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Year 14 of the Fourth Age
Umbar
After the herald announced the arrival of the iskemleji, the page entered the golden doors of the royal study and lowered himself to his knees upon the russet-colored rug. The seated figure observed the page from behind the ornate writing desk with an unreadable expression, while the katib at his side clasped his hands behind his back.
“I humbly and graciously greet Saygın Hükümdarım.”
The man seated across from him raised his left arm, signaling for him to stand. But rather than lowering his arm to the desk or to his side, he kept it extended before him and turned his palm downward. The page kept his hand which clutched the scroll he intended to deliver behind his back, for he could not discuss business until he had completed the formal greeting, and grasped the outstretched hand with the other before kissing the gold ring three times, one for each of the three main regions of the Southern lands. After lifting his lips from the ring and taking a step backward, the seated man drew back his arm and curved his hands on the armrests of the chair.
“What message have you to deliver?” asked the katib. The page turned slightly toward the secretary and held out the scroll in his opened hands as he bowed his head low. Upon seeing the seal, the secretary turned to the seated figure. “It is a letter from Séradan Elçi, Kralım.”
The young man’s eyes widened slightly. It was well known that the new King of Umbar had a close relationship with his uncle, especially following the death of his father. His father, the previous ruler of Umbar, with many tribes and armies of Karaltın under his command, had been slain outside the capital city of Gondor. Savadir, a boy of eight at the time, had been cared for by his father’s younger brother, who had also been a mentor and teacher to him for most of his life. His uncle had advised Savadir in ruling and had stepped in to make determinations for more complicated matters.
When Savadir turned fifteen, the age of maturity in Karaltın, he ordered his Corsairs, who had been slowly rebuilding their forces and their ships in the years following the war, to launch an attack against Dol Amroth. Less than a month later, the King of Gondor and a king from the horse lands to the north joined forces to lend aid to Prince Imrahil, attacking with the King’s Ships from the sea and with many riders on horseback descending upon Umbar from the northeast. After nearly four years of bloody skirmishes, Savadir’s armies and Corsairs were significantly decimated, and at the advice of his uncle, he made the decision to surrender before Umbar could be seized.
Adorned in his armor and helm, Savadir rode out with the palace guards to meet his enemies and present his sword to them, keeping his head lifted proudly despite the flush of humiliation on his face. Yet when he prostrated himself and offered his sword, the sword that had been his father’s, his grandfather’s, and could be traced back through many generations of kings and chieftains, the King of Gondor did not accept it. Savadir couldn’t be sure if it was pity that he saw in the king’s gray eyes, but from what he understood of Westron, the king recognized his youth and inexperience as reason enough to be more lenient in his judgment. An agreement was made that an envoy would be sent to Gondor as a go-between in further diplomatic discussions between their two countries. The choice was easy.
The Gondorian King and his allies departed quickly in order to return to their homes before the arrival of winter, and the following spring, Savadir’s uncle, the newly-appointed ambassador to Gondor, departed with his family, bodyguards, secretaries and advisers, household staff, and servants. A few letters had been exchanged, but little had been decided about not only Savadir’s status as the leader of his people, but also the autonomy of Umbar and Karaltın. Until now.
As he waited for his secretary to finish reading the letter, Savadir gestured with his arm to the page that he was dismissed. The page bowed low and kissed the ring three more times before leaving the room, and the doors closed securely behind him.
“What does it say?” Savadir asked, stroking his fingers along his beard.
“Kralım,” the katib began hesitantly, “it seems that the King of Gondor has called an audience in which you are being asked to attend.”
“What?!” Although he had grown much since he declared war nearly a decade before, he was still young. Savadir rose from his seat and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing the length of his study. He turned to his secretary and leveled a glare at him. “That oppressor dares to summon me like some whipped dog brought to heel?!”
“I do not know, Kralım. In the ambassador’s letter—”
“Give it to me,” Savadir snarled before snatching the scroll from the secretary’s hands.
His brown eyes darted back and forth as he read his uncle’s familiar handwriting. It seemed that after a five-year pause in hostilities, the King of Gondor was ready to discuss the future of his country. The only reason why Umbar had not attempted to attack Dol Amroth or any other nearby enemy territory in recent years was because they were still licking their wounds and trying to rebuild from the defeat they suffered at the hands of the Gondorians and their allies five years ago. Even if Savadir had wanted to, his country was in no position to engage in another drawn-out war like the last two.
What exactly did the oppressor want to “discuss” with him? And what would happen if he refused?
‘No,’ he scolded himself, ‘my uncle is there with his family. If I do not go, then something might happen to them. I will only go for my uncle’s sake, but that does not mean that I will be cordial or subservient.’
