Namári?

  June 8th, Year 67 F.A.**

  The night after the funeral felt endlessly long. Together with my mother, I kept watch in the crypt for Eldarion, as tradition demanded. For the first time, I thought I could understand her a little. She had been sent to Gondor as a young woman to marry my father. Now Eldarion was dead, just like her brother. She had only me left. As if she had heard my thoughts, she reached for my hand.

  “You must be strong now, a nighean.”

  “I know. I will do my duty, just as he did.”

  “Duty?” My mother wiped her tears beneath the veil and looked at me. “After our wedding, your father had many things on his mind, but fulfilling his duties was certainly not one of them. I cried myself to sleep countless nights and begged my mother in my letters to let me return to Edoras.” Her voice was quiet, trembling with new tears she could not hold back.

  “What did your mother say?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

  “Not much. Only that I should try harder. She could never understand me — she married éomer out of love after the Ring?war. Eventually I was so desperate that I asked the Queen for a private audience.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “That was probably the bravest thing I ever did. I went to Queen Arwen to complain about her son. But I was so nervous I couldn’t say a single word. I was mortified. In the end, it wasn’t necessary to say anything. I still remember how the Elf?queen looked at me with those grey eyes, long and thoughtful, before she said: ‘I feared my son might not treat you as you deserve. You are in a place that is foreign to you, and you feel alone. Many feel that way at first, but it is not right to make it harder for you than it already is. Your sorrow weighs on my heart as well. But be assured that I will see to this matter.’”

  “I still don’t know what she did. But shortly after our conversation, Eldarion changed completely. He took me hunting, riding, and spent time with me. Eventually we fulfilled our marital duties, and I grew deeply fond of him.”

  “And Father of you?” I regretted the question immediately, but she didn’t seem bothered.

  “Men are changeable creatures, never forget that. From that day on, he treated me as a princess should be treated, even in private. But he did not love me — not for my own sake. But what does it matter? I could be a good wife to him and fulfil my duty. That is all that counts.”

  We sat in silence for a while. I thought about her words before finally asking, “Did you never wish for more?”

  “What more should I have wished for?” she replied, genuinely surprised. “I am a king’s daughter, was a king’s wife, and am mother to a queen. I live in splendour and never worry about my next meal. It would be a sin to resent my fate. I thank Eru for my blessings, a nighean. And you should do the same, no matter what duties await you tomorrow.”

  I nodded and asked no further, though I could not fully understand her reasoning.

  At first light, my father’s coffin was sealed inside a block of grey stone prepared for him. It was Eldarion’s final journey, King of Gondor. Only a few people were present for this private ceremony. Unlike yesterday’s funeral, the atmosphere here was what a farewell should be: sorrowful.

  After the priest had spoken, a woman stepped forward. She was tall and slender; beneath her black veil nothing more could be seen. For a heartbeat, tense silence filled the crypt. Then she began to sing:

  Ai! lauri? lantar lassi súrinen

  yéni únótim? ve rámar aldaron!

  Yéni ve lint? yuldar avánier

  mi oromardi liss?-miruvóreva

  Andún? pella, Vardo tellumar

  nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni

  ómarya airetári-lírinen.

  Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

  An sí Tintall? Varda Oioloss?o

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortan?

  ar ily? tier unduláv? lumbul?

  ar sindanóriello caita morni?

  i falmalinnar imb? met,

  ar hísi? untúpa Calaciryo míri oial?.

  Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

  Namári?! Nai hiruvaly? Valimar!

  Nai ely? hiruva! Namári?!

  The song crept into every crack of the crypt, into every breath, into every memory. It was not a song of mourning — it was a song of final loss. A song that left nothing behind. I felt my mother stiffen beside me. When the last words faded, a silence followed that almost hurt. My mother squeezed my hand so tightly my fingers went numb. I wanted to speak, but before I could open my mouth, I saw her shoulders tremble.

  “A Mathair…?”

  She did not answer. Then her body gave way. She collapsed, and I was too slow to catch her.

  “Mathair!”

  The guards rushed over. Her veil had slipped, and I saw her face — pale, tear?streaked, damp with sweat. It was not just faintness. It was exhaustion. Overwhelm. A woman who had borne too much for too long.

  I remained kneeling on the cold stone floor, and for the first time I sensed the true weight of the crown I did not yet wear. I wanted to follow her. Every instinct urged me to. But a lady?in?waiting reminded me softly that the Council expected me at sunrise. I stood there for a moment, torn. But I knew I had no choice. So I had a small breakfast brought to me. I ate without hunger, only because I knew I would not remain standing otherwise. My thoughts were with my mother, but my body moved on its own. When the servant knocked and announced that the Council was assembled, I simply rose and followed him. I smoothed my gown, set the headdress in place, and closed my hand around the ring.

  The Council consisted of five men, each holding an indispensable office. They rose when I entered and bowed. I returned the greeting as dignified as I could. After the formalities, the Minister of Internal Affairs read my father’s last will.

  My daughter shall take my place as Queen. She is bound by the same laws as every ruler before her. This also means that she must marry before her twenty?first birthday to secure the succession. My wish is that she weds one of Lord Elboron’s sons. Should the political situation require another match, my wife, Princess Tariél, shall have the final say.

  She shall be free to go her own way after my passing, should she desire it. She shall have the means for her own household if she wishes. My beloved sister Amra Elenw? shall also be provided for. Should Eru call her husband before his time, she too shall be granted a modest but fitting life. Until my daughter comes of age, the Commander of the Army, Calmacil son of Dúnedain, shall serve as Regent of Gondor. Namári?!

  I felt every gaze turn to Calmacil. He was an older man, grey?haired, with a bearing that commanded respect without inspiring fear. He bowed slightly.

  “I will serve you as I served your father,” he said calmly.

  I nodded and cleared my throat.

  “As for the marriage… Prince Alphros asked for my hand before I left. I do not know whether Father read his letter…” I said quietly.

  A moment of surprised silence followed. The Minister of Foreign Affairs cleared his throat.

  “Would it not be beneath your station to marry the lord of a province?”

  “Ithilien is as much a province as Belfalas,” the Treasurer countered. “We should not ignore the economic aspects.”

  Calmacil raised his hand. “As long as our Queen’s hand is not yet promised, we may weigh the advantages of each match. Barahir, Elboron’s eldest son, likely has other ambitions. Thus two candidates remain: Elboron’s younger son or Prince Alphros.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I do not wish to marry a man I do not know. But all these nobles will attend my coronation. We will settle the matter afterwards. Is that all for today?”

  The Treasurer bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Good,” I said. “Your Queen needs sleep.”

  When I left the Council chamber, my first thought was to go to my mother. I wanted to know if she was awake, if she was breathing, if she needed me. I took a few steps toward her chambers. Then I stopped. My legs trembled. My hands were cold. And in my head, everything roared as if someone had poured water over my thoughts. I knew I should go to her. But I also knew I could barely stand. So I turned and went to my own rooms. I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, and exhaled slowly. The room was quiet. Too quiet. And suddenly the silence was worse than anything else.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed without undressing. I did not want to cry. I had barely cried all day. But now, with no one watching, my eyes burned. When I lay down in the early afternoon, I already felt a thousand years old.