Land of the King - Arnor in Westeros
Isildur
"We have to leave now!" Isildur shouted to the crew of his ship. With as much haste as they could muster, they released the sails and the ship was blown out of the harbour by a fierce eastward wind.
Turning back, Isildur could see a huge wave, a giant wall of water rolling over the hills near Rómenna. Cries of despair rang from the city but he hardened his heart. They could give no help to their countrymen.
As the sea drowned Númenor, Isildur allowed a single tear to fall down his face. He and all his crewmembers had just watched the destruction of their homeland. Yet there was no time to mourn. He had a responsibility to see the men and women on board his ship to safety. Later, once he had seen his ship safely to Middle-Earth, he would lament the fall of the blessed isle.
"The mast! The mast is breaking!" one of the sailors said, snapping him out of his thoughts and as surely as the sailor had warned, he could see the mast cracking under the wind's fury. Isildur had to duck to avoid the mast as it crashed down onto the side of his ship.
Without a mast they were now at the mercy of the sea and Isildur prayed for Eru's protection. The other eight ships were beyond his sight now, the ships carrying his family. Isildur hoped with all his heart that they had not been lost in the storm. He did not know if he could bear to lose any more.
The greatest storm of Isildur's life lasted six hours. They were the worst six hours of his life; six hours of wondering if Eru had decided it was his time to die.
When the storm finally faded, they found themselves near the shore of a small bay, surrounded on all sides by low hills and thick woods. To the joy of all on board, they saw the other eight ships beached nearby. Their passengers had already made camp, felling trees for timber and fires.
Isildur was especially relieved as it meant there was a good chance his family was well. It had been his brother Anárion's plan. Their people needed leadership and to prevent the possibility of their entire family being wiped out in the coming cataclysm, it had been proposed to divide themselves up amongst the Nine Ships. Isildur and his father, brother, and son, Elendur, had all been assigned a ship of their own. Even Isildur's year-old nephew, Meneldil, had been assigned a ship.
They were greeted with cheers as they rowed their skiffs to the shore. Their kinsmen were overjoyed to see them and there were many tearful reunions. Isildur himself had been embraced by his family.
"We are overjoyed to see you, son," his father, Elendil, said. "When there was no sign of your ship, we had feared the worst."
Seeing the look of confusion on Isildur's face, his father elaborated, "The rest of the ships came ashore yesterday, we had thought yours had sunk when it did not also appear."
But how can that be? The storm only lasted six hours, it cannot be possible for me to have arrived an entire day after you," Isildur replied, puzzled.
"Six hours, brother? In our own experience, the storm lasted three," his brother, Anárion, questioned, similarly confused.
Their father ended the discussion, "It is indeed strange, but it is of no great matter in the end, what is important is that you are alive and well."
"Where are we anyway? This does not resemble any part of Middle-Earth that I have ever visited," Isildur asked, his eyes roaming around the campsite and the wooded hills above.
Anárion and Elendil shared a look. "We do not know, brother. The stars themselves are strange. None of them are familiar to us."
Isildur grew concerned then. The plan had been for them to join with the rest of the Faithful who had settled in Middle-earth. If the stars themselves were unfamiliar, then it could only mean that they were very, very far away from the colonies.
After that conversation, Isildur had set to work. Apparently his ship was the most intact of the Nine, despite its broken mast. He had overseen the repairs of the ship. It would be needed for them to explore their surrounding region and to fish if necessary. And Isildur was beginning to think that his ship was more likely than not to be used for fishing than exploring for the foreseeable future.
The Nine Ships had carried six thousand from the Downfall. A small number it may seem when compared to the millions that had once dwelt on the Isle of Elenna but it was six thousand too many for them to sustain with their current stores. The storage of food and other necessities had been sacrificed to carry as many passengers as possible. Their supplies were mostly limited to a small cache of swiftly dwindling lembas bread and a few medicines. At this rate, they would run out of supplies in two days.
