Arrival Of A King by Tyelca

Arrival Of A King

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The day the new King entered the city was a hot day. The sun blazed from the deep blue sky and were it any other day, no one in their right mind would venture outside at noon. It was a few years after the Great War had been lost and the prosperous coastal port of Umbar lost its sovereignty to Gondor; since then a host of ambassadors and administrators invaded the city and took over. The bureaucrats implemented many changes, their impact ranging from language to fashion, from morals and norms to the running of daily life and from the practice of law to century-old customs. A violation of traditional burial rites and holy feasts, this was oppression of a kind the people of Umbar had not experienced before.

 

Riots had not been uncommon, especially in the beginning of this new reign, but they’d been quickly and harshly stamped out. The people of Umbar had learned to conduct their business in secrecy, following the new directives during daylight and returning to their own culture as soon as night fell. Over many months it had taken on the form of a silent rebellion, a mentality that refused to surrender.

 

Umbar had been conquered many times in the past; any newcomers were either quickly driven out or assimilated with the local people. Umbar survived. It was curious how with the arrival of the new Gondorian rulers suddenly all differences in wealth and status, all quarrels and personal vendettas seemed to fall away, as everyone banded together to uphold their values and preserve their way of life.

 

But change was happening fast and a new time was coming; old traditions made way for new ones and many were afraid this would be the end of their citadel as they knew it; today the arrival of this new KIng, after some years of lingering uncertainty, drew everyone outside.

 

The harbor was Umbar’s greatest pride. It boasted multiple fleets used for trade, discovery and war, fleets that had secured Umbar’s position as naval superpower since the Second Age. It was rare to see all the ships docked; it was bad for business. Their presence here was as much a show of pride as it was of subservience, depending on one’s views.

 

Smaller vessels crowded the harbor; waterways were just as common as roads. Encompassing the saltwater strait from the sea to the city were rocky cliffs with countless terraces hewn in. Today every platform was filled with people, some eager but most anxious to see the arrival of this new King they’d only heard about in stories. He was said to be just and merciful, a calm man who did not lose himself in violence. The tales also told he was solely responsible for the destruction of an entire warfleet Mordor had requested. Many had had family or friends aboard those ships; his arrival here was a humiliation, the festive preparations like salt in yet unhealed wounds.

 

From her appointed place behind the Captain of the Haven, Ûrîphêl watched the white sails come into view. They caught not only the light breeze but the eye as well; followed by a handful of other vessels, they navigated the inlet skillfully. No doubt the new Gondorian government had sent a first mate familiar with local waters.

 

A small hand movement from the Captain of the Haven and Ûrîphêl quickly turned on her heel. Inside, sheltered from the heat by thick walls and shadow, she found a clean glass and filled it with a light white wine that was already set aside for the purpose. For a moment she contemplated taking a few sips for herself as well, but decided against it. It would be stealing. She returned outside and handed the wine to the Captain, who nodded in her direction without taking his eyes of the approaching King. His lips were stiff and his face tense. Gold was woven in his black hair, as fit his position, and gold accentuated his red and black uniform. Ûrîphêl didn’t envy him; her own loose dress was enough to make her sweat. It was a miracle the Captain hadn’t fainted yet.

 

He emptied the glass of wine in a few short gulps but didn’t hand it back; his fingers twitched. Ûrîphêl kept a close eye, ready to catch the glass before it fell and shattered into a thousand pieces. It would be unbecoming; for aside from the Captain of the Haven, various high Gondorian officials were present at the embankment, waiting for the new King to land in Umbar. The Captain was the only person here she shared her brown skin with; the only native Umbarian with a function important enough to warrant his presence here. It fell to him to represent and honor the people.

 

She pushed a braid back over her shoulder. The landing platform was silent, tense, as they waited for the ship to make its final maneuvers. The Captain’s fingers subtly beckoned her closer and he pushed the empty wine glass into Ûrîphêl’s hands. She took it inside.

 

When she came back, a walkway had already been extended. To her surprise, Ûrîphêl was not able to pick out the King amongst the men that disembarked. Their clothing was foreign, but similar; there wore no gold trinkets in their hair that symbolised status, and none of them wore a crown. Most looked around, taking in the people that were silently watching, judging. The spires of the citadel and the many flat roofs, the sand-colored stone they used to build. The fleets, the naval power Umbar possessed.

