Her world shattered in an instant. Two words rocked the very foundations she had rebuilt after the death of her father. Everything she had done to prepare for this moment came down to little more than the dust on a mantlepiece. She fell back, clutching the edge of the table to support herself.
"He's here?" she repeated. Jarron nodded solemnly.
"Edros demanded you meet him at the border. He would not say why," Jarron stroked his chin, "only that if you did not meet with him, he would," Jarron hesitated.
"Mount an attack against Gondor," Nara finished bitterly. She sat heavily into her chair, the burden of responsibility weighing heavier than ever. Prince Hassun of Rohan, now king, begged for her aid in the civil war destroying Rohan from the inside. His elder brother and traitor, Edros, occupied her army in the mountains and now his brigands threatened to burn the outlying villages one by one.
The high council also posed its own demands and agendas. They demanded her attention most of the day and well into the night. Getting them to cooperate was a full time chore that required her full attention.
"Nara," Jarron said sharply, "did you hear me?"
Nara shook herself from her musings.
"I am sorry, uncle," Nara said, "there is much that plagues my mind of late."
Jarron smiled wearily, his age showing clearly through worn lines. He placed a hand lightly in her shoulder and drew her into his arms. Nara rested her head against his solid, warm chest.
"I know," Jarron soothed. "You worry about your friend?"
Nara nodded.
"I fear I'll never see her again." Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Nara missed Ithilwen greatly. The calm, gentle elleth had been her truest friend and greatest comfort after her mother's death.
"You will see her soon, little breeze."
Nara let out a small laugh. "You have not called me that for many years, uncle."
Jarron looked down at Nara with a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes.
"There was no need. You have grown from a soft breeze to a great wind that shapes mountains with the force of your will and the strength of your passion. Gondor has never known a greater queen." Jarron held Nara at arms length. His eyes and face serious. "You must find the strength to carry on, the wind does not stop. Not even in the face of the greatest mountains. If need be, the wind shall carve a path and beat the mountain to the ground. Just as the river forges a new path through the hardest of soils so too will you make it through these hard times. I believe in you, Nara, my queen."
Nara flew into her uncles arms.
"Thank you, uncle, thank you," she whispered. Jarron held her for a moment. Knocking interrupted them.
Nara stepped back, smoothing her hair and hurriedly brushing away tears.
"Enter," she called. Lord Telmar entered the room fully armored and dusty from time spent on the road.
"You wished to see me as soon as I returned?"
"Yes, yes, please sit. Barris, bring the Lord Telmar a glass of wine," Nara ordered. Barris poured Lord Telmar a glass as the Lord seated himself at the table. Jarron stood just a little way off, watching the lord with great interest. Telmar took a long draught of wine, sighing when he drained the cup. Barris filled it again.
"Ah," Telmar exclaimed, "investigating is thirsty work." He sipped his wine.
"What, my lord, were you investigating?" Jarron asked, eyes narrowed and searching. He leaned against the back of the chair, studying Telmar with scrutiny. Telmar glanced at Nara. She nodded.
"General Myran, the man you had me investigate three days ago," Telmar ran his hand down his face and sighed. "You were right, my queen. He is lying about his family."
Nara closed her eyes. She hadn't wanted to be right in her assumption, but now that they were corrected she would have no choice but to dismiss Myran from the army.
"I found no record of his family, no one in Osgiliath knows anyone by the name of Myran." Telmar stopped speaking and stared into his cup, lost in thought.
"What else is there?" Nara asked, sending Telmar had more to say. Telmar scratched his greying beard and shifted his weight.
"No one knew him, but I came across an old man by the name of Gerith, on death's door, by all rights dead. So frail and weak was he as I spoke to him, I fear he may have passed already. He's rumored to be one hundred years old" Telmar sipped his wine again, bracing himself for what he would say next. "Gerith said he had once known a young man, when he himself was barely over nineteen, by the name of Randir."
"What importance is that?" Jarron asked rather harshly. Telmar held up a patient hand.
"I was getting there. It took some time, but I eventually learned of the appearance of this Randir." Telmar paused, gathering breath. "His description fit Myran's perfectly. And it is the same thing now as then. No one knew his family or where he had come from. It's as if he just appeared. The story is near identical as well."
"There are plenty of people who have covered their past and have similar stories," Nara defended, spreading her hands over the tabletop. Telmar shook his head.
"I showed him a sketch of Myran. He said that was exactly how Randir looked."
"Perhaps it was his father?" Jarron suggested feebly. Again Telmar shook his head. He looked so sad, eyes downcast and mouth set in a frown.
"That was the one thing that did not match between Myran and Randir. Randir claimed his father and mother died when he was still a small child. He was raised by an aunt on the outskirts of Osgiliath. But Gerith said he'd never known a little boy by the name of Randir. And the children of Osgiliath are all very well acquainted with each other." Telmar leaned back in his chair and drained his remaining wine. Nara buried her face in her hands, thinking desperately. Jarron finally sat down.
