Pelargir: Departure of the Haradrim Fleet

The cold afternoon is rainy and miserable, a decidedly anticlimatic end to the long festivities at Pelargir. On the merchant quays, the Southron ships, which have muddied these waters for more than a month - long enough to almost be considered part of the scenery, are getting ready to put off. The captains and mates shout orders to the crew, and many of the Merchant ships are already weighing anchor, while the larger ships of war are slower in going about their business. Perhaps because being bigger, they have more to do. Or, perhaps they are intentionally slow. Nonetheless, the gangplanks for the Nimrizan and Variyah are still extended, and there is a great deal of traffic on them.

 Turlach, off duty with a cloak carefully concealing his Host uniform, has come to watch the setting-off of the uneasy truce. He has gotten in the way of business more than once and is now made to sit upon a barrel of salt meat, stacked precariously close to the edge of the water.

 On the deck of the Nimrizan, a tall man of Harad stands, doing his best to stay out of the way of the crew as they prepare the ship to set sail. Nitir is wrapped in a dark cloak against the rain and the chill, and though he gazes out toward the docks, he does not stand very close to the railing, again, staying out of the way.

 Tathar walks along the docks also, accompanied by Corlin. And although refusing to admit that she has come to watch the ships depart, her steps slow as she passes and turns her head to ... yep. Watch.

 Brethir looking quite guilty comes into the place where ceredir had escaped and sighs but watches the southerns leaving and waves good-bye

 Near Nitir stands a middle-aged woman, her hair neat as a pin, in a blood red dress that covers her from neck to ankle. She stands very, very straight and watches, carefully.

 With an entourage of guards, servants and a few others in her wake, Azradi passes between Isildur's Gate and makes her way towards the Variyah. For the voyage home, she has changed into an outfit more familiar to her people - though perhaps less so to the Gondorians: Leather vest, red silk shirt, brown breeches and the black boots favored by corsairs even her baldric is slung across her chest, though it is currently devoid of a blade. All this can be glimpsed beneath the Gondorian wool cloak she wears, the front slung over her shoulders.

 In the Lady Azradi's company stands a man of Umbarean posture and bearing, clad in the garb of a Loremaster. He is Aktim of Caldur, and he stares across the Gondorian docks with dispassion, and perhaps a hint of disdain.

 Tathar's attention is drawn by Azradi and her entourage, and she watches the other woman expressionlessly. The rain drizzles down onto her cloak, beading up and then dripping off.

 Corlin looks around unhappily, then takes a step closer to the Nimothan lady. He doesn't touch his sword, but his hand hovers near the hilt.

 Also aboard the Nimrizan, the somewhat familiar figure of Eruphel appears at the railing of the ship, waiting till the upward traffic clears, then she starts down the gangplank, alighting on the dock. She brings no guards with her, but with the entire ship at hand, she is perhaps confident. Wearing the same woolen dress and boiled leather corset, she is missing only her fine headdress that she wore at the party, and the long cape train. Which makes her look...far more mundane and perhaps a little businesslike. "Azradi...it is good to see you...moving out of your quarters." Eruphel says, smiling.

 Through the drizzle comes the Squire Calarion, his great grey cloak pulled up over his light tunic and the hood guarding his head from the showers of rain drops. He surveys the scene quietly as he walks to stand near the other Gondorians in the scene, "Hail!" he says in an unusually happy voice.

 With the conversation between the two tower ladies, Nitir ventures a step closer to the railing to watch and listen. His arms are folded across his chest, but they are under his cloak, which, with its deep hood, protects him from the rain.

 The salt meat is needed: Turlach is shooed off his perch, and squeezes his way to where his aunt and her guard and Calarion stand. "A good day to you," he says quietly, muted gaze staring off at the men-of-war.

 The slight woman in red walks towards the two Tower ladies and smiles thinly. "Is it time?"

 "Perhaps it is," mutters Aktim the Loremaster in answer to the red-clad woman, though in such a way as to not presume to speak for either of the Tower Ladies.

 "It is a good day," Tathar says, but though her voice is emphatic, her face is almost sad. She glances down the river towards the sea, then looks away, watching as Eruphel comes down the gangway, and others move about on deck.

 Lady Farside glances up to her ship and slows her pace until Atkim is abreast of her. " From the ship's deck, I think once everyone is aboard. That would be best," She says quietly to the loremaster.

