[Belin]

Envinyatar's post

Gaeradan . . . just after the morning meal, two days before the expected arrival of Eärnil

‘Well, Cook, they should be here in two days. Is everything in order?’ Gaeradan had made his rounds one last time. The Captain of the King’s Guard had his troops in order. They would be stationed at the dock early on the morning of arrival and await the arrival of Tarciryan’s ship. Cook produced her menu for the evening dinner and the servants’ list.

‘Are we sure this one will be acceptable to the Queen?’ Gaeradan pointed to the sixth name on the list. Cook’s brow furrowed, then she nodded her head. ‘I’ll ask the Butler to substitute another. This was the one who shut one of the Queen’s cats in the closet just last week . . . and probably on purpose, though I can’t fault her for doing that.’

The sound of a low growl stopped any further conversation. The kitchen dog, asleep on the rug by the small cooking fire, had raised her head, looking intently at the door from the hallway into the kitchen. Hackles raised, she got to her feet and trotted over to the small crack where the door had been left open a bit. Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she growled louder as a small black nose withdrew quickly from the opening. Cook got up and shut the door securely. ‘Good girl!’ murmured Cook to the dog. ‘She keeps them out of my kitchen,’ she said to Gaeradan, as the dog returned to her warm resting place. ‘Filthy little beasts . . . always poking their noses into this or that. Queer ones, her cats – they always seem to be somewhere looking and listening.’

Cook shook her self a little as she sat back down, throwing off the uneasy feeling she always had when one of the Queen’s cats was near.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The same day . . . Eärnil's unheralded early arrival at the port of Harlond

‘Look, papa! There it is!’

The great towering bastion of stone thrust itself from the massive mountain behind it – a sharp-edged ship’s keel straining east. Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun. Eärnil squirmed in his place at the prow railing. He had noted, in his now ten years of ‘wisdom’, that oftentimes places or people he remembered from his younger days, which then seemed so tall and looming, had shrunk considerably now that he was older.

But the sight of the city was all that he remembered. His eyes danced with delight as they drew nearer, watching the white-winged gulls wheel and turn before them, heralding their approach to the port at Harlond.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Nenruin, the dockmaster, hurried out from his office and ran to where the ship was putting in, alerted by one of the dock hands that a craft bearing the flag of Tarciryan was angling in to one of the slips. He watched as the ropes were secured to the posts, his hand going up in greeting to the man and boy who stood at the railing.

‘We were not expecting you, my Lord! We would have had a party here to greet you had we known.’ He paused for a moment and caught his breath. ‘In fact, I believe the harbor master at Osgiliath is awaiting your arrival - two days from now, or so I believe. We were to send riders once we saw your ship to alert them.’

Tarciryan clapped the man on his shoulder. ‘We have decided to surprise them, Nenruin. I hope you did not send riders out yet?’ He cocked his eyebrow at the dockmaster. ‘No, my Lord. Do you want me to do that now?’

‘Nay. As I said we wish to surprise them. Can you arrange for some horses for us? Myself, my Lady and son. And two guards. We will ride to the city and then to Osgiliath. Tomorrow the captain will take the ship and our belongings up river to the harbor there.’ Nenruin nodded his head yes to the requests and sent one of his men off for the required mounts.

Nenruin was invited aboard the ship to pass the time until the horses arrived. He had served under Tarciryan in his younger days, and the two of them shared a few memories over several cups of wine. Eärnil was all ears, tucking away these bits of his father’s life with great relish.

A number of hours later, when the horses had arrived and the Lady Miriel had declared herself ready to go, the small contingent mounted up and began their leisurely ride round the perimeter of Minas Anor. Eärnil pleaded with his parents to ride slowly. He had never traveled along this route – at least that he could recall, and he wanted to take all of it in that he could.

The five riders traveled at a leisurely pace, acceding to his wishes - seeing how the land and city had changed since their departure . . .

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Heir in Osgiliath

The lovely, sprawling city of Osgiliath wrapped itself around the river like a lover holding his beloved in his arms. ‘Do not leave me,’ you could almost hear it say, as the waters of the Anduin rushed past it, heading ever to the sea. Lush and green, the gardens of the city beguiled the traveler, drawing him in with their promise of hidden pleasures. The scent of the flowers lay like a thick carpet on the air, inviting the weary to lie down and rest their spirit. And there, to the east, a great citadel, the Dome of Stars, holding a precious treasure within . . . the palantír of Osgiliath.

The delights of the city were not lost on Eärnil, and the great market in the center of the city was not to be denied him. It’s scents and sights and sounds enthralled the boy, and he begged his parents to stop, if for just a little while. Laughing at his eagerness, they did just so, dismounting from their horses to wander from stall to stall.

Taking his little leather coin pouch from beneath his tunic, where it hung heavy on a thin cord, Eärnil moved slowly through the crowd, his parents following, seeking the merchants who sold sweets and the craftsmen who made the little models of the King’s ships he so adored. ‘I will have a fleet of my own one day,’ he told one of the woodcarvers, who indulged him with a smile as they haggled over the final price of the little model. ‘I’m sure you will,’ the merchant said winking at Tarciryan, ‘and at a good price I might add if you are the one who will bargain with the builders and lumberman!’

His little ship tucked under his arm, and a sweet stuck securely in his cheek, Eärnil turned up the last line of stalls. His eyes widened as he saw the small booth at the end of the market street. ‘There, Father! There is the very one I was looking for!’ He ran helter-skelter down the short lane toward the little stall. There before him were the ships he coveted, that would make his little navy complete. ‘Look, Father – those are the ships I need for mine to fight against,’ he said, eyeing the colorful sails and trim keels of the vessels before him. ‘Corsair ships from Umbar.’

