Chapter Text
There was confusion at Harad’s Embassy to Gondor. Northerners were confusing enough at the best of times, but recent events had been worse than usual. Several days ago, Lord Romdaer, the First Trade Attaché, had arrived at the Embassy for a meeting, but a Guard in full livery had run down and whispered something to him urgently. “I’m terribly sorry, but one of my staff members is unwell. I will have to return to the office,” Romdaer had said. They had not heard from him since.
Now Romdaer had written saying he would like a meeting with the Ambassador, and that Lord Thorongil (the Third Trade Attaché) and the Lord Steward would be in attendance.
“The Lord Steward!” said Ardeshir. “We must make our Embassy look tidy!”
Darius was beside himself. He was finally going to see the mysterious Prince Faramir of Ithilien in person, the Lord Steward of Gondor who vexed an entire government department back in Harad through his refusal to act as expected.
When the day finally came, almost every staff member from the Embassy was present to meet the guests. Darius suspected that the main point of interest was the Lord Steward. A secondary point of interest was the desire to see how the Steward treated Thorongil, given that Thorongil appeared to be wooing the Steward’s daughter, much though he denied it (for reasons Darius did not understand).
The Lord Steward entered first, followed by Romdaer and Thorongil. The latter was holding a portable writing desk: it seemed his role was to take notes, as usual. Darius could not help but wonder at Thorongil’s garb: he was wearing a fashionable and exceptionally well-cut suit in a forest green. It was quite a contrast to his usual dull black suits. The other two were dressed in the stark black outfits generally worn by diplomats of Gondor.
Darius realised his hands were shaking as the famous Lord Steward approached. He was somewhat disappointed to see that the Steward looked very much like all the other nobles of Gondor: tall, dark-haired (with a few grey streaks in his shoulder length hair), grey-eyed and serious. He was significantly taller than both Romdaer and Thorongil, very broad-shouldered, and walked like a panther stalking his prey. Faramir’s daughter, Idis, walked in a similar way. The father did it better.
“Greetings,” said the Lord Steward in a firm, quiet voice. “We are here to see Ambassador Ardeshir.”
Darius bowed low. “Greetings, Lord Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. It is an honour to welcome you to our humble Embassy.”
“I am honoured by your hospitality,” said the Lord Steward politely. There was something disturbing about his penetrating, clear-eyed gaze, and Darius broke eye-contact. He could see how the myths about mind-reading had arisen.
Darius led them up the stairway to Ambassador Ardeshir’s office. Darius wondered if Ardeshir was somewhat nervous—he had never seen him sweat like that before. Moreover he was wearing his formal djellaba, a very rare event.
Everyone took their seats.
“Darius, stay and take notes,” Ardeshir commanded Darius.
Darius grabbed paper and pen off Ardeshir’s desk and looked at Thorongil. Thorongil smiled back at Darius as he placed his paper on the desk.
Servants entered bearing trays of café and sweetmeats. This had two purposes: first, to signal that the men of Gondor were welcomed as guests and therefore safe from assassination, but also to show off Harad’s finest imports.
“I will have mine black, please,” said the Lord Steward. He raised an eyebrow at the other two men.
“Can I have milk in mine, please?” said Romdaer.
“And I will have milk in mine too,” said Thorongil.
Everyone in the Embassy disapproved heartily of the tendency of men of Gondor to put milk into their café: as Ardeshir had said, it ruined the taste. However, it would have been bad manners to show any distaste. Fortunately Ardeshir had made a servant go to the market and fetch fresh milk this morning, in anticipation of this desire. Cow’s milk was not a drink favoured by Haradrim.
Everyone waited until the café was served. “Do you take sugar?” said Ardeshir.
The three men of Gondor looked at each other. “No,” said Thorongil, and Romdaer and Faramir also shook their heads.
Darius supposed it was just as well that Romdaer and Thorongil had some taste.
Everyone took sips from their drinks, and then the Steward said, “This is delicious. It is fortuitous, as I come to see you about café, as it happens.”
“You do?” said Ardeshir.
“I do.” The Steward put his cup down on the small round coffee table with an inlaid design of mother of pearl, and steepled his fingers. “You see, we have discovered something which may be of interest to the government of Harad, and we thought it as well to speak to you of it.”
“Please do tell us,” said Ardeshir.
“When I say we discovered it, really the credit must lie with Lord Thorongil and my daughter Idis,” said the Steward, inclining his head towards Thorongil. “With due thanks to Lord Romdaer for being alert and starting the process.”
Thorongil blushed and looked up. “It was a joint effort, really.”
“Indeed.” The Steward leaned back in his chair, and looked at Romdaer. “Maybe Lord Romdaer needs to explain how he started the process?”
“Ah, uh,” stammered the normally cool Romdaer. “I was told by … a source … that there were issues with Khand and Harad on the Great North Road with respect to importation of café, and thus, I asked Thorongil to fetch me a report on it.”
“Is that the old one we had done several years ago?” said Ardeshir. “We did not know you had a copy of it.”
Romdaer shrugged. “Sometimes it is convenient to get copies of these things.”
“You must have copies of similar reports?” said the Lord Steward.
Ardeshir smiled. “I could not possibly say.”
“Of course not,” murmured the Lord Steward, also smiling.
“So what happened then?” said Ardeshir.
The Steward and Romdaer turned and looked at Thorongil. Thorongil paused from his note-taking and said, “I was attacked by assassins when I went to fetch the report, and then again later, after I continued my investigations. And—well, it turns out the assassins were not Haradrim, you may be pleased to know, Ambassador Ardeshir. They were Khandian.”