 A big smile greets Eruphel 'I have indeed. How long do you think it will take until the odor of incense fades away?' Her gaze sweeps the crowds on the docks as she speaks, coming to rest on Tathar, but ere she can say ought, the Lady in red approaches. 'Now is as good a moment as any, I suppose.'

 Following not too far behind the White Squire is one in blue, in this case, Menelglir. He quickens his pace to come alongside Calarion. "Any trouble?" he asks, gaze sweeping the ships and the docks.

 Eruphel laughs in response. "I will send you some bath oils. It will fade quickly." she murmurs, leaning close to Azradi. Then she turns toward the approaching woman in red, and inclines her head in greeting. "The Nimrizan is ready." And as if to emphasize that fact, or make it true, she calls out, "Seaward, all aboard!" Whoever wears blue and has been lagging, or has last minute things to accomplish, begins to run.

 "Who is that woman? The one in red," Turlach asks of the Gondorians, motioning with his chin. He steps back as Haradrim in blue dart past. "I have never seen her."

 Calarion looks over to Menelglir, "No trouble, Squire" he says, "in fact the opposite, the Southrons are finally taking their leave of us." He beams smuggly.

 "I wished to make a...closing benediction, upon these joint ventures, if you wouldn't mind?" the slight woman in red says, the question directed towards Eruphel.

 "I don't know," Tathar says, uncaringly. She shifts her weight uneasily, glancing once more down towards the sea, and then away.

 Aktim the Loremaster inclines his head to Azradi, his Lady, before turning to look back at the woman in red. This time, he speaks more openly: "Yes! A benediction! Such momentous passings must not go unacknowledged." Of the red-clad woman he asks: "I would offer my own humble blessings for our hosts, after yours, if you might permit me."

 "Of course, of course," the slight woman in red says, smiling. "They deserve as many benedictions as possible. Where would be best, do you think?"

 All Farsiders but Azradi's entourage is already aboard her guards and servants make their way up the gangplank, leaving only the Lady herself and Atkim on the docks.

 "It would please me." Eruphel says diplomatically and with a smile. She cuts her eyes toward Azradi.

 "They speak of their rituals and benedictions," Turlach says, edging a little closer towards the Haradrim. "Do you think they mean to ...?" The Man-at-Arms glances at the great ships, then at the fortified walls of Pelargir, as if attempting to gauge their respective strengths.

 "They do not mean to make a sacrifice, do they?" adds the Nimothan boy suddenly, his voice lowered to a deathly whisper.

 Azradi catches Lady Seaward's gaze and returns it - along with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She does indicate her approval to Atkim with a nod of her head.

 With the Tower Ladies' agreements given, Aktim smiles broadly, his too-white teeth shining eerily betwixt his dark-skinned lips. "Before our gracious Gondorian hosts, say I!" He looks from the lady in red to the nearby cluster of Gondorians. "So they might hear our blessings, and be thankful for them."

 "Sacrafice?!" Calarion asks shocked, all cheerleaving his voice and being replaced with uncertain disgust, "They cannot while in our borders... can they?"

 The slight woman nods and walks carefully, gracefully to a space near the Gondorians. "I wish to offer a benediction in favor of peace, upon our leaving." Her voice is full and slightly accented in Westron.

 "Calm yourselves," Menelglir snaps irritably to his countrymen. "THey make no sacrifice. It would be against the truce." The Blue Squire glances right and left, then, not seeing one of higher rank than him in the immediate vicinity, steps a pace forward to Mara.

 "With all due respect, m'lady..what sort of benediction? My countrymen are nervous of it. And the truce, even to this moment, must be kept, the traditions and customs of -both- sides respected."

 On board the Nimrizan, Nitir steps away from the railing, blending back into the crowds.

 Shamed into silence, Turlach bows his head, pale gaze regarding the ground beneath hooded eyelids.

 "A benediction, that the peace may be long and fruitful between our two lands," the slight woman says, a smile on her face, though her accent makes the words perhaps a bit harsher than they might otherwise be.

 Though a hint of the disdain still shines in Aktim the Loremaster's eyes, his smile speaks of a thousand kind sentiments. He nods his head eagerly as the Gondorians question the lady in red, an almost naive gesture of reassurance.

 Eruphel sighs, and turns away, allowing others to do the negotiating of the benediction with the Gondorians.