Tarciryan and Miriel smiled indulgently at him and moved to the booth next over, to look at the beaded hairclasps there. The guards, their attention distracted by the pretty maidens who danced for coins in the small square by the fountain, let their eyes wander from the boy . . .


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Lyra's post

Caeran watched Earnil indulgently as the boy gazed at the unfamiliar city. He himself had grown up there, but the sight could still take his breath away. No wonder the lad was enthralled! He couldn't wait to bring Lorna to see it. He could imagine her eyes sparkling as she looked around, an excited smile playing across her face, showing her dimples... She was amazingly beautiful. He knew that everyone who met her had to fall in love with her- even Mother.

At the thought Caeran winced slightly. Mother- the only possible stumbling block in the plan of his perfect life. He had not told Lorna much about Mother- just that they had a troubled relationship. He laughed mirthlessly at the understatement. Although he loved his mother he often found it very hard to like her. Sometimes she seemed to take joy in hurting him. But she would not in this. He had made up his mind- either she would be happy in his marriage or she would no longer be part of his life. He just hoped she would choose to be happy.

Thinking about her always made Caeran fell unhappy himself. He could understand that she did not care for his father- Caeran was not so blind that he could not see her feelings for the king- but amongst the nobility marriage was often made for advantage. Mother could still have chosen to care about her son, but she had not.

A smile spread across Caeran's face. He would not be like that, his mother or those people who had to make the best of it. He was going to marry for love and be perfectly happy all his life. He would have a big family, with perhaps a son like Earnil. He was a bright young lad, and nice too.

Thoughts of his charge made Caeran start guiltily. He had neglected his duty and stood in a daydream. Quickly he glanced around. Where was the lad?

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Belin's post

Farucan stared expressionlessly at the strong young brat who had accompanied one of his customers. The Gondorian child, oblivious to the threats hidden in such a look, continued prattling to the man, missing some consonants and tilting some vowels in a very exaggerated imitation of Farucan's own voice.

“Are you ready to buy yet?” he asked softly. “I’m certain you won’t want to keep such a …clever lad as this out in streets like this any longer than you need to, would you?” Indeed he was surprised that the boy didn’t have retinues of assassins trailing after him, ill mannered, offensive brat that he was. Then again, the Gondorians seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.

“Hm?” said the customer, blinking at him stupidly. “These rugs are very important. I need the best, you know. There’s a great demand for such things where I come from. Why, in Harlond, I very nearly sold one to the king himself!”

Farucan raised an eyebrow. “You mean the King of Gondor? Quite a tale for a traveler, I’d imagine. When did you say this was?”

“Oh, just today.” Farucan’s smile remained polite, but it must have revealed more than he thought it did, because the Gondorian threw him an embarrassed and rather puerile grin and amended his story instantly. “Well, as close to him as I’m likely to get anyway. His next of kin was there, in town, near the shop actually. I wasn’t in at the moment, but my brother was. And if my kinsman has seen the king’s, then, in a manner of speaking, you could say I’ve seen the king, could you not?” He chuckled at his own pleasantry.

Farucan’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners. “The…heir?”

The man nodded, oblivious. “Yes, the heir came through, riding here. Hadn’t you heard he was coming to Osgiliath?”

Farucan licked his lips nervously before answering. “Yes,” he said faintly, “yes, I had.”

*********************

Getting rid of the Gondorian was an effort, and getting rid of him in a polite and appropriate fashion was still more of one, but it was managed at last. Farucan stood in the doorway, watching him go, mind racing. The heir was on horseback. The bribe money had been stupidly wasted, and the assassination attempt would come to nothing. More failure. He muttered briefly in his own language, turned on his heel, and was off, nearly at a run. He knew where he was going.

The house was a small and unobtrusive one, as was its inhabitant, a countryman of Farucan’s and his distant cousin. However, there was a servant attached to it, and as Farucan spoke nearly inaudibly to his colleague, it was to this servant that he gestured. The man, unusually well-muscled for a servant but flawlessly deferential, stood respectfully by the door, not seeming to listen to a word until they beckoned him into the conversation to give him his instructions.

He was a loyal man, an excellent fellow by all accounts, who understood precisely what his place was and precisely how it ought to be used. When he had been a soldier in his own country, he had known how to play within a framework and how to reconcile what was necessary with what he’d been told. His career might have been brilliant had he not served the house to which Farucan had belonged, and some of that sting remained, but Farucan, though he knew the man only marginally well, was quite certain that he would jump at the chance of returning to Harad, just as he himself would, and this had to happen. The other, the colleague, had a good guess as to where the heir would be, and the former soldier’s passive nods as they explained their plan caused them no worry at all.
“Perhaps you should put an end to your plans at the docks?” suggested Farucan’s colleague as the man walked off, unobtrusive as a shadow or a cat.

Farucan shrugged. “Too suspicious. Let them figure it out.”

*************************
In such soldiering as this, it is important not only to accomplish what one is sent to accomplish, but also to report it correctly. What Farucan heard afterward was that this quiet supposed servant had slipped between the cart-horses in the confusion of the market, and that in only a moment or two they had inexplicably panicked, and that the cart had somehow come loose and as the terrified merchants attempted to regain control of their beasts, the cart rolled down the hill toward the inattentive heir...

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]