A tale of child wronged, who through the love of father is uplifted to succeed beyond all but their own hope and dreams.

Note: If you found this story as a result of reading the Adventures of a Merchant tales, then I would like to warn you that even though it too is fantasy based, it is a very different story in tone.

Heart of Darkness
by Arcie Emm

The child awoke to the silken glory of norm, in a room larger than a Duke's dining room. But the child did not arise, for it was not yet time, instead the child continued to lie under silken and satin coverings upon a mattress of swan down, a mattress upon which even the largest man would be dwarfed, little alone a child. Awake, but abed, the child could only pass time in the same way as every morning, by studying the intricate painting upon the bottom of the bed's canopy that was always displayed by the newly risen sunlight reflecting off the polished floor. The painting was a work of high art, upon that all would agree, but no one believed the child that it was also magic.

Nanny had initially listened with delight when the child had discovered the magic, babbling on about how the woodland scene changed day to day. But as the years passed she became less willing to listen, thinking that it was time for the child to outgrow the fancy, then delight turned to admonishments against lies. The scolding taught the child to no longer talk about the magic, yet it did not stop the magic itself. A magic that upon every morning caused the child to awake to something new, at least if spotted.

For what is new is not always easily seen, time causes change to happen slowly and this results in the new being disguised as something that already existed to those who are not willing to look more closely. The painting had taught the child to be one of those to look more closely, to determine what was different each day as opposed to the day before. Was the fawn's head closer to the delicious green grass or were the butterfly's wings opening wider in the flap that would tear away its grip upon yellow flower or was the falling acorn finally touching the ground. Usually the child could determine the difference, but not on this day. Excitement drove away the ability to do so, excitement that a much larger new would be encountered that day. The child's father was finally returned from the East, a father who had never met the child. A father who would finally give name to child.

Usually the child hated for Nanny to arrive before being able to determining what was different, but on this day was willing to be interrupted and thus was relieved when the door opened by that lady bearing breakfast upon tray. With tray safely placed upon the table under the window she moved to bedside and stated, "Time to get up Sweetheart, today is a big day for you."

Those were the only words spoken between the child and the nanny as they moved through the motions they had moved thousands of times before. The dance started with bed coverings pulled aside so that the child could sit up and swing legs to dangle down from the side of the bed. After the nanny placed delicate and dainty satin slippers upon feet she would hold steady the child during the gentle leap which was required to alight afoot from high mattress. Once standing the nanny helped child into a golden satin robe to cover that matching silken nightdress in order to combat the morning's damp cool. Without guidance the child then glided to the table to eat breakfast of porridge, milk and freshly ripened apple.

So fortified for the day the two began the next phase of the dance. It was ever the longest part, but never had dressing taken so long as on this day, this special day. Only after bathing and once more being robed, slippered and sat in chair was the child's night cap removed, allowing long, black, lustrous hair to cascade down back and front to temporarily blind before the nanny began the involved task of arrangement. Comb and brush restored the desired gloss before ornamental butterflies in colours of lilacs, lavenders and violets were used to control, to keep hair out of face and hanging down past shoulders to lower back. Allowing dangling earrings, matching the jewelry in hair, to swing in and out from behind their sable curtain to sparkle in the daylight.

With hair in place the nanny opened the drawers in the near-bye cabinet holding the powders, paints and lacquers used to decorate the beautiful and disguise those who were less so. On the child they did the first, but again never more than on this day.

First to gain the benefit of the drawers' contents were long, shapened finger and toe nails as they were covered in coat upon coat of pale lilac lacquer that soon shone like the jewelry in hair and ears beneath the sunlight. Next was a powder, lightly dusting face, neck and shoulders. Lightly for the child's complexion needed little assistance due to youth and daily pampering. Much time was spent upon the child's eyes, beneath thinly shaped brows of black, making them hugely innocent though bordered by lashes that despite already being long and full were lengthened and thickened by mascara. With youth and health there was little need of of rouge to colour and accent cheeks, so the nanny used very little before moving to lips. Full and pouty they may have been, but the nanny still had the skill to shape and accentuate them to the perfection defined by those at court so far away.

Once painted the nanny had the child remove robe and patted another powder, smelling of the flower whose colour graced the child's nails, upon body before opening armoire to remove clothing that had never before been seen nor worn by the child. Yet curiously none of the items were new. The first were another pair of slippers, like the previous pair they were made of satin but this time they were a dark lilac. The nanny then had the child step into a long underskirt, which brushed the floor to hide slippers. It was made from the finest silk and coloured to match the lacquer that was used to polish nails, a lilac lighter in colour than that of the slippers.

