “Well… it seems you will have another chance to keep your promise. The Black Boar has returned, and troubles the farmers at the head waters of Baranduin. Will you bring him to me?”
Celepharn rose as if to go immediately, but the King waved him back to his seat. “No – finish your meal, for you shall need your strength. Leave before first light. If you stick to your task this time, perhaps we shall see you again at the Yule. The Black Boar would feed many guests.”
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” interjected the Pilgrim. “Might I… and my companions, join Celepharn in this hunt? After all, we are to blame for his turning aside when he had the beast in his reach.”
The King was surprised by this request, but appeared ready to refuse it, when the lady in the shawl spoke up suddenly, “He is the Elf with the Wand! Grant him what he asks.”
“But… he is no Elf!” said Mallor.
The King held up his hand. “My Seer has spoken, and I shall listen. He shall henceforth be called “Wand-Elf”… and he shall accompany you, and those with him, if they will.”
The Pilgrim seemed pleased and nodded his thanks to the King. Elrohir agreed that he and Glorfindel would go out with the Pilgrim, Wand-Elf. Celepharn sat musing on these latest developments. He didn’t see what good an old man would do him on a hunt for the Black Boar, but he liked the fellow – and it would sure be good to have the Elves along. Probably best to just have the four of them. Any servants or more companions just might slow them down.
As the dinner reached its conclusion, the ladies excused themselves first. Shortly after they departed, Celepharn spoke briefly with a chief servant, bidding him to see that preparations were made for the hunt; that he be summoned three hours before first light, with breakfast for four awaiting them and that their horses, provisions, winter wear and hunting gear be made ready. Celepharn then excused himself from his father and the King and motioned for his guests to join him.
Celepharn led them up the same stair and through the same entrance that the royal procession had used, beside the fireplace. Then left along a passage into the royal palace, up one stair, then over to another stair and up two more levels, then down a hallway to a corner room. It was Celepharn’s own room, rather small and spare, but a fire had been kindled and was glowing with its warmth. Three mats had been laid out on the floor besides the one cot. Other than these, a stand with washbasin, a chest and a single chair completed the furnishings. One outer wall of the room sloped steeply inward, for they were just at the level where the roof began. At the other was a window facing west.
Celepharn went to the window and stood looking westward, over the city below and to the white expanse beyond. The snow had stopped falling and all was now still. The moon was out, a few days shy of full, and colored the white canvas below it with tones of silver and blue. Then Celepharn began to speak, still staring out into the distance.
“That way lies our quest, my new friends. And that way also lies Annuminas, the great city of my fathers where none now dwell.”
They set the chair and the chest before the fire and sat to warm themselves and chat before turning in for the night. Glorfindel stood by for the chest could only seat two, and with a motion he declined to be seated. Wand-Elf was given the chair and Celepharn was able to prevail on him to take the cot for the night.
Before they had been seated for long, there came a light tapping at the door. Celepharn sprang up to open it. There stood his mother Tiriel, with her two attendants. He greeted her and stood aside to let her in, but she remained at the doorway. “I would speak with Mister Wand-Elf,” she said.
Wand-Elf rose and approached the doorway. The Lady Tiriel turned to take something from one of her attendants, then turned back with a bundle in her hands.
“Mister Wand-Elf, the winters in the North are perilous. If you would venture forth once more, I would give you this.” She unfolded in her hands a long silver scarf. “May this protect you from the howling winds and bitter cold.”
Wand-Elf bowed slightly and held out his hands to take the proffered gift. “Why thank you, Lady Tiriel, this is most kind.”
She then looked straight into his eyes, a look of concern, even pleading on her lovely face, “Please watch over my son.”
Wand-Elf smiled. “I shall certainly do so. I take it that you watch over him whenever you can?”
“I was trained to watch from a young age, for my father is Warden of Elostirion. Lord Cirdan, he who was of late your host, is known to me, and his presence has always warmed my heart, even as your presence does now. I fear that trouble may come unexpected on this hunting trip, but my heart tells me that you might work my son’s deliverance.”
“Trouble often comes, and yet is mostly unexpected. We will do what we may.”
“I trust that you will indeed – and that you, and your companions, can render the aid that might be of need. Good night, good Wand-Elf.” She ended with a bow.
“Good night, Lady Tiriel,” he replied, inclining his head and then slowly closing the door behind her. Then, still standing at the door, he pulled back his robe from about his neck, wrapped the scarf around himself, then drew the robe tightly over himself. “Yes, that will do the trick,” he said, as he walked back to the chair.