 

Then one of the newly arrived men stepped forward. His face was symmetrical and framed by dark hair, and serious grey eyes stared out into the world. He was the only one who seemed truly unaffected by both Umbar’s beauty and heat. Ûrîphêl assumed he was their new King.

 

He reminded her of the statue that had not that long ago stood in the center of the citadel; it had been taken down before she was born, but her mother and grandmother had told her tales and showed her sketches of the colossal impression of a man, triumphant and victorious. The face was similar to those sketches, but it was calmer, milder.

 

The Gondorian ambassador with the function of Steward was the current most important diplomat in the city. A tall man with a perpetual frown on his face, he had tried to humiliate the Captain in public on multiple occasions. He sank to his knee. The other Gondorians followed; the Captain did not. Instead he lifted both his fists to his heart, a greeting native to Umbar. This drew a few harsh words from the ambassador, but the Captain paid him no heed. Ûrîphêl also remained standing.

 

Unexpectedly, the King put his own hands over his chest and inclined his chin, the traditional response. Ûrîphêl saw a muscle in the Captain’s jaw relax slightly; the King already seemed less pretentious than any of his subjects. The gesture was also noted by the people, and their silence gave way to a low muttering. But it wasn’t hostile; and that was already much more than Ûrîphêl had expected.

 

When the King spoke, Ûrîphêl could not understand his words. The language sounded familiar, but was different enough for her not to recognize it. The Captain though did, and he responded in that same unknown tongue. He was still guarded, Ûrîphêl could see, but she felt hope this might not be the end of Umbar after all.

 

A few words from the Captain addressed to her then, in familiar rolling sounds. She hastened to obey his command, found a tray and filled it with glasses crafted from crystal. She filled each glass with the cool white wine and carried it outside, where she offered the refreshment first to the King and his companions, then to the Captain, and lastly to the Steward and his entourage of Gondorian occupants.

 

When the King took a glass, he looked at her and spoke some words she didn’t understand. She shrugged helplessly, careful not to upset the tray, and shot a look over her shoulder to the Captain, but he was busy talking to another man that looked similar to the King.

 

“Thank you,” the King said. A kind smile accompanied his words. His accent was off but the sounds themselves were familiar and Ûrîphêl found herself smile in return. The King took a small sip of the wine. “What is your name?” he asked.

 

“Ûrîphêl”, she responded, “daughter of Ûrîphêr, daughter of Zimraphêl.” The King nodded. There was a grace to his movements she hadn’t seen in many others. “Your line carries the name of Queens,” he said. “I wish you well, Ûrîphêl, daughter of Ûrîphêr, daughter of Zimraphêl.” Then he turned away from her to speak to the waiting lords.

 

Ûrîphêl continued her duties, but her mind stayed on the short conversation with their new King hailing from a land far away. Many stories went around about him and she still didn’t know which ones to believe. Now she would have her own tale to tell as well. She wasn’t sure what to make of the man, but she felt hopeful for the future.

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Chapter End Notes

 

• The name Ûrîphêl is supposed to be Adûnaic and means somthing like Sun-daughter; Ûrîphêl means Sun-maiden and Zimraphêl Jewel-daughter. These names are testament to the influence Nûmenor and the King's Men had had on the culture and development of Umbar.

 

• The language spoken in Umbar is likely a mix between Adûnaic and Harad, which explains why the Gondorian's words sound similar. Westron is considered a mix of Adûnaic and Elvish.

 

• During his time as Thorongil in service of Steward Ecthelion II, Aragorn attacked Umbar and defeated the then-Captain of the Haven.

 

• Faramir is also there, talking to the Captain as Aragorn speaks with Ûrîphêl. It is stated in The Return of the King that for someone who was unfamiliar with the King, it was nigh impossible to pick him out from men of similar Nûmenoran descent.

 

• The mentioned statue is the statue erected in honor of Ar-Pharazôn after he defeated Sauron and took him to Nûmenor.