 Further down the quay, the first of the Merchant ships throws the lines, and pushes off. Using poles to turn oh so slowly, once the bow is pointed enough toward the middle of the river, the white-aged-golden sails unfurl, and the ship begins to sail.

              Entering the Merchants way is the Lieutenant Aearon, with him he has a contingent of soldiers. Looking about the Lieutenant and his men continue to walk towards the people gathered, turning to one of the soldier the Lieutenant says something.. For all of the soldiers move off, moving to different places about the docks. Walking up to where Squire Menelglir stands, spear in his hands.

 A polite smile is Menelglir's expression as he considers Mara's request, but still, the Squire is hesitant. "Of course, m'lady, a wish for a long and fruitful peace between our two lands is in all our hearts. But I feel that a benediction...or prayer as it were...might only serve to highlight rather harsh differences between us. So that things would end on a sour note."

 This said, Menelglir looks with some relief as Aearon arrives. "I've no wish to be too restrictive, but I think it would be in all our interests to close with just a formal farewell. WOuld you not say so, Lieutenant?"

 "It would not be a formal farewell in our tradition without a benediction of some kind. Please allow me to fulfill our traditions and bless both of our peoples," the slight woman in red says, inclining her head slightly towards the Lieutenant.

 "Why would a benediction, a wish for peace and our safe voyage cause dissension, Squire?" asks Azradi sharply, her brow furrowing. "Do you find our traditions so offensive you disapprove of them before they are demonstrated?"

 "I am beginning to believe it is we who should be offended..."

 "Peace," Tathar says. She steps forward also. "Menelglir - let them do it. How can it offend any - do we not all wish for this?"

             Looking to his cousin the Lieutenant says "A formal farewell would indeed be the best course of action.." looking to the woman in which the Squire was speaking the Lieutenant double takes as he sees her, looking at her a moment he says "Do to our difference of religion I think it best that you perform your benediction when you are out of our ports My Lady.." Looking to Lad Azradi the Lieutenant says " I am afraid that such a benediction would only cause more strife between our peoples.. You may perform your ceremonies once you are out of our port..”

 Turlach rises to his feet at the least hint of trouble, a slow graceful movement as opposed to an aggressive stance -- but his pale eyes regard the Lieutenant and his words uneasily.

 The second Merchant slips away from the dock, the poles pushing it far out before a few rowers begin to turn it. Then it, too, begins to float away, moving toward deeper waters.

 Calarion looks sceptically at the Azradi and then to Menelglir and Aearon before saying, "I strongly believe in peace an... tolerence, yet you cannot possibly mean to sacrafice while still on Gondorian waters, regardless of traditions. We have traditions to and in Gondor it is generally considered improper to kill needlessly." His voice is wavers slightly, betraying his uneasy fear at what may take place, a feeling that seems to be shared by other youths in the Gondorian crowd.

 Raising an eyebrow, the slight woman looks at the Lieutenant. "It is an honor to be offered one of my benedictions. They do not involve blood, at least not anyone else's. Surely it is preferable to being offered one of my curses." The small woman's accent becomes sharper.

 Tathar turns and frowns at the Lieutenant, then she smoothes her expression and smiles instead. "What of a compromise?" she suggests. She looks scornfully over her shoulder at Calarion, but turns back to the others. "We do have our differences, but if they give their own benediction - for peace," she stresses, glancing at the Haradrim, "Why should we not also give ours? In our own traditions. Thus all would be satisfied..."

 "You offend me, Lieutenant, and disappoint me," Azradi replies, her voice clipped in anger. She stops and stares at Calarion incredulously, then slowly she begins to laugh. "Is that what this is all about? You think we are going to sacrifice something?"

 Still laughing, she turns away to walk towards the gangplank, muttering under her breath that sounds suspiciously like it includes the words "Gondorian" and "ignorance".

 Eruphel turns as if to board her ship, then looks back to those discussing the propriety of a benediction. She considers briefly, then turns to join Azradi, the small red woman, Menelglir, Aearon, and those others who have gathered. "Pardon. Is there some trouble?" she says, addressing Aearon now.

 Aktim the Loremaster's smile doesn't falter, not even as the woman in red speaks of curses. "We were once same people, were we not? United by the Great Kings of old? Shared blood yet flows through our veins, my friends, regardless of whether one comes from the Lands of Stone or the Lands of Sand." He turns his broad, too-white smile to Tathar, beaming at her in spite of the darkness in his eyes.

