[piosenniel]

Once back on ship, Pio ushered Cami and both the boys back to their rooms. She drew up the gangplank and sent for Daisy and Kali to come to her. They looked askance at her as they approached and moved to stand up wind. ‘What happened to all that finery you left in?’ asked Daisy, wrinkling up her nose. ‘You really did look quite nice.’ Pio laughed at this statement. ‘I think I am not meant for such trappings, Daisy.’ She picked up the hem of her soiled tunic and smiled. ‘This served me well enough for what I needed. Pity the poor sailor who wakes to find my dress covering him and a silver coin in his hand.’

She told them what had happened and how the three were now safely back on the ship. ‘I must be back at the meeting with the King in less than an hour. I need your help in this matter.’ Both the Hobbrim stepped forward, saying they would help in any way they could. She outlined the conditions she had laid down for the three she had brought back, saying that she wished no further interference from any of them. There were some delicate negotiations to be got through with the King and his ministers before they could secure the ships for safe passage to Rauros Falls. Mithadan must be allowed to have his full attention on this without worry that some Hobbit or Hobbrim would be causing trouble in the city. She, herself, would stay to keep things in order on the ship, but Mithadan had asked that she accompany him, and she would put him first.

‘Will you stand in my stead, the both of you?’ She regarded them both closely, making more of a statement than asking a question. ‘I would have this meeting with the King go smoothly.’ Both Kali and Daisy nodded in the affirmative, and Pio gave them instructions on what they were to do. ‘I will be back directly after the meeting, any problems that arise, deal with them in any way necessary to keep the Hobbits hidden on the ship. I will treat further with those who chose to contravene my wishes when I return.’ Kali and Daisy both took note of the seriousness of her statement to them and agreed to keep the passengers on the Star under their watchful eyes. ‘We will stand in your stead, Lady Piosenniel.’ said Daisy, a smile of remembrance playing about her lips.

Pio ran quickly to her room and stripped her clothes off. She washed herself with clean smelling herbed soap, and lathered her hair twice to rid it of the smell of the sailor’s greasy cap. Satisfied, she dressed hurriedly, but this time for her comfort and not for show. A soft, dark blue velvet tunic over black leggings. Her boots of soft leather cleaned and rubbed as she could to a muted gleam encased her legs to her knees, and into the tops of them she snugged her knives against her calves. About her waist a belt of Dwarven silver shone, set on the buckle with mother-of-pearl that winked and moved in the light like the surf playing about the shores of the Falathrim. Two long knives in fine worked leather sheaths hung from it. Over it all she flung her grey cape. And on her brow a slim band of mithril worked with twined leaves of holly. She would be every inch the Elf as she presented herself to the King.

She strode quickly from the dock, and worked her way in haste to the seventh tier of the city, where she was to meet Mithadan and Bird. The crowds in the passageways drew back from her and made way for her. There was a clear light which shone in her eyes, and she moved with a purpose that even the guards at the final turning could not deny, but ushered her through, whispering to each other that one of the Eldar had come to grace the King with her presence.

Mithadan smiled at her approach, regarding her with great affection. At his side was Bird. She had managed to pull her outfit back together, and though her hair now hung down about her shoulders, it gleamed in the light of the sconces, and there were many side glances from the passing courtiers at this fetching and mysterious lady.

Ardamir also stood near them, waiting to usher them in to the meeting with the King. He stepped forward as she approached and inclined his head to her. ‘My Lady, you have recovered as I can see.’

‘I thank you for your concern, Ardamir.’ She said, smiling at him. ‘Now come, let us go in to the King, if you will. I would see Ciryandil and what sort of King he has grown into.’

The Minister led the way through the tall doors to the hall, Mithadan at his side. Bird entered next, while Pio brought up the rear, her eyes taking in the surroundings. The King stood, his back to them, at a low table, looking over a large map spread before him. As the doors closed behind them, he turned . . .

Mithadan's Post:

Ciryandil was tall as was the wont of descendants of the Kings of Numenor. His hair was dark as the night sky and silvered at the temples. Lines of care ran across his brows and at the edges of his eyes which were clear and grey. He wore a dark blue cape over his black tunic and leggings and on his brows rested the Star of Anarion.

Mithadan dropped to one knee and, after a moment's hesitation, Piosenniel and Bird followed suit. The King stepped forward and said "Rise" in a deep voice and gestured that they should be seated at the table. Servants brought chilled wine and a platter of breads and cheeses. When all had been served and formalities exchanged, Ciryandil addressed Mithadan and his companions.

"I am told that you come before me on a mission of mercy," he said. "And that you seek not charity but aid in exchange for fair payment. I would hear your tale and the aid which you seek."

Mithadan spoke, addressing the King respectfully and with the proper formalities. At length, he repeated the story he had told Ardamir, embellished with comments concerning the large number of children among the refugees.