Lastly there was an overdress that did not quite reach the floor, this when combined with long slits upon either side allowed the underskirt to show through. The overdress was also made of silk, but unlike the underskirt it was dyed to match the darker colour of the slippers. With hands of great skill and artistry there had been embroidering done on the front of the dress' skirt, which showed a swarm of butterflies, large to small, lifting away from lilac flowers at bottom right to spiral away upwards to the left. More embroidering of butterflies were done at the cuffs of the sleeves that fell draping down past hand and finger. The last butterflies on the dress were three ornamental frogs below the high collar used to fasten the dress to tightly wrap around the child's torso to show curves decidedly not child like.

With her charge dressed, the nanny slowly circled the child pausing now to adjust a lock of hair and then to smooth a wrinkle of dress. When once more in front of the child there was a smile on her face, "You look perfect Sweetheart, I cannot wait for your father to see you."

She then reached into the armoire one more time to remove a fan in match to the colour of the under dress and once more bedecked in that most colourful of bugs. Handing it to the child she opened the door and led the way out of the room and towards a meeting with the father, the Warlord. And with the room empty there was nobody available to see the acorn after its aeon long fall finally touch the ground and begin the rocking that would come to a stop long after the mortals of the world were long dead.

As the two walked through the halls the child was surprised by the amount of activity. Usually the estate was a place of calm, bordering almost upon neglect, seeming to house so many fewer than its size called out to hold. But on this day it was different, brighter. Windows that had been shuttered were no longer so closed off though men upon ladders were seen at many cleaning away the grime. Floors and walls and statues also were being cleaned by others, more people than the child had ever seen. But all of the cleaners stopped what they were doing to bow or curtsy as the child and the nanny passed by.

And that too was different. None of those who lived at the estate before the Warlord's arrival offered courtesy to the child. Not the nanny, the cook or the maids. Nor any of the child's tutors in dance, manners, poetry, letters, history, archery, horse riding or any myriad of other things throughout the years. And definitely not the guards, the stern faced men in yellow were unlikely to even acknowledge the child's presence unless to block a path or door.

The nanny headed to one such door that had previously been blocked and only then did the child noticed that the men who bracketed the door no longer wore yellow. They were just as stern faced but now wore brown and did not block the door through which the child had never gone. At least they did not block the child, the nanny was not so lucky. Even though she had lorded over the men in yellow, these new men reserved for her a scowl that those in yellow had often directed at the child. When she argued that the child was her responsibility the elder man, with death in his voice, bluntly asked, "Hag, do yee seek to usurp the father?"

At the words and tone the nanny blanched white before mumbling something and hurrying away, leaving the child alone with the suddenly fearsome guards. So it was with nerves aflame with worry that the child entered the room, barely noticing the figure sitting behind a table before folding into a deep and graceful curtsy. A curtsy that shamed every one of those that had earlier been directed at the child.

Time passed while the child held the pose, yet the entire time felt a steady stare from the figure behind the desk. Finally there was a sigh and a deep voice rumbled, "Rise child, rise."

With those words the child stood up and in turn studied the man. Like the new guards he too wore brown, but of a much finer quality than that of his men. He was in his middle age still being strong and hale though somewhat weathered as if having spent much time out of doors. He had dark hair cut short as was normal for one often under helm and his face was adorned with a tidy beard. Was he handsome? The child thought that it was likely, though as someone who had been kept away from most people did not feel confident in making such a judgement. Still it was easy to see that the man had presence and that his dark eyes burned with intelligence.

While the child studied the father, the father in turn continued his study of the child. By the shocked look on his face he was definitely surprised by what he saw. When they finally were both looking each other in the eye, he spoke in a voice much quieter than earlier, "I never realized they hated me so much or were willing to be so cruel in that hatred."

That comment, so unexpected in its strangeness, served only to confuse the child even more. Therefore, the question that was on tip of tongue ended up having multiple answers, "Father?"

He must have heard both questions in that word, but his initial response answered neither, "Well they at least did not get the voice right." Seeing even more confusion on the child's face after this reply, he answered the easier of the questions and then asked, "Yes child, I am your father. But I must ask what do you know of my history or your mother's history?"

Though the answer had provided a smidgeon of clarity, the father's question immediately brushed it aside. Still when the child realised the answer to his question was nothing, it became apparent that much of the cloud obscuring the father's words was due to the child's lack of knowledge. So it was with a quiet, yet eager voice that the father's child answered, "Nothing Father."

For the first time the man behind the table smiled, though it was a smile that held little happiness. But with the smile came a gesture to a chair across from his and the invitation, "Then sit child, it is passed time for you to know from whom and whence you came to this point which will likely serve as your beginning."

