Erendis: A Love Story by oshun

The King's Court

Erendis looked into the peristyle garden. Waxy green vines twined around the sand-colored pillars as though creeping upward to reach the evening sky. Except for its size, the King’s enclosure was not all that dissimilar from the courtyard of their townhouse. Her father had let a fine one for their two-month stay in Armenelos. Located on one of the tree-lined streets behind the palace, the house came at a shocking cost. But then Beregar was not short on coin. They had only been at court for a week, but Erendis had already begun to feel less overwhelmed. 

“A taste of luxury for a change will do both you and your mother good,” her father had insisted. She resented the implication that she was somehow less than perfectly well exactly the way she was. She was young, intelligent, and even pretty—people were constantly telling her that—and in robust health. If anyone thought she might be narrow or provincial, then they had spent too many evenings in the company of the unmarried maidens and lads of Armenelos. Her world had always encompassed more than pretty dresses and the stilted banter that passed for cleverness at Court.

Back home in the Andustar she had the freedom to roam as she willed over the green fields and forested lands contained within the borders of her father’s extensive holdings near Emerië. Even when they stayed for periods of time in the port of Andúnië, she visited to the market alone and walked alongside the quay, lined on one side with ships and shipbuilding and the other with taverns and inns. She could watch the ships at anchor for refitting or the ones gliding out of the harbor bound for ports both near and far. She had seen far more of the world than those hollow maids of Armenelos riding about in their father’s covered carriages from home to court and back again.

As a little girl, she had liked to lean against the seawall and look off into the distance, pretending she could see the lights of Avallónë. Doubtless she had seen the reflection of the setting sun upon the water. But it was amusing and romantic to imagine catching a glimpse of the Undying Lands to the West. She did have the opportunity, more than once, to see an Eldarin ship dock.

Those Elven sailors, light-footed on the polished decks and agile aloft in the riggings, were to a man as pretty as any lady she had ever seen. Grinning, like ordinary sailors do when pulling into port after a long voyage, they waved at the girls and laughed. Yet they remained as fascinating and untouchable as any woodland sprites. Finally, they would drop their smirks and flirting to give all of their attention to easing their ship into its tight berth. Breaking into a thrumming rhythmic chant, they sounded heart-achingly wistful contrasted to the bawdy doggerel of the shanties of the sunburned sailors of Andúnië. Of course, to her childish ears, everything sounded elegant in the High Elven tongues of Aman.

But setting aside her desire to catch a sight of comely Eldarin mariners again or eat iced oysters sprinkled with the famous peppery red sauce of Andúnië, Erendis far preferred the inland to the coast. She disliked the screeching clamor of the gulls of the haven, the relentless noise and bustle of ports with their ubiquitous smell of tar and day-old fish guts.

She loved the rocky foothills of the northern part of the Westlands, which everyone knew had the sweetest air in all of Númenor. There the meadows, filled with wild flowers, ran up to the edges of virgin pine forests and newborn lambs gamboled in the springtime, all before a backdrop of mountain peaks against a brilliant blue sky. Here in Armenelos, she pouted, her father did not even allow her to go out unaccompanied and she walked almost nowhere.

Not that she tried to deny her curiosity about the magnificent City of Kings and its much praised learning and arts promoted by the heirs of Elros Peredhel.  But even as she appreciated the finer points of Armenelos, she was reminded of the old adage—a lovely place to visit, but not somewhere she would ever want to live.

Beregar and Núneth enjoyed the entertainment available to them in the city, formal and informal dinners at court, theaters and concerts. And she wanted to see her parents happy. Queen Almarian herself had developed a particular liking for Erendis and Núneth.

Even the King attempted to ingratiate himself to Beregar seeking both political support and investors for his latest ventures. Her parents reveled in the royal attention. The Valar bless them, she thought, unable to begrudge them their small vanities in Armenelos.

They surely deserved to enjoy the fruits of their long years of work and careful nurturing of the family fortunes. Her father, the youngest of three sons of a family of barely moderate means, had pursued her mother and met with her favor when his only assets comprised a small holding, its white washed stucco house, and the few sheep grazing there. Clearly Núneth had seen a spark of something notable in the brash young man who wooed her with such passion.

Beregar had grown, with a combination of natural intelligence and organizational skills, to become a wealthy landowner. In fact, he ranked as one of the richest men of common birth in the northwestern part of the isle, first among the wealthy suppliers of the wool of Andustar, a region famed for the quality of its fleece and shrewd traders.

In the half-light and under a darkening sapphire sky, the ladies settled themselves upon the couches and divans arranged behind low tables on either side of those of the Queen and the two young princesses. The courtiers and gentlemen guests had rode out earlier with the King to informally greet his son and heir who had been sighted reentering the city after an absence of several months.

Serving girls clad in identical flowing gowns of the palest of mint green moved soundlessly among the guests, circulating platters of delicacies that looked too pretty to eat, along with frosted glasses of spiced iced wine. Their equally silent male counterparts, clad in matching short chitons, lit the sconces around the perimeter of the space.

“Please enjoy some simple refreshments while we wait,” Queen Almarian said, smiling and gesturing toward the platters filled with small triangles of flatbread spread with soft cheese and garnished with jewel-bright berries, or pimientos, red onions and olives. There were also tiny cubes of chicken roasted in honey and slices of melon and green apples.  When a serving girl eased a tray practically under her chin, Erendis looked down disconcerted, uncertain of what she was expected to do. Another server handed her a gold-plated fork and a fine linen napkin.