All the Haradrim in the room stiffened, and Darius drew his breath in between his teeth.
“Well,” said Ardeshir. “Thank you. Will you be taking this up with the Khandians?”
“We thought it might be more convenient for you to take it up with the Khandians?” said the Lord Steward.
Ardeshir grimaced. “Tell us what is going on, and we will see.”
“Idis and I discovered that the Khandians are selling their cheap, bitter café beans to Salons in Gondor. The Salons are charging customers as if the beans were pure Haradric,” said Thorongil.
The Haradrim looked at each other. They had known that something was going on with the Khandians and the café bean market in Gondor, but not quite what, and had been desperately trying to ascertain what the Khandians were up to. The Khandians had been furious when they had lost the contract to supply inferior quality beans to the Army of Harad, and had been threatening revenge for years. It was evidently the latest tactic in their ongoing trade warfare.
“I see,” said Ardeshir. “But surely—surely?—your people recognise the superior quality of Haradric beans when they taste them?”
Thorongil put down his pen and held up his cup. “Sadly, although I can taste the difference; as a general rule, it seems that my countrymen cannot. The fashion in Minas Tirith is to have café with cream and sugar which masks the taste. Idis and I had to drink more of it than we would have wanted to discover this.”
“But how do you know it was the Khandians?” said Darius.
The three men of Gondor looked at each other. Eventually the Steward spoke. “We discovered Khandian agents had suborned one of our government servants. We come to bring warning.”
Darius only just managed to stop his jaw from dropping open: again the Steward turned their expectations on their heads. No Haradrim would ever admit to that kind of weakness, even to a trusted ally. And Gondor and Harad were hardly trusted allies: more wary neighbours who fought at intervals over fence lines and straying animals.
“Of course,” said the Steward, “now we are aware of the possibility we will guard against it in future. And given that we have disclosed this to you, you are honour bound as our guests to disclose the same to us if it happens to you.”
Ardeshir said, “It is not our custom to—”
“It is not always weakness to talk of vulnerability,” said the Steward, firmly. “Sometimes, the willingness to note vulnerability may be a strength, and an indication of trust.”
Ardeshir was silent for a time, then he said, “We will communicate your information to the Emperor, may he live forever. How he chooses to deal with the Khandians is up to him.”
“Of course,” said the Steward. “I thought it best to leave it in his, and your, capable hands. We do not mind what happens now, as long as our own people are safe and in no danger. But we would prefer not to have trade wars played out in our realm.”
“Where is Lord Gadrion?” said Ardeshir. “Was it his illness which necessitated you leaving us the other day, Lord Romdaer?”
“Yes, he is sorely injured,” said Romdaer, and glanced at Thorongil. Thorongil looked down at his notes, his expression carefully still.
“I would say incapacitated for the foreseeable future, unfortunately.” The Steward nodded to the others. “We should leave. Gentlemen, thank you for your hospitality. May peace follow you and your families.”
After the Steward rose and bowed to Ardeshir, Thorongil and Romdaer stood and bowed too. Darius led them out.
“How are you feeling, Thorongil?” he said.
“Much better, thank you, Darius,” said Thorongil politely. “I am still on half days.”
“I should get you back to the Citadel,” said the Steward, quietly, to Thorongil. “I promised Idis I would look after you. She wants you to be fully well, for the Autumn Festival.”
“On that note, best wishes for the forthcoming Autumn Festival?” said Darius questioningly, hoping he would get more information.
“And to you,” said the Steward. All three men bowed in the fashion of Gondor.
Darius watched the three men walk out. He was sorely disappointed that the famous Faramir had done nothing too insane, apart from to confess weakness, and he still had no clues as to why the man had never used his position to take the Throne of Gondor. Cyaxares Khan was going to be hysterical with excitement to hear that Darius had actually seen the man.
He went back upstairs to Ardeshir.
“Well, well, well,” said Ardeshir. “If Gadrion is ill—my female camel has bollocks.”
“What happened to him, do you think, then?” said Darius.
“‘Severely injured’ and ‘incapacitated for the foreseeable future’: who injured him or incapacitated him? The Khandians?”
“We could attempt to watch the Houses again?”
“Those men of Ithilien kept chasing away our watchers last time,” said Ardeshir, with dissatisfaction.
Darius gaped. “What if… what if Gadrion was the one suborned by the Khandians?”
“Who would have injured him?” said Ardeshir. “Still the Khandians?”
“Could it have been Idis?” said Darius, remembering how Idis had threatened him.
“If it was Idis, he would be dead,” said Ardeshir. “My suspicion is that she is the King’s personal assassin. Did we ever ascertain whether she and Thorongil were lovers as Rador suggested?”
“While I was leading them out, the Steward told Thorongil he needed to ensure his health was maintained, so that Idis would not get angry, and he could attend the Autumn Festival,” said Darius.
“Hmm,” said Ardeshir. “It sounds from that like they are lovers, and the Steward is minded to accept Thorongil as a damat. What think you?”
“If the Steward had not been there I would have asked Thorongil directly. My conclusions followed similar lines as yours, however, Ambassador,” said Darius. “Did you see the quality of the suit Thorongil was wearing? It looked like it was made of wool from Rohan or Ithilien to me. I suspect it was a gift from the Lady.”
“On the other hand, it is unusual that the Steward might allow his daughter to marry an unlanded, junior diplomat to Harad,” said Ardeshir. “Do you think the Steward has plans to strengthen relations with Harad? It is the only way I can see any sense to any of this. I shall observe this possibility in the report I write to the Emperor, may he live forever.”
“Definitely,” said Darius, relieved that his sister would be aware of the currents swirling in the river.