 "There is no need to talk of sacrifices," Menelglir says sharply to Calarion, and then in a calmer tone to Mara, "nor of curses. Surely, after all we have gained during this faire, we can find a middle course for this, too. And surely, the spirit of a blessing should not be forced upon each other. We will gladly accept a benediction...just without mention of any guiding gods."

             Listening to all those speaking the Lieutenant thinks a moment, then looking to slight woman in red the Lieutenant says "I understand for the need of tradition, for Gondor has many, tracing there beginnings to the age of Numenor and Great Sea Kings" looking to Tathar the Lieutenant gives her a nod, then looking to the Lady Azradi he says "Perform your benediction.. And we shall perform one of our own.. On the grounds that we do not speak of gods.." looking to Lady Eruphel as he is addressed he says "No problems Lady Eruphel.. More of a misunderstanding.. I have just arrived myself."

 he slight woman's lips curve and she nods. "Of course, there is no need to mention gods in such a benediction. I wish to bring about blessings, not animosity."

 Tathar's face grows dark as she is out-right ignored by all but the Lieutenant, and Aktim's no-doubt entirely innocent smile is met with an almost-glare - even if it isn't directed at him, he is in front of her, looking at her, when she scowls, and thus receives all the benefit. Her shoulders stiff with indignation, she turns and marches back towards Turlach.

 Eruphel's face is tense, her lips thin and straight. "We usually get a benediction before we embark on a sea voyage. If anything happened at sea, and there was no benediction, that would be blamed as the reason. And really, we usually ask this woman for a benediction before we do many things...including enter our own city." The Seaward lady's eyes cut between Aearon and the lady in red. "Please hurry, we will miss the tide." And with that, she turns and heads for her ship.

 The slight woman in red takes a small knife and cuts her palm, letting a few drops of blood spill. She then raises her arms over her head, closes her eyes, and speaks, her tone calm and peaceful, though the language itself is heavy on consonants and harsh tones.

 ""

 The prayer goes on for a few moments and the slight woman's face appears to be bathed in ecstasy. As she finishes, she lowers her arms, smiles, and says, her voice very solemn. 'Amen.'

 Turlach blinks a few times as blood is spilt, shuddering a little at the strange language. He backs away slowly, until he is at the edge of the dock -- far as his feet will take him.

             Seeing that the issue has been solved the Lieutenant shakes his head slightly, then seeing Lady Tathar glare he snaps at her saying with a glare "Is there a problem Lady Tathar?" then he stops as the prayer begins.

 The third Merchant ship leaves the dock, with some difficulty due to langage barriers and a matter with the ropes. But at last the ship is slipped away, and begins its journey home.

 When all is done, Aktim smiles. "I would offer my own final words as part of the ceremony-- it is an ancient tradition of Men, dating back to when our Lords were one and the same. Fitting, no? It is a blessing that is given by those who are departing to those who are remaining, to keep them safe until they meet again, when all voyages are done."

             Aktim turns to the woman in red and inclines his head. "My lady, you should return to your ship... It is considered bad luck if anyone other than the person giving the Final Blessing remains on land. Otherwise, it is felt that the waves will seek to prevent that person from leaving the port." The Loremaster smiles again, and his laughter is high and fey. "And our guests may be less gracious at such a thought!"

 Nodding, the slight woman smiles and begins to make her way back to the ship, up the gang plank. "A pleasure."

 The Gondorian lady reaches her guardsman, and turns back around just in time to hear (and see) the benediction. When she is done, Tathar smiles stiffly at Aearon and says, her voice quite sweet and reasonable, "Of course not." She composes herself to listen to this next man's speech. Corlin looks from her to Turlach and back again, taking half a step towards the lad, then stopping and remaining where he is.

 Calarion looks on, still dumb-struck, yet he holds his tounge and says nothing more.

 " By the Valar," Menelglir whispers under his breath, whitening as the woman cuts herself and prays, and then glancing back to Calarion and nodding. He lowers his voice to his at Aearon. " By such means do they show the true blackness of their hearts."

 Azradi stands on the deck of her ship, near the gangplank that is still extended for Aktim. Two deckhands stand near here, ready to heave the board up once the loremaster has boarded. Her grey eyes watch the man of Caldur with keenness.