Savadir pressed his lips into a thin line as he folded the letter and handed it back to his katib. The secretary remained observant of his master’s body language and refrained from speaking out.
“Send for my brothers.”
“At once, Kralım. Shall I also send word to your wives?”
“No. I will speak to them once I have finished meeting with my brothers.”
“As you command, Kralım."
The secretary bowed low and kissed the ring on Savadir’s hand three times before briskly leaving the study. Savadir let out a sigh and returned to his desk. He lowered himself into the chair and rested his forehead on his folded hands. He could not decide who he was less eager to share the news with—his brothers or his wives.
~*~
Savadir had to force his head up when the herald announced the arrival of his younger brothers. As usual, Ehşran, the older of the two, wore his signature smirk and strolled into the study with less decorum than was expected of him; and, not surprising at all, he had brought his betrothed with him. Savadir wondered why the two did not just get married already, since they always seemed to be attached at the hip and were rarely ever seen without the other.
Mahtar, the youngest of the three brothers, was much more reserved and less confident than his older siblings. Being fourth in the line of succession did not exactly instill confidence; additionally, Mahtar was the only one who did not remember their father, having been a little more than a year old when he rode for Gondor. Anytime their father was mentioned, Mahtar seemed to withdraw into his shell, as he would never have anything to contribute to the conversation.
All three came to a stop before the writing desk and formed a line. Ehşran and Fayyisee untangled their arms long enough to give a formal greeting, and once they had bowed and kissed the ring, Ehşran’s arm encircled her frame and drew her against his side. Mahtar’s greeting was quiet but still clear, and he kept his head slightly bowed as he put some additional space between himself and the two lovebirds.
“Have a seat,” said Savadir, gesturing with his arm to the chairs that had been set while he was receiving their greetings.
“What is it that you called us here for, Abi?” asked Ehşran. Savadir’s brow slightly twitched, but he otherwise showed no obvious hint of annoyance.
“I received a letter from our uncle. The King of Gondor has summoned me for a meeting.”
“What about?” Savadir shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Are the negotiations not going well?” Mahtar asked.
“Ha! I doubt that. There is no way our uncle would ever accept defeat, especially when dealing with those uptight Gondorians,” Ehşran said dismissively.
“Regardless of our uncle’s success, I am expected to attend this meeting, and I will so that I do not endanger Séradan Amca or his family,” Savadir answered with a hint of harshness in his tone. He was worried. His brothers knew it, too. “I am to depart in a month so that I will arrive in the spring.”
“Alone?”
“No. I intend to bring Marya with me. Khalarîn will remain here with our son; he is much too young to make such a long journey.” Savadir was quiet for a few moments before he swept his gaze toward Ehşran. “You and Khalarîn will have equal authority to govern until my return. Should anything happen to me, you will rule as regent until Imrad reaches the age of maturity. However, to ensure that you do not let all of that power go to your head, I must insist on bringing Princess Fayyisee with me, as well.” At last, the haughty smirk vanished from his brother's face.
“Is this meant to be some sort of punishment, Abi? Have I wronged you in some way?”
“Of course not. But I know you well, and I can think of no other way to guarantee that the country is governed by someone who knows his place and will not succumb to greed or neglect his duties. I will even give the two of you my blessing to marry before I depart. In fact, you have had my blessing for several months, and I do not understand why you hesitate.”
Ehşran and Fayyisee turned to each other with grim expressions. When they looked away from one another, Fayyisee bowed her head solemnly, and Ehşran appeared almost sheepish as he met his older brother’s gaze.
“We were waiting because we did not want to add to the financial burden of rebuilding Karaltın after being defeated by the Gondorians. Weddings are costly, especially royal ones, and while we would love nothing more than to be married, we both decided that we could wait until our country was in a stronger and more secure position.”
Savadir had not expected an answer like that, at all, and it completely rendered him speechless. Ehşran was rarely this serious or composed, usually known for acting aloof and injecting humor into any situation, regardless of how inappropriate it was to do so, because he was a prince and he knew he could get away with it. Savadir was still young, so he did not have all of the experience of ruling that their father had, nor did he have his iron will, so he probably showed more leniency toward his brothers than he should have.
“I did not realize,” Savadir murmured before lifting a hand to stroke his beard. “While I do agree that a wedding would cost a lot of money to organize, especially at such short notice, it is also a celebratory occasion… something that I believe the people could use right now. I give you my word that the two of you shall be wed before I depart for Gondor.”
“Ah yes, how generous of you, Abi. No sooner will I be able to call Fayyisee my wife, we shall be separated for the unforeseeable future.”
“Jaalallee koo,” she crooned in Ehşran’s ear. “Hin yaadda’in. I will return to you, safe and sound.”