Ciryandil nodded gravely at the tale. "Grievous indeed is such a calamity," he said. "And I doubt not that my brethren to the North lack the resources to succor the affected. Yet you ask much of me at a time when my resources are strained as well. I am told that you do not appear here without means. How do you propose to pay for the aid you seek? And how many are the refugees of this tragedy?"

"Nearly five hundreds must be relocated," replied Mithadan. The King's brows rose at this and Ardamir's eyes grew wide. "But we do propose to pay for my Lord's aid. With these..." Mithadan again drew forth the black box from under his cloak and opened it so the King could view what it contained. Like Ardamir had earlier, the King's eyes widened upon seeing the contents of the container. Then he looked to his treasurer and the man seated next to him. Mithadan presumed this was the scholar Ardamir had spoken of before.

Ciryandil turned the box around so that the others could see its contents. Within it were six daggers, finely wrought with hilts plated with gold and adorned with jewels. But the blades themselves were of mithril and each bore a name upon it; the names of various Kings of Numenor. Bird gasped and leaned forward to see the daggers more clearly.

The scholar leaned forward with trembling hands and lifted the blade bearing the name Tar-Elendil. He examined it closely for many minutes, turning it over and over in his hands. Then he drew forth a small pick made of steel and scratched it against the blade. It left no blemish upon the mithril. He replaced the blade reverently back into the box and addressed his King.

"My Lord," he said. "The name was set in the Mithril during the weapon's forging. Mithril cannot be engraved in this manner. The art of doing this is lost to us now. These daggers are authentic."

"How came you upon these treasures?" Ciryandil asked Mithadan. The Man smiled and replied with head held high. "I am a mariner, my Lord. I have travelled far upon the waves of the great sea. And one day my vessel came upon a small island and I would not have thought twice about bypassing it except that on its rocky shores could be seen the ribs of an ancient shipwreck. Curious, I approached but little remained of the unfortunate vessel. Yet in the sands which filled its rotting belly, I found these six blades and I took them up and carried them away when I left the island."

Ciryandil thought for a moment. Then he looked Mithadan in the eye and said, "500 refugees will require more than 20 vessels with threir crews. You will need food and provisions for their journey and weapons and tools to aid them. I think that these daggers would adequately cover the cost of this expedition..."

Pio's Post:

Pio watched as the scholar turned the blades lovingly in his hands. They were beautiful, indeed, she thought and their worth far more than the twenty ships and supplies they would receive from the King. But ships and food and provisions were what they needed at the moment and these were the means to obtain them.

The King had directed his Minister of the Treasury to work out the finer details of the exchange with Mithadan. The pair stood apart from the small group, now, working through what needed to be done and when, while one of Ardamir’s clerks wrote furiously, keeping track of what had been agreed upon. It looked to be a long discussion.

Pio strolled about the room looking at the few pieces of artwork which decorated the walls. One drew her attention, and she stood before it, looking at it in detail. It was a large tapestry, finely worked, depicting one of the great victories of Gondor - the sailing of her great navy from Pelargir, south to Umbar , ending in the taking of that area from the Black Númenóreans.

‘That was a time when fortune shone on us.’ came the deep voice behind her. She had not heard him approach, so intent was she on the history laid out before her. ‘A great time for the Sea Kings of Gondor.’ she agreed, turning to see who had spoken to her.

He stood close before her, and she marveled at how well he had grown into his role as King. ‘That Sea King was . . .’ he began. ‘Your father.’ She finished for him, smiling. ‘Eärnil. A wondrous naval tactician, or so I have heard, to have defeated so fierce a foe and held the area against them for so long.’ His brow furrowed as she spoke, and a sudden memory niggled at the back of his mind.

‘You are the Elf from Lindon, or so my Minister said to me. Yet, I feel as if we have met already. How is this so?’ His keen grey eyes assessed her, lingering on the stray curls which brushed her shoulders.

‘I knew an Elven lady once, when I was very young. She was a visitor to my father’s court on a number of occasions. I remember finding her often in the library looking through the old books and scrolls. She always had time for a little boy of five as I was at that time. Always she would make time for us to play in the courtyard fountain, sailing ships and fighting great battles of our own.’ He laughed in delight at the memory. ‘Sometimes I would win, and she would tell me how one day I would be as great and able a Sea King as my father.’

He reached out to touch her hair, and then, thinking better of it, pulled back his hand. ‘She had hair much like you, dark and curling. Though, as I recall, it fell much further down her back than yours. Pio smiled at him fondly. ‘Lucky, indeed, the Elf to have had such a keen playmate and adversary as you.’

She saw Mithadan motion for her to come over to him. ‘I must go. My companion has need of me for the moment.’ She inclined her head to him, her eyes shining with delight. ‘It has been my great pleasure to speak with you, if even for so short a while.’

A smile creased his careworn face and he waved her off, watching as she walked away from him . . .


[ December 14, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[ December 14, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]