             Watching and listening to the prayer the Lieutenant stand still and bows his head, as she finishes and his cousin speaks to him he shakes his head and says nothing.. Looking to Lady Tathar he holds his glare then shakes his head and looks back to Haradrim boarding their ships.

 " Dark indeed" Calarion says, able to make some words in his shock, " tis good that their filth leaves our borders this day."

          Aktim the Loremaster turns and takes a few ponderous, seemingly ritualistic steps away from his immediate position, until he stands before the gathered Gondorians, at least a dozen paces from the nearest of them. Then he clasps his hand in an old, arcane gesture and bows deeply at the waist so that his torso is perpendicular to the ground... but his face never leaves the men and women of Pelargir.

            "Praise be to Men!" he intones. "Praise be to the Lords of Men! Blessings upon their kin and their kith, their ships and their towers! All that is riven must in time be united. Praise be to the Righteous, so that they might reach their jouney's end and return!"

             Then, Aktim the Loremaster's broad smile takes on a different likeness it becomes twisted and cruel. "And praise be to that most Righteous Lord of Men, Alphros anAzulada, rightful King of Gondor! Praise be to his journey from exile in lands hither to this, his Rightful Kingdom! Praise be to those King's Men who are true to his throne unclaimed! Praise be to the Dark Lord, who is the Lord of Lords! And death upon those who stand before him in the reverence of False Gods and the service of False Lords! May they spill the blood of their debased lords, or have their own spilt when the Righteous return!"

            Silver flashes Aktim clutches a slim and wickedly curved dagger and raises it over his head.

 Azradi's lips curl in a smile as Atkim speaks his praise for her brother, but that smile fades to be replaced with a frown when he ends his speech and draws a dagger. A small furrow of concerned puzzlement creases her brow.

 From The Nimrizan, Eruphel turns once all her crew are safely aboard, to watch the proceedings. At the sight of the knife raised high, she calls to her crew. "Retract the gangplank. Slip the lines!" At once, her crew goes into action.

              Stepping forward spear in his hands the Lieutenant shouts "Shout your blasphemous mouth! The false king you speak of is just that, a false imposter.." A rage is in the mans voice, as he looks at the lore keeper, then he loses his temper and he rushes forward swinging his spear, not to stab but to smack the man.. It would seem the Lieutenant wishes to knock the lore keeper into the water.

 A knife! Turlach's gaze, hitherto absently surveying the sail-dotted river, flashes in anger. "Lieutenant!" the Man-at-Arms growls, reaching a staying hand forward.

 Tathar doesn't even seem to be listening now - her gaze is off somewhere downriver, though it lands on both Azradi and Eruphel. Until Aktim's words change, and her eyes focus on him sharply, then fly back to the ships where the two Tower Ladies stand. There is both fury and something like vindication and can it be betrayal? in them. And then she is rudely shoved off-balance as Corlin thrusts himself in front of her, drawing his sword - though he doesn't move to attack.

 In step with Aearon is Menelglir. Though he does not have time to draw his sword, his shield is upon his left arm, and this he thrusts toward the Southron, in concert with Aearon's spear thrust.

 Aktim is unphased by the soldiers who advance on him. Aeron's spear hits him in the side and Menelglir's shield buffets his shoulder, but through some force of will the Loremaster does not topple. Instead, he howls: "Great Dark Lord of All, please accept my offering!" Aktim's dagger slashes downwards, but not towards any Gondorian. Instead, with eerie professionalism, he drives the knife into his own stomach and eviscerates himself.          

Blood flows across the quay's stones, and the Loremaster falls to the ground, dead.

 From The Nimrizan, Watching from the ship, the slight woman in red smiles. "A fitting sacrifice."

 "Atkim!" shouts, Lady Farside - her eyes wide in shock and horror. Visibly, she shakes off the sight and hisses to her deck hands, "Raise the ganglplank! Unmoor the ship, quickly!" The words are barely out of her mouth before her crew obeys her orders with urgency.

              As the man falls dead the Lieutenant pulls back his spear, then his eyes shoot to the Haradrim ships a look of rage on his face.. Then looking to the body, he spits upon it.. A look of rage still upon his face..

 The Nimrizan's lines are untied, and thrown at the dock with a mighty heave. The end of one rope not making it the whole way, and hitting the water with a splash. Lady Eruphel allows her captain and mates to do their jobs, and watches the happenings on the shore with a grave mein.

 Calarion's mouth opens and closes with absolute shock "But... they said... no sacrafice..."