To stave off the inevitable, Elendil had ordered every able-bodied man not occupied with a task to hunt for game in the woods surrounding their camp. His son, Elendur, had been one of them.
'I hope he is safe,' Isildur thought to himself. He uttered a quick prayer to Eru for his son's safety before he continued on with his tasks. There was much to be done.
Elendur
Only two days ago, Elendur had had a chance of one day inheriting the Lordship of Andúnië, one of the richest, largest and most prestigious titles in Númenor, second only to the King. Now he was reduced to this. Hunting in the woods for game. Elendur had of course hunted in Númenor but it had been for pleasure then. Now he hunted out of necessity and he could not help but feel angry that he had to do so. He was not upset about the task itself but rather its necessity
His thoughts may seem to some as the petulant whining of a boy but it must be remembered that at the age of 20, Elendur was still five years short of his coming of age and so by the reckoning of his people, a child.
Nevertheless, he steeled his resolve. Complaining, shouting, crying, nothing would change the truth. Númenor was lost forever. He cursed Ar-Pharazôn yet again. His arrogance and foolishness had seen the Land of Gift taken away. And Elendur was doubly aware that even if Númenor had not fallen, Andúnië had still been stripped from his family on the advice of Sauron.
Elendur had to supress a shudder, recalling the memory of the water rolling over his homeland. It had been clear to all. The Downfall had been the punishment of Eru. Elendur knew that he would never defy Eru after witnessing the Downfall. He would teach it to his sons and pray they taught it to theirs. To never become so arrogant that they think to aspire above their place, lest Eru would strike them down for it.
Lost in his thoughts, Elendur failed to notice the stag until he was naught but 20 feet from it. Surprised, he drew his bow swiftly, admiring the impressive antlers and brown-white coat of the stag. However, before he could release his arrow, another arrow found its mark in the stag's heart, killing it instantly.
Disappointed, Elendur searched for the owner of the arrow, wanting to know which of his fellow hunters had beat him to his catch. He was rather surprised to find it had been none of them. A short brown-haired man soon stepped into the clearing and began skinning the stag.
'A local?' Elendur thought to himself. It was possible. These lands were quite lush. It was not unimaginable that they may encounter natives but Elendur had not been expecting to see one so soon.
Stepping forward, Elendur made his presence known with a greeting in Sindarin. The man looked absolutely shocked to find him and his hand had moved to his knife. Acting instinctively, Elendur surged forward and snatched the weapon from his hands.
The man attempted to wrestle with him, throwing punches and trying to grab his weapon back. Admittedly he was quite strong, but Elendur was of the Line of Elros, greatest of the Dúnedain, and he would not allow himself to lose to any lesser man. With superhuman strength, he grabbed the shoulders of his opponent and threw him into a nearby tree, slamming his back on the trunk.
As he approached, the man struggled to get up and started cowering when he noticed Elendur standing before him. Briefly, Elendur wondered why the man was cowering, before he realised that he had been perhaps a little over aggressive with his throw.
Furthermore, he then noticed that man could not be more than 5 foot and 4 inches in height. Elendur was not nearly as tall as his grandfather but at exactly 7 feet and 6 inches he was considered tall even by the reckoning of his own people. With that knowledge it was easier to understand why the man had fought him. He had likely been surprised and scared to see a seven-foot giant suddenly walking into the clearing out of nowhere and had wanted to ready himself for a fight. And without thinking, Elendur had assumed he was going to attack him and had countered.
Feeling more than a little guilty, Elendur decided to make peace with the man, offering his hand to him and he took it cautiously. As he pulled the man up, Elendur looked into his mind. The psychic abilities of the Dúnedain were a bit complicated for others to understand. Simply put, they had long sight, and were able to perceive the hearts and minds of lesser men. The more skilled with this ability could even see their thoughts and their wills thither.