"My lady, would you like me to fetch your dinner?" Barris asked gently.
"Yes, Barris, please do. And bring something for Jarron and Lord Telmar as well," Nara said. Barris curtseyed and left quietly.
Jarron finally broke the silence.
"Well, we either have a sorcerer on our hands, or a man who has found the fountain of youth, or something entirely different," he mused, chuckling to himself. Telmar looked at Nara.
"I after questioning Gerith I looked through the kingdom records. There I found the name Randir. Deceased now some eighty-five years. Same description, ranked as a general for no more than three months before being swept away by the river after falling in during a skirmish. He was presumed dead and never seen again."
"So Randir and Myran can't be the same person because Randir perished," Nara said hopefully.
"That's what I thought too," Telmar nodded at her, "until I looked even further back, almost two-hundred years. But ten years after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Another young man with the same description named Myra. He was a soldier for some years before becoming a lieutenant for six years and suddenly disappearing."
Something clicked in Nara's mind and she gasped. Jarron and Telmar looked at her quizzically.
"Telmar, does Myran always wear that headband?"
"I believe so. Why?" he asked, confusion written across his aging face. Jarron also looked extremely confused. His brow crinkled in concentration as he tried to figure out where Nara was going with this.
"You've never seen him take it off?" Nara persisted. Telmar shook his head.
"The kid's got wild hair," he said. Nara shook her head.
"What if it's not just to keep his hair back? What if it's to hide something?" she said half to herself.
"Nara, where are going with this?" Jarron demanded. "There are more important things to discuss than this."
"What would he need to hide?" Telmar asked. He set down his glass and gave his full attention to Nara.
"Years ago, when Ithilwen and I went into the city, Ithilwen would cover her ears with a piece of cloth. With her ears covered she could more or less pass as a human." Nara could see Telmar was beginning to understand where she was going. Jarron, however, remained stubbornly confused.
"So you think he is an elf," Telmar said slowly. Nara nodded fervently.
"It explains your little mystery and," Nara admitted thinking about his odd similarity to Illeandir, "a few other things."
"I was told the elves disappeared without a trace," Jarron stated. Nara looked up at her uncle.
"There are four left, if Zaharias is alive and Myran proves to be an elf."
Barris entered the room with three trays of food. Nara's had a small blue flower laid across it. Nara picked it up and brushed the petals lightly.
"Who's this from?" she asked already knowing the answer.
"The chef, my lady," Barris said. Nara smiled fondly. She and Haradel had been friends since childhood. Growing up in the castle they had been inseparable for many years until responsibilities fell on Nara's shoulders and Haradel reached apprenticeship age.
"Give him my thanks when you see him next."
Barris curtseyed.
"Has the food been tested?" Jarron suddenly demanded.
"Yes, my lord," Barris squeaked. She hunched over and wrapped her arms across her chest. Nara laid a comforting hand on her arm.
"Uncle," she warned, "there is no need to frighten her. Barris is the best handmaiden I've had. I am lucky to have her."
Barris blushed furiously and tried to cover her face in her hands. Her broad smile made Nara grin.
"Thank you, my lady, you are too kind," Barris said. She moved to stand behind Nara.
"Lord Telmar," Nara began after tasting the sweet yet spicy ham drowning in a honey sauce. Haradel always remembered her favorite dishes and just how she liked them. "I want you to bring Myran back immediately. Bring him to me. I want the truth."
"Yes, my queen." Telmar began to stand up, but Nara stopped him.
"Sit and eat with us, there is something that needs to be shared."
Telmar slowly sat down and accepted a plate of food, but did not touch it.
"I sensed something was amiss when I entered," he said. Jarron nodded.
"Edros has demanded council. He says he will only see the queen and none other," Jarron said as he shifted in his seat. Telmar tapped his fork against the table, deep in thought.
"Did he send an emissary?"
"No," Jarron said, "A letter was found this morning bearing his signature and personal seal."
"May I see this letter?" Telmar asked. Jarron produced a thin, worn and stained paper from inside his coat and handed it to Telmar. He quickly scanned it.
"Have you seen this?" he asked Nara.
"I have not yet."
Telmar let Nara read through the letter before speaking again. It was short. Very short. Written almost hurriedly with ink blotches scattered across the parchment. The words demanded Nara come to the border in six days and alone. Edros claimed he would be alone as well.
"It may be a trap," Lord Telmar said softly. Nara set the parchment down and rubbed her temples. An ache had settled above her eye as she read and she suddenly wasn't hungry.
"Six days," she whispered, "why six days?"
"One can never know the mind of a traitor," Jarron said solemnly. "You mustn't go, Nara."
"No," Nara insisted, "I cannot not go. If I stay here, sitting on my hands in pretty silk dresses and dithering like a foolish girl, I leave my people vulnerable. I will not allow Edros to terrorize the kingdom. If it is a meeting he wants, then a meeting he shall have."