 Turlach's eyes widen in shock -- blood! lots of it, and intestines like gelatinous noodles -- and behind the Lieutenant and Squire does the Man-at-Arms drop weakly to his knees, his fingers clamped over his mouth in an attempt not to become sick.

 The man kills himself right in front of her - Tathar is rigid with shock and horror one hand in front of her mouth, she stares in fascination at the blood pooling over the dock. And as Corlin grabs her shoulders and hustles her away, she looks out once more at the departing ships.

             Turning about the Lieutenant is still a figure of pure rage.. Seeing the Man-at-Arms upon the ground he shouts "On your feet Turlach.. You are Soldier of Gondor, if you can not handle this bit of blood perhaps you will be able to handle war." with that he shouts to a few soldiers that had arrived with him.. "Get some canvas and clean up the body.."

 Menelglir skids to a stop as the SOuthron falls by his own hand. The Blue Squire's face screws up in disgust at the sight, but neither shock nor nausea registers on his face. Instead, like Aearon, he seethes. "Calarion," he shouts to the White Squire. "Stop babbling." He turns away from the sight to speak to Aearon.

 Calarion steps back in shock, "Valar protect us..." he murmers, "what dark busniess is this?" His wits have obviously been regained, "This is a breaking of the truce!"

 Turlach salutes dumbly and hurries forward with a corner of the canvas, slender shoulders still racked by shudders as he tries very hard not to look at the corpse itself.

 "What truce, Squire?" Menelglir says, still sounding angry. "Look." He points to the departing ships. "They are gone. We are at war and this..." he points to the body, "is the first act of war. "If you cannot abide it, then I suggest you beg Sir Gwendion to release you from your oath."

 The Variyah slowly slips from her berth. Her lips pressed firmly, Azradi rests her troubled gaze on the scene surrounding Aktim's body. There she remains a moment, ere she walks away from the railing - putting the past behind her as present duties call her.

             Shaking his head the Lieutenant looks to one of the Soldiers and says "Go inform our navies of what has transpired.. Perhaps they can give the scum a going away gift.." with that the Lieutenant looks about the Merchant way and shouts "If you do not have business here I suggest you leave.. Now!" Looking to his cousin the Lieutenant says "We should of burned their ships when we had the chance.."

 Tathar is still watching, despite Corlin's attempts to hurry her away, and at this, she twists in his grasp. "How can one man killing himself be an act of war?" she asks. "It was terrible... but he has harmed none of us." She looks white, and almost sick, and she avoids looking at the body.

 From The Nimrizan, the Great, Black sails unfurl, falling heavily to flap in the slight wind, soggy with the grey rain. Guidelines are pulled tight, and the sails begin to fill. The Nimrizan turns, and following in the path of the merchant ships before, it heads into the deep, fast-flowing waters of the river, the black silhouette fading as it gains a little distance.

 Calarion straightens up "I can abide it, Squire. I knew I could abide it or no oath would I have taken. My oath will be fulfilled and my service to Gondor fulfulled. I will take what war comes." He glares out at the departing ships, "they will pay for all they have done to our people."

 "Forgive me, Lady," Menelglir answers Tathar, "but I have not the time to explain tthat right now. Calarion," he looks to the White Squire, "help out here in whatever way is needed. Lieutenant," he addresses Aearon, "I seek Sir Gwendion if you'd like to join me?"

 Turlach has acquired a bucketful of water, and now runs back towards the mess, a rag draped over one shoulder. He sets to mopping the thick blood, still trembling.

              Hearing the words of Lady Tathar the Lieutenant shouts "Leave the dealings of War to those who fight it My Lady.." Looking to the Squire Menelglir he says ".He need know of this.." and with that the Lieutenant storms off, the very description of rage.

 Hard on Aearon's heels, Menelglir follows.

 Calarion follows behind Menelglir, all shakeness seems to have gone from his face.

 It is good to have anger to distract oneself. Tathar lifts her chin and scowls at the Lieutenant's patronizing tone. And some color returns to her face, as she waits for her nephew to finish his task, arms crossed, refusing Corlin's attempts to lead her away.

 Minutes after the Nimrizan's sails fill with wind, the Variyah unfurls her own. Eagerly, the raven prow parts the river taking away with it the last of the Haradrim and some might say in secret whispers, the Princess of Gondor - sister to its rightful King.