“You had better.” He kissed her cheek and then leveled a glare at his brother. “So, you intend to use her as leverage against me.”
“If you prefer to see it that way,” Savadir answered evenly. “As long as you return power to me, you will have nothing to worry about.”
“You are not fooling anyone, Abi. Fayyisee will be your hostage. Just admit it.”
“Not Princess Fayyisee.”
Savadir fell silent and his expression darkened. He then cast a furtive glance at his youngest brother, but he was unsuccessful in doing so without being noticed. Both of his brothers saw the look. Ehşran’s mouth fell open and he looked between his two brothers. Mahtar remained silent, but the color seemed to drain from his face and he attempted to curl further into himself, as if that would somehow spare him from what his older brother and king was about to command of him.
“I am to be your hostage…”
“Not exactly. I will bring you to Gondor, and if all goes well, I hope that it will not come to that and you will be able to return with me. However, if their king does demand a hostage from Umbar, then I fear that it must be you,” Savadir said slowly. “Though our uncle is there and any one of our cousins could be used as a hostage, you would be of much more value in their eyes and would be shown greater hospitality.”
“I see…” Mahtar swallowed and clenched his hands into tight fists, trying not to let his brothers see his fear. “It is only fair. I am not yet married, and I came of age a year ago, yet I have nothing to show for it. I suppose that this is the only way that I will ever be of value to you.”
“I am sorry, Mahtar. Truly. I don't know that it will make things any better, but if you do have to remain in Gondor, at least you will not be alone. Mered and Beyaleg and all of our other cousins will be there. If I had my way, I would keep you here and bring our uncle and our cousins home. But I…” He clenched his teeth and slammed a fist on the desk before rising from his seat and pacing the length of the room. “I am not strong enough or experienced enough to defeat our enemies on my own. Rumor has it that with a king now on the throne, Gondor is rebuilding quicker than we are, and their country is flourishing in a way that is reminiscent of how it used to be. While I waited for you to arrive, I pondered at the validity of this rumor and wondered if other things from the past would return, as well. Would this new king demand homage and hostages as they did nearly two thousand years ago? Would this new king invade our lands and use our people as sacrifices as the Númenóreans did? Will our kingdom be dismantled and absorbed into theirs and our people enslaved? Father never would have allowed this to happen. He would be so ashamed of me.”
“Father would have been proud of you, Abi.” Savadir ceased his pacing and slowly turned toward his youngest brother. “It may not mean that much coming from me, but I believe Father would have been proud of you. I certainly am, for what it’s worth.”
“As difficult as it is for me to admit it, I agree,” Ehşran said. “I may make light of it, but I will gladly give back your authority when you return. I have neither the patience nor the discipline to be King, nor is Mahtar suited for it—no offense. Father had big shoes to fill, but you have done a far better job than any of us ever could have.”
Savadir sat heavily in his chair and placed his crown on the desk. He wiped at his brow and poured himself a glass of water.
“Your confidence in me is undeserved, though I welcome it, all the same.” Ehşran waved a hand dismissively.
“No need to thank us, Abi.” He patted his thighs and looked like he was about to stand, though he was unable to because he had not yet been dismissed. “Is there more that you need to share with us? You will not be leaving for another month, and some of us have a wedding to plan.”
“Anything else can wait,” Savadir answered with a wry smile before lifting the glass to his lips.
“Besides, it would probably be in your best interest to share the news with the queens before Khalarîn cuts off your—”
“Ehşran…” Savadir’s hand froze with the tip of the glass hovering in front of his mouth. “All three of you are dismissed. You, especially.”
Savadir took a sip then set the glass down. When all three had risen from their seats, he held out his hand for them to kiss the ring, and when it was Fayyisee’s turn, she looked at him with a teary smile. Though they had had few encounters, Savadir knew the meaning behind those tears; she was grateful to him that she would now be able to wed the man she loved.
“Ulfina keessan,” she murmured before dipping her head and pressing her lips to the ring three times.
“Princess,” he replied with a nod. He watched as she took her betrothed’s arm and they walked out of the study together, their heads tilted toward each other and their voices soft but full of joy. Just as his youngest brother was about to leave, Savadir called out to him. “Mahtar.”
“Yes, Abi?”
“We will speak again soon. Just the two of us.”
Mahtar’s youthful brown eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time in his entire life that he would have the chance to speak with his oldest brother in private; every other time, he had accompanied Ehşran and there had been servants and advisers in the room, as well. He managed an appreciative smile and bowed low, expressing his gratitude, and then he turned away from his brother and king. The golden doors shut behind him, leaving Savadir alone in his study.