"Nara!" Jarron shouted, standing up and pushing his chair over. "Do you hear yourself? You would throw your life away for... for simple village folk? What purpose do they serve?"
"You will hold your tongue, Jarron!" Nara ordered. She stood up and planted her hands firmly on the table. "They are my people and I will gladly give my life for just one of them. A queen is a servant to her people. She is what stands between them and death at the hand of our enemies. I will not hide behind them and watch them die for me."
"There are soldiers in the mountains who die every day for you."
"You think I don't know? I know their names, I know their families, whom are grieving and alone because I cannot bring them down from the mountains." Nara pointed to her bedstand where a stack of opened letters filled the small area. "Those letters contain the names of every soldier, every person, every child who has died under my reign. Under my name!" Nara collapsed in her chair. "I am done letting my people die for me." She looked up at Jarron and Telmar, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "If it is a trap, then so be it. If Edros demands my life for the lives of my people, I will give it to him." She looked at Lord Telmar, eyes hard and focused. "For what is a queen without her people?"
Telmar did not answer, but his eyes held great approval. Jarron paced the room in fury, but likewise said nothing. Several long minutes passed in silence except for the pounding of Jarron's boots against the stone floor.
"You mean to go through with this?" he asked at last. Nara nodded. Jarron sighed and sat down. "Then there is nothing I can say to dissuade you. You are your father. My sister was more reasonable than the both of you. Very well, I will begin preparations."
"Thank you, uncle," Nara said. Jarron nodded once and walked briskly out of the room. Telmar rose and bade Nara goodnight. Barris began preparing Nara's bed, singing softly to herself while she did so.
I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been*
Barris' voice was sweet and soft and reminded Nara of her mother in the rare times she would sing.
"Your bed is ready, my lady," Barris said. She helped Nara out if her dress and into a soft nightgown. After undoing Nara's hair and brushing it thoroughly she braided it. Nara slipped under the cool summer covers, soon they would be switched for the heavy winter blankets.
"Is there anything you need, my lady?"
"No, Barris."
"Goodnight, my lady." Barris blew out the candles, gathered the three hardly touched dinner plates, and left quietly. Nara buried her head under her blanket and closed her eyes, trying to ignore her father's glassy eyes staring back at her in disappointment.
A blood curdling screech jolted Nara from her bed. The sound of metal crashing on stone echoed through the halls. Nara flung her door open. Not ten yards away lay Barris in a pool of her own blood.
"Barris!" Nara shrieked and raced toward her, heedless of the danger. She dropped down next to Barris, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her upright. "Barris, Barris, can you hear me? You're going to be okay. Everything will be fine. I'm here, Barris."
Barris coughed. Blood spattered across Nara's white dress. Blood pumped steadily from a deep hole in her chest, just below her heart. Nara pressed her hands against the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the blood flow.
"Barris, stay with me. You'll be all right. Just keep breathing."
Barris gasped, each breath rattled in her chest. Her eyes were wide and terrified. Her mouth moved soundlessly.
"My lady," she wheezed.
"Shh, shh, be still. You're going to be fine. Everything will be fine."
Barris gripped Nara's arm with surprising strength and lifted her head off the floor. Nara lofted one hand off Barris' chest and used it to support her head.
"You mustn't be here. Please," Barris begged.
"I'm not leaving you," Nara insisted.
"Please!" Barries cried. She tried to push Nara away, but fell back crying in pain. "He-he's coming for you."
"Who's coming for me? Barris! Guards!" Nara screamed, her voice breaking with the effort. "Guards!" she sobbed. "Help."
Barris' hand began to move as she wrote out a single name in her blood on the floor. Through her tears, Nara watched in horror as letter by letter she spelt out the name of a person Nara would never have suspected.
...
The guards found Nara moments later huddled over Barris' lifeless body, weeping. Blood stained her clothes and hands as she struggled to sing.
Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.
Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!*
Nara slowly rose, face wet and eyes shining. She faced the guards. When she spoke her voice was icy and hard.
"Bring me the Lord Jarron bound and cuffed in chains."
******************************
* excerpt from I Sit Beside the Fire and Think by Bilbo Baggins
* Namárië (just ignore the clapping at the end)
Whew! That took forever!
Anybody know if it's feasible to walk from the border of Gondor to Lothlorien in six days? It's about 400 miles and a fit person can walk up to 30 miles a day... so 13 days? Maybe 14-15 days if they were mildly injured?
Or if they're going at 4 miles an hour, which is pretty reasonable for a fit person, and they travel for 7 hours that's 28 miles. 8 hours = 32 miles. 9 hours = 36 miles. I think 8-9 hours is good. I do 8 hours of marching during band camp every day for two weeks so I think they could get to Lothlorien in two weeks. Give or take a few days.