In this case, Elendur was determining the man's intentions and gleaning a brief understanding of his language. Satisfied, he withdrew and spoke to him, "Forgive me for my actions friend. I had mistakenly assumed that you had wanted to attack me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elendur, son of Isildur. My people and I have come to these lands very recently."
Looking wary, the man replied "I am Corlos, son of Caster. I apologize if my actions had seemed hostile. I had thought you to be an enemy. How are you so tall? I had thought you to be some monstrous giant."
"Ah, it is a trait shared by my kindred and I, we are an exceptionally tall race," Elendur answered.
"I have lived my entire life in this land and I have yet to encounter one as tall as you. There are stories of giants as tall as fourteen feet in other lands, but I never thought to meet one here,"
"I must correct you, friend. I am no giant. I am a man, taller and stronger than you yes, but a man nonetheless."
"So you say you and your people came here recently right? Why did you come here?" Corlos questioned.
And so Elendur told him an abridged tale of his homeland and the reason they had departed.
"Your tale sounds incredibly wild and yet, you stand before me, taller than any man I have ever seen as the proof."
Looking a bit hesitant, Corlos added, "If you wish, I will take you to my father, he is the chief of my village and he may be able to help you in some way. Are you in any position of authority amongst your people?" Corlos said.
"I am the grandson of the lord of our people," Elendur replied
"That will do"
Elendur had then helped Corlos carry the stag as he led him to his village. The village in question being a modest collection of wooden huts protected by a small stockade.
The people of Corlos's village had been shocked to see Elendur walking in. By Corlos's command, they had been allowed to continue unhindered, but Elendur could still see their confusion, and more importantly their fear. Twitching, he resisted the urge to move his hand to his sword hilt, well aware that such an action would frighten and provoke the villagers. Still, he was uncomfortable feeling their fear and hostility. A few of the children had even run away screaming. Was he that scary?
After a few agonizing minutes, they had arrived at the chief's longhouse where they had been met by Corlos's father, Caster, and a few bronze-armoured guards.
"Who is this tall stranger you bring to us, son," inquired Caster, eying Elendur with suspicion.
"This is Elendur, son of Isildur, father. He and his kin have arrived in these lands recently. He is an emissary of his people. I vouch for his trustworthiness."
"Very well. Bring bread and salt," Caster said after a long pause, before turning around and walking into his longhouse, beckoning for them to follow.
Elendur looked to Corlos, a questioning look in his eyes.
Corlos answered, "It is guest right. You and my father both swear to do no harm to the other and anything they own."
Understanding, Elendur followed Corlos into the longhouse. After partaking of the bread and salt, he had proceeded to tell Chief Caster and the other village leaders the same tale he had told Corlos and informed them that his people had sought shelter in the bay nearby.
Throughout the conversation, Elendur could tell that Caster was not the most pleased that they were on his lands and furthermore, planning to stay. However, Elendur knew, and so did Caster, that in a confrontation between their two factions, the Dúnedain would emerge victorious. Putting aside their greater physical ability and technological superiority, they outnumbered Caster's small village of around 300 by almost 20 times.
Finally, when their discussion had ended, Caster had told Elendur that he was sending Corlos with him as an emissary to meet with his grandfather, Elendil, and ask him to come to the village for a meeting.
Begging his leave, Elendur thanked Chief Caster for his hospitality and left the village accompanied by Corlos.
Night had fallen by the time they had reached to the campsite. They had been greeted by the sentries posted at the perimeter of the campsite who had all looked very relieved to see Elendur. He had answered their queries concerning his companion and was told that his father was out leading a search party for him as he had never returned from his hunt.
Sheepish, Elendur had then gone to see his grandfather in haste. As they passed through camp, he was subconsciously aware of Corlos staring at his fellow Dúnedain and observing their campsite. Soon he had reached his grandfather's shelter.
"Grandfather, forgive my tardiness. I am safe and well."