Savadir heaved a sigh and wiped the sweat from his brow. He brought the glass to his lips and downed the last of the water, wishing that it had been something much stronger. Knowing that he could and should not delay any longer, he rose from his chair and went to his chambers where his wives awaited him.
~*~
The two seated figures rose in unison at Savadir’s approach. The woman on the left handed the infant to a kalfa and dipped into a curtsy, keeping her gaze lowered to the floor. When he paused before her, she grasped his hand in both of hers and pressed three lingering kisses to the ring. Savadir turned to his second wife, and she, too, greeted him, though hers held less longing in it. They had only been married for two years, so they’d had less time to become familiar with one another. His first marriage, on the other hand, had lasted for five years and had already borne fruit, and they had known each other long before they were married. Khalarîn, his first wife, also had the advantage of being born in Karaltın, whereas Marya had come from Khand, a country with different languages and customs than the one in which she now lived.
Savadir gestured for his wives to be seated while he claimed the divan opposite them. Khalarîn turned to the kalfa, and the attendant returned her infant son to her.
“Gidebilirsin.” The kalfa and other attendants bowed to their king and queen and silently excused themselves, leaving the royal family alone to speak.
“I suppose news has already reached your ears, given how quickly it travels in the palace,” said Savadir, his voice lower than normal.
“We have been told of the letter,” Khalarîn answered. Her jaw was tight and her brow tense. Whether it was because she worried for her husband and king or because she had also been told that she would not be going with him, Savadir could only speculate. “Is there really no other way?”
“No.” She blinked rapidly and averted her gaze. “If the King of Gondor had planned to kill me, he would have done so five years ago. I do not know of his intentions, but it would be better to comply than to refuse.”
“A lion does not yield to a man,” she snapped. She adjusted her hold on the infant and stroked his dark hair when he began to whine.
“I already did, when they made ready to invade us from all sides and I had no choice but to surrender or face annihilation and lose my throne. A lion is a symbol of power, but he also protects his pride, and he must know how to balance being a strong leader and a strong defender. I am doing this to protect the three of you, my brothers, my uncle, and all of Karaltın.” When she did not respond, Savadir sighed before turning to his second wife. “Marya. You are quiet.”
“Would my words change anything? You will still go.”
“Yes, I will still go, because I must. Regardless of whether or not it changes anything, your input still matters to me all the same. You are my wife, and your voice holds power.” As he watched the shifting emotions on her face, doubt seemed to be the most prevalent. However, Savadir could have sworn he also saw what might have been affection in her gaze. He reached across the low table that was placed between them and took her hand before bringing it to his lips. “What if I were to tell you that you will be accompanying me to Gondor? Would that change your views on the matter?”
“Me?”
Khalarîn’s brow furrowed. She and Marya glanced at each other, and the latter looked away first.
“I need someone to watch my back. You are as skilled with a blade as any of my guards and soldiers.” Marya frowned. She had to agree with him, but she doubted that was the only reason why he wanted her there. Or perhaps it was something that she hoped for. “Khalarîn, there is no need for that sour expression.”
“Is there not? I must stay here while you and she are—”
“Yes, because you must rule as regent until either I return or until Imrad becomes a man, should the worst happen,” Savadir interrupted, his tone probably harsher than it needed to be. “The road to Gondor is long and perilous. It is far too dangerous for our son to travel, and he is too young. Our prince needs his mother, which is why I would not have you parted from him.”
“He needs his father, too.”
Savadir nodded his assent but did not speak for some time. He cupped his wife’s cheek and wiped away the stray tear with his thumb. She laid her hand over his and closed her eyes.
“I lost my father at a young age. Not as young as Imrad is now, but still too young. If there is one way that I would hope to be different from my father, it is in this manner. I would see him take his first steps, speak his first words, hold his first sword and celebrate his first triumph, as well as the many that will follow thereafter. I would see him become a man, wed and start his own family, and hold my grandchildren when I am old and my hair and beard have turned gray. That is why I must go.” Savadir held out his arms and Khalarîn handed him their son. He raised his son high above his head before bringing him close to his chest. He kissed the boy’s brow and cupped the back of his small head, which fit in the palm of his hand. “You may not understand my words now, but know that everything I do is for you, my little lion cub. Everything I possess will be yours, and every choice and every action must be fulfilled by you when I am gone. It is a great and lonely responsibility, but you are strong and you are loved. One day, you shall have the pride of a lion, and no one will be able to oppose you.”
Savadir kissed the crown of his son’s head, and he listened to the soft breathing as the infant was lulled to sleep by the sound of his father’s voice. While his fear of the horrors of previous Ages emerging once more threatened to overwhelm him, he held the future within his embrace and close to his heart, and the innocent child, still too young and fragile to even walk on his own, was somehow more powerful than the ghosts of the past.