“Please eat, Lady Erendis,” said the Queen. She insisted upon addressing her as Lady, which Erendis found false and pretentious, although she otherwise liked the warm and motherly Queen.

“We will be holding dinner tonight for another hour or so.” The Queen lowered her voice to an intimate tone, leaning across Núneth to address herself directly to Erendis. “I promise the delay will be worth the wait. My son has finally returned from a trip inspecting the hardwood forests north of here. He should join us shortly. I am so looking forward to introducing you to him.”

“Ai, my darling brother. Wood and ships!” Princess Ailinel lisped, a sallow-complexioned clever girl, with an overbite and lank pale hair, but as kind and generous in manner as her mother. “That is all he ever talks of, or thinks about. Ships, ships, ships and the sea. And the timber for building himself a fleet, of course.”

Erendis could not tell if the lisp was an intentional affectation or a speech defect related to her rabbity teeth. It occurred to her that the slight malformation was far from entirely displeasing. No doubt, some young man would fall in love with the cunning princess one day and consider the flaw charming.

“That is not all he cares about,” her sister declared. The younger princess was a porcelain doll of a child with perfect features and heavy golden curls. “He loves us and his homeland, and likes attractive young women too. Is he in for a surprise! I suspect that he has never seen a lady as pretty and exotic as you.”

Erendis restrained herself from pointing out that everyone knew that he had been across the sea and back, twice at least. Therefore, he had seen a great deal that that was more exotic than a northern girl who did not follow the mode of dress and hair fashionings of the capital. Instead, she flushed, half-pleased, half-disconcerted at being called pretty yet again. Her looks had not been one of her preoccupations while growing up nor was it something she particularly wanted to be measured by. She stammered her thanks to the girl, still feeling like a prize lamb at a village fair.

Rumor had it that Aldarion had already dismissed out of hand all of the maidens presented to him who hailed from Armenelos and its surrounding areas. Apparently, she was fresh blood, his family’s newest hope that they might have found a lady who could suit the heir to the Sceptre of Númenor.

It was refreshing as well as shocking to her that these two princesses, his little sisters, said whatever came into their girlish heads, however bold or inappropriate. She might have freedom of movement at home, but they were far freer with their tongues. Their most outrageous statements were met with indulgent chuckles by their elders. At least she would not have to worry about saying the wrong thing in this court.

Nonetheless, the royal children were agreeable enough in their own pampered way. She wondered not for the first time about their older brother. With one intellectual sister and another strikingly pretty, Aldarion might be smart or handsome, or both. People described him as tall and fair of face, light-haired like his siblings. Erendis did not claim to have a preferred physical type as many young maidens did. Her only requirement relating to suitors was that she would not suffer a fool.

The best friend of her girlhood in the Westlands had recently told Erendis that she was long overdue to be kissed. She was probably right also. Perhaps she should begin to pay more attention to young men, but she would prefer not to start with this one. The risks were too high and the scrutiny of others would be too intrusive.

Núneth shot her a surreptitious wink. Her mother had expressed the strong opinion that she favored the Crown Prince Aldarion for her only daughter, sight unseen. Since they had arrived in Armenelos, she had been trying to convince Erendis that there was not a maiden in the city who could rival her beauty. How her mother could tell was not at all obvious to Erendis. All of the fine ladies near her age in Armenelos had their hair curled, crimped and pinned up into lavish arrangements, with their faces powdered and painted until they had successfully obscured anything, whether pleasant or homely, that might lie beneath all that artifice.

Besides, she thought, everyone knows that every mother thinks her precious darling is the fairest maid of all. So Núneth’s opinion carried little weight. Erendis told herself that, in any case, she did not want a suitor who loved a maid for her looks alone. She wanted someone who could share her values and interests, someone who would respect her mind, who would confide in her. She was in no more of a hurry to find a husband than Tar-Meneldur’s heir was to take a wife.

Time crawled as the languid afternoon warmth faded into a fresh cool evening, perfect for entertaining under a canopy of stars. With nothing else to distract her, Erendis could have eaten a platter full of the sweet glazed chicken cubes, especially accompanied by the tart green apple slices. The courtly gossip held no interest for her. She did not recognize the names of even half of the protagonists featuring in the scandalous or humorous stories that abounded at this sort of evening entertainment.

A plaintive flute bleated loudly enough to cause the prattling women to raise their voices, while the individual notes of the melody remained difficult to decipher over the frightful din. Wondering how she would be able eat a bite at dinner, Erendis plopped into her mouth what she promised herself would be the absolute last one she would eat of the scrumptious chicken pieces. Just then the music stopped abruptly and everyone scrambled to their feet.

Erendis’ fork hit the tiled floor with a jarring metallic clang. The littlest princess, the pretty one, Almiel was her name, Erendis thought, could not restrain a muffled snort. She mouthed, “Sorry,” at Erendis, who could not resist returning her grin.

Everyone struggled to bend a knee in the direction of the doorway with varying degrees of clumsiness. There simply was no graceful of way to rise from a semi-reclining position, fork and napkin in hand, and execute a curtsey, while taking care not to knock over one’s wine glass or that of anyone else.

King Írimon, announced by a courtier in a resounding nasal tone as His Majesty Tar-Meneldur, swept into the courtyard with an entourage of courtiers, nobles, and honored gentlemen, including Erendis’ father. They filed into the enclosure with a clatter of boots and ornamental swords. The last of the crowd was the guest of honor, Prince Aldarion, chatting with a dark, thin, elegant man that Erendis knew to be the Meneldur’s secretary of the treasury.

“Please. Please sit down,” said the King, motioning to the ladies with a royal wave of the hand.