"Elendur! Where have you been? Your father has been searching for you!" his grandfather said. Elendur quailed slightly at hearing his grandfather's furious voice.
"Forgive me. Please call Adar back to camp. I lost track of the time." Gesturing to Corlos to step forward, Elendur continued, "This is Corlos, son of Caster. I encountered him while out hunting. His father is a local chieftain and we have landed in his territory. He is asking for a meeting with you in their village."
Placated, Elendil looked at Corlos curiously before saying to him, "Tell your father that I accept his proposal for a meeting. I will come to your village on the morrow at noon. I hope our two peoples will have a good relationship."
"Thank you my lord, it is an honour to meet you. I will convey your response to my father when I return later."
"No. I would ask that you stay here tonight under my protection. Night has fallen and something may befall you in the dark. I would not incur your father's wrath should he assume we have harmed you. Return at dawn tomorrow."
With a little reluctance, Corlos accepted his grandfather's request.
The next day, Elendur had lead his grandfather, father, and fifteen guards to the village. They were greeted with slightly less fear than Elendur had encountered on his previous trip to the village although he could tell they remained wary.
Accepting guest right, they entered the longhouse and were given some food and drink. His grandfather and father were conversing with Chief Caster and his followers on various matters. They told the villagers of Númenor, its history and fall, and they in turn told them their legends.
Apparently, according to the legends of Caster's people, the First Men, as they called themselves, they had crossed to this continent, which they named Westeros, using the Arm of Dorne, a land bridge from a neighbouring continent at an unknown point in their history, encountering and fighting the Children of the Forest, a race of non-human forest dwellers in a devastating war. After finally making peace with the Children, they had suffered in the Long Night, a winter that had lasted a generation and had seen a race of cold demons, Others, descend from the north.
Elendur learned of not only the legends of these people, but their hardships, technology, and surroundings. He was quite surprised to hear that seasons in Westeros lasted for years at a time. However, it seemed that what they called summer and winter differed from Elendur's own understanding of the seasons. What they called summer and winter were actually erratic periods when the average temperatures increased or decreased, while the normal growing seasons were preserved during those periods. Fortunately, the village was far enough south that winter periods were not too harsh. Despite this however, there were some severe winters where old men would go 'hunting' and never come back. Elendur, who had been previously sceptical of the idea of a generation-long winter, began taking the legend of the Long Night more seriously after he heard of the strange seasons.
"Truly, your seasons last years?" In my homeland, they had lasted but a few months each, all coming and passing within a year," Elendur had asked Corlos.
"The idea of seasons as short as those are as strange to us as long seasons are to you," Corlos had replied.
The impact of the long seasons on the village was worsened by the fact that they were a relatively poor community. In many other areas, more powerful villages had prospered and had begun conquering their neighbours.
Over time, the chiefs of these more powerful villages had begun calling themselves 'Magnars', a word in the language of the First Men, meaning 'lord'. These lords were on a higher level of strength and power and could threaten the village's safety and independence if they ever expanded far enough to reach it.
Knowledge was power, and Elendur absorbed as much of it as he could. If he was to one day lead his people, he needed to know as much as possible about the strange new land they had found themselves in.
The customs and traditions of these people were also different from his own. By their reckoning, he would be a man already as their coming of age was at six and ten. Understandable, as their lives were the short lives of lesser men. They also believed that does who passed the sentence, should swing the sword, that if you would sentence a man to death, you owed it to him to look him in the eye and hear his last words and to take his life with your own hands.
As he had previously experienced, guest right was an important custom observed by all in Westeros. It had been observed in Númenor as well but in a less explicit form, more of a mutual understanding than an outright oath. Here, both parties would partake of the same bread and salt, to seal the agreement that neither would harm the other so long as the guest was under the host's roof. Elendur found that he quite liked the idea. The Faithful had many bad memories of their kinsmen betraying them whilst under guest right. Elendur was very impressed by the villagers' staunch declarations that such actions were considered vile and accursed in the sight of their gods.