Watching the child gracefully, oh so very gracefully, move to offered chair his eyes betrayed anger, but at what the child did not know. And then those eyes closed as if to look inward for guidance in his explanation, nor did they open before he began to speak.

"Any explanation must begin with the most simplest of truth, that being that your mother is not the lady who is my wife. Though wife in name only, for it is many years long even before your birth since I have seen that lady. Therefore, it is truer to designate her in the fashion in which she sees herself, Cyratur's daughter. For rather would she see herself as a member of a great family in the capital Armenelos the Golden, than as wife to a minor lord whose demesne contains little more then this estate, rule over the fishing village of Nindamos and watch over frontier fort of Tharbad. And though with her I have heirs and daughters, it is not a joining of love nor even of much liking. She in her world and me in my world has always seemed to be the path of least conflict.

"But then the purpose of the joining was never between the two of us, nay it just served as glue to link me to her father, the Grand Admiral Cyratur. For he has always had need of those men who flock to my banner for victory, in turn he has provided me guidance on paths to adventure and funds to make those adventures successful. With him a relationship continued long past his daughter's and mine had grown distant and cold.

"Still man cannot live on adventure and war alone, he needs warmth and softness. Something that was no longer available to me in my marriage bed and so I found myself drawn to others. Now child, do not look so at me, your mother was not one such as those dalliances, no she was so very much more. Talented and kind, sweet and intelligent, and able to fill a room with her beauty despite being so very petite. With raven hair waving to hide or show eyes that sparkled as stars or ruby lips smiling in welcome or in lilting, laughter. Yet why describe what is in your sight whenever you look into a mirror, no it is better to tell you of her, my beautiful Merendel.

"In ways it is also Cyratur to whom I owe for the pleasure of the discovery of my love, for it was at his invitation that I was in Armenelos and his guesting that I found myself staying at the Inn of Flowers. Fortunately for me the proprietor of the inn had at that time hired the Troop of Angwyun to entertain his guests at meal or while in cup. The dancers of the troops were graceful and beyond lovely but my eyes sought not to linger upon them, instead it was drawn as unerring as a loosened arrow to she who played the lyre, your mother Merendel.

"Let me tell you that she led me on a merry chase, teaching me much along the way. The man who started the chase was much more cocksure in his status and worthiness than the man at the end, for she was unwilling to be caught. Her parents had warned her away from men of noble birth, specially those who were soldiers, as they would see her only as toy. They were correct, for many of my caste would have seen her so, but not I. For in battle I had witnessed the honour and pride of those who served beneath me and knew that it was only accident of birth which separated me from them. So despite the wisdom of the advice, it placed mountains in my way.

"Yet I did not despair, for I too had the advice of my father to draw upon. And he had warned me that despair was the ice upon the path of your desires, that to accept despair was to make your trail treacherous and impossible to tread. So I persevered, smartly never trying to buy my way to her heart for I now know that would have doomed me to failure. Yet there seemed to be no way to batter down the walls that surrounded her, and of course this only made me want her more. I admit it was luck, rather than plan, that finally gained me entry to her sphere. I had not quite stalked her and her troop, yet the distance between them and I was never further away then a ride of horse, a ride often made. It was after one such ride that I found their troop diminished of one of the men who had been hired to port and manage the props and stage upon which the troop performed. The man had been caught stealing and Angwyun, Merendel's father, had been forced to let him go even if it left the troop short handed. Having been a frequent spectator of the performers, I had also often watched the work performed after the show. Observing the struggles and chaos of the post performance I had found myself without thought pitching in to help.

"This act of humility, repeated on many a night after served to gain me acceptance by the men of the troop. And with their acceptance their posture of watch dog over the women was also lowered. From that point it still took much time and charm for me gain my way Merendel's heart, even though she had already gained her way into mine. But it was far from difficult for everything about her was fascinating to me. And fortunate was I to find that my hard work and effort was rewarded beyond my belief."

While pausing to quench a thirst built up by his speech the man could not help but internally shiver at the pose of his child sitting across from him listening raptly to what he said. For the pose and demeanor, the wide open eyes and slightly parted lips reminded him so very much of his Merendel. She too had listened with her entire being, waiting through pauses such as this with recognition that continuation would soon occur and never interrupting until the end. It reminded him of his loss, though he hoped that it also promised something that may be good. And so he offered his first true smile to his child, which when hesitantly returned grew larger and launched him into the next phase of his story.

"Thus we were finally together; however, that did not mean we became one as I was already in a marriage that could not easily be ended, nor did Merendel desire it to end. After all it was the individuality of each that we both so admired and in each of our hearts we knew that music and war were also required to make us who we were and whom the other loved. Plus our partings made the time spent together so very much sweeter. Thus became our life, totally in one another's thrall no matter if the distance between us was measured in inches or measured in leagues.