The gods that they worshipped were nameless nature spirits. They believed that the gods saw through the weirwood heart tree they had planted in a grove nearby. Weddings and funerals would be officiated in the sight of the heart tree. Their religion was not an organised one, the closest thing they had to priests of any kind were the Children of the Forest and the Green Men, an order of men who had been called by the gods to serve.
Whilst Elendur wasn't entirely whether the 'gods' that they spoke of actually existed, it was not unbelievable that they were Ainur of some kind or perhaps a different form Eru had revealed himself in. Nevertheless, despite his misgivings, Elendur liked the simplicity of their religion. There were no priests, no special prayers, no temples. Each man prayed on their own in their own special way to the gods. It reminded him of what his father had spoken of the religion of Númenor before Sauron had come. Before the accursed Temple of Melkor had been built in Armenelos, the summit of the Meneltarma had been the religious centre of Númenor. There none may have spoken save the King, and thrice each year a great crowd would gather and the king would say a prayer. Yet as the years had passed, and the Shadow deepened on Númenor, the people came less and less to Meneltarma, and by the rule of Ar-Pharazôn, the practice had been abandoned.
Yet not all the customs and traditions of the First Men were interesting or good. The right to the First Night, a practice wherein the chief or lord of the village had the right to bed the bride on her wedding night, was particularly barbaric and savage in Elendur's eyes. Marriage was between one man and one woman, no one, even the chief, should have the right to interfere with that union in such a way. Thankfully, Chief Caster had never practiced the custom and Elendur's opinion of the man grew significantly upon hearing that. Wise chiefs and lords did not anger their men by bedding their brides, and Chief Caster had proven himself a good and wise chief to his village. As a man who cared deeply for his people, Elendur hoped he would accept his grandfather's proposal.
Elendur's grandfather and Chief Caster were now discussing politics and the ownerships of the lands. The change in topic was attracting the attention of all in the longhouse, Elendur included.
"A land cannot serve two lords, Chief Caster. I will not relinquish the rule of my people, nor will I swear myself to another. It may be possible for our two peoples to coexist independent of the other for now, but inevitably in the future we will clash, and your people will most definitely lose that battle," Elendil said.
"What then would you ask of me, Lord Elendil?" Caster asked.
"I would ask for your fealty, in exchange I would give to you my protection and the knowledge of my people. Together we could grow strong, stronger than we could separately, and your people would be guaranteed a permanent place in our realm."
Caster made no response to that. His brows were furrowed as he thought on the proposal.
Corlos stepped up in support of Elendil's proposal, "Lord Elendil's words are wise father. I have seen their camp, they outnumber us by far and they have better weapons than we do. But if we join with them, our people could benefit greatly. We need not fear winter with their aid. No longer will our old elders have to go 'hunting'. No longer will we have to fear that we will starve to death, or that some faraway lord will march here and conquer us."
One of the village men replied. "Instead of being conquered, we will be kneeling willingly. Aye, I like the sound of safety, of not having to worry about our families in the depths of winter. Yet how are we to know that these tall men will keep their promises, or that they even have the technology they claim to have?"
Corlos answered, "The fact that they are negotiating with us. They are treating us as equals, when they could so easily destroy us. They are giving us a chance to join peacefully and reap the benefits. What would be the point of doing that if they could not deliver, or if they could simply destroy us? I can think of only one answer. That their promises are true. You have felt it surely? That aura, that feeling of majesty, of highness and wisdom that these men carry. There is an air of nobility about them. I trust them and I believe that we should join with them. But in the end, the decision is not mine, but my father's."
Chief Caster finally spoke, "Aye, all that has been said holds merit. The question now is, can we trust these foreigners with our lives?
Lord Elendil, your offer is tempting. Yet I cannot so easily entrust my people to a man that I have only just met. May I have a few days to think on it?"
Elendil smiled, "Of course, I am sure that it would be a difficult decision. Rest assured Chief Caster, that no matter your decision, your people need not fear from me and mine. Yet I do hope you will take my offer. I believe that we could do great things together."
Immediately after that conversation, Elendur and all the other Dúnedain men followed Elendil out the village, leaving behind a long and furious debate and a chieftain deep in thought.
A few days later, Chief Caster, Corlos, and a few other village men came to their campsite. They had said that they wanted to see the camp for themselves, to make their decision. Elendur had been tasked with guiding them throughout the camp, introducing them to various Dúnedain and showing them the Nine Ships as well as demonstrating the capabilities of their weapons.
Precious few weapons and armour had been carried from Númenor and they had not the tools to make new ones at the current time. Yet the few they had were enough to amaze Corlos and the others.
At the end of the tour, Elendur had taken them to see his grandfather for the final negotiations.
"Lord Elendil, I must have your word, that you will allow us to keep our customs and traditions, that you will uphold our right to worship our gods, free of any persecution. And finally, that you will keep the promises you made us previously. Swear this, by your gods and mine."
Elendil answered, "My friend, I will swear to everything you asked of me save one thing. I cannot allow you to keep the practice of the First Night. It is a barbaric custom. Marriage is a sacred union, between one man and one woman. That custom perverts it."
"I am willing to surrender that right, but you must swear to all the others. You must give me your oath that you will do all that you have said and that you will fulfil your duty as liege."
"I do. I swear it by your gods and mine."
Satisfied, Caster knelt before Elendil, his son and men following him. As one, they swore an oath, pledging their fealty. "To Elendil, son of Amandil, we pledge the faith of our village. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. We swear it by earth and water. We swear it by bronze and obsidian. We swear it by ice and fire."
"I accept your oaths. Rise my subjects. Forever will you and your blood have a place in the realm that we shall build, together."
"And henceforth, call me not your lord, but your king. For if I am to rule our two peoples, it is only fitting that I shall take the mantle of king."
It had been a month since Chief, now Lord Caster had sworn his fealty to his grandfather. Immediately after that meeting, Elendil had claimed the title of king by right of being the most senior descendant of Elros. His claim was unanimously approved by all the Faithful. Yet his grandfather had decreed that he would have no elaborate coronation ceremony, for there was no or resources to waste on such luxuries.
In that past month, their two peoples had grown closer and had begun working together to set up farms and buildings in preparation for winter. His uncle Anárion was even making plans for a city to be built eventually.
Currently, Elendur had tracked a lion to its hillside den with Corlos, whom he had become fast friends with. The lion in particular had been killing and eating the village's sheep and Corlos had recruited Elendur to help him slay the beast.
"Right, that cave up ahead is the den of the lion. It's possible there are others inside, so keep your guard up," Elendur told Corlos.
"Noted. Your tracking skills are very impressive."
Armed with only a spear and a bow respectively, Corlos and Elendur entered the cave. Corlos swiftly killed the lion but failed to notice its mate creeping up behind him. Just as the lioness was about to pounce on him, Elendur killed her with an arrow.
Having succeeded in their task, Elendur and Corlos celebrated briefly, but their sense of triumph was cut off by the mewling sounds of lion cubs deeper in the cave. Feeling a slight sense of guilt, they went to investigate and found three cubs, cubs that they had orphaned.
"We should kill them. They won't survive without their parents. It would be a kindness," Elendur told Corlos.
"No. I'll take care of them. It is the least I could do. I more than you, am responsible for their orphaning."
At that moment, a ray of sunlight lit up the cave brightly and Elendur and Corlos both saw it. A streak of yellow across the dark rock. Long ago his ancestors, the Edain, had gone to Númenór and had brought with them heirlooms of precious metals and stones, but they had found not these things in the Isle of Elenna. In all their wars and cruelties against the peoples of Middle-Earth, they had been motivated by their greed for this one, precious… metal. Gold.