"It was bliss and it should have gone on forever, but the world was unwilling to cooperate. Annatar the Lord of Gifts and Celebrimbor had their falling out and true war, not that at which I played, came to the mainland. We here on our island retreat initially thought the conflict would be short, yet then Eregion was destroyed and soon too Eriodor fell leaving only Lindon in Annatar's path. As we watched the happenings from our safety the High King, Tar-Minastir, began to worry that we too would not be safe from Celebrimbor's enemy who had turned out to be someone greater and deadlier than any had expected. Therefore, the King decreed that we must intervene and called before him Grand Admiral Cyratur to form a great expeditionary fleet to go to the aid of beleaguered Lindon. So tasked, Cyratur immediately sent out the call for leaders of marshal men such as myself.

"I will be honest and say that my initial thoughts were only of the glory that could be won at such an opportunity. But such thoughts were quickly pushed to the side with understanding of the scope of the effort that was required to even form the fleet. Darker still could have been my spirit if I had known that my light dreamt dire prophecies about the future of the endeavor, yet she troubled me naught with them. Though nor did I ask why she left her family for the first time to be constantly at my side. I admit that my selfishness, being close to my two great passions, may have left me unwilling to listen if she had spoken.

"Still when we set sail for the land to the East she stood silent, tears in eyes, dressed in a pale lilac underskirt and dark lilac overdress with both she and it decorated in butterflies until wind took me out of sight and she out of mine. Then I forced my heart to go cold, to focus on my duty for if I did not then I would not be fully in the present and in combat one must be so or they will soon fall into the past.

"During the following days Cyratur and his captains were much in debate as to our plan of attack. Many wise words were spoken by all before agreement was reached just before land once more came into view and we came to the harbour of Lond Daer at the mouth of the Greyflood. We tarried over night to restock and to take on troops from Lond Daer, but during the night our plan truly began. In the darkness those who we had loaded and many more quietly disembarked and stole up the river on boat with muffled oar under the command of the Duke of the Great Sea, Vanger of Lond Daer and his sons of oak. To them was granted the long, arduous row that would take them to Tharbad where they would build defenses stout as their hearts and firm as their will.

"In turn we sailed further North to the shores of Lindon where most of the host, under my command, put ashore to confront the dark invader and his forces. I do not wish to dwell long on the battles that took place, it is a topic best left to history books and kept out of polite society, instead I will say that though the enemy's number was large they were also weary of the fight. Therefore, they were dismayed when we joined the fray against them. Soon they ran Eastward and we pursued, harrying them on every step on which they had last walked triumphant. But soon they could run no more, for in their path was Vanger acting as anvil upon which we could crush the enemy host. And we did, until their leader with only a handful of bodyguard flew away, leaving his followers to our not so tender mercies angered as we were by the terrible price that Vanger and his men of Lond Daer suffered in a defense of Tharbad. And I still believe that the acts of those men defy the ability of song to properly glorify.

"And so we were victorious, terrible though it may have been. After these battles it was one of those times when I was in need of warmth and softness, but to me it was denied. Somebody had to stay to serve watch on the enemy for though he was fled, he was not wholly defeated and so I who was ordered to linger, to rebuild Tharbad, to ever be watchful of the East. It was in that outpost far away from home that I received a letter from fair Merendel and in it I did learn of your imminent birth and felt great joy, I immediately sought to return but was halted, only able to send letter in return. In response to this her next letter included her dreams that we would never see each other again, again I sought to return and yet again I was halted."

Once more he paused, but this time he did not look at his child nor did his gaze hold anything that was not frustration or anger. Therefore, the child was surprised at how low his voice was as he continued, "Her dreams were correct. Letters in plentitude were exchanged, allowing me to learn of your birth. Exchanging each of our stories, yet we could not be together. And then the letters from her stopped, it was only through rumour that I learned of her death by horseback. Nobody thought me worthy of that knowledge, instead they kept me away. I could not return to see my love on her way into the next world, I could not return raise you, I could not return to name you on your name day, I could not return."

This last fierce utterance broke the spell of rapt attention in which the child had listened to the story and into the silence asked, in voice as low as father's, "Why? Why could you not return?"

"I always though it was jealously. Jealousy of my wife who could not stand to allow me to love, who would beg her father to keep me banished to the frontier. He would listen, for she was always spoiled by him, yet he too I believed held jealously towards me. Yea, though he commanded fleet, it was I who led the men to victory while he lingered upon ship. But Cyratur the Wise, nay let others name him so while I name him in truth as Cyratur the Usurper of Glory, was unwilling to share in the gifts gained in victory. No myself and men of like accomplishments were ordered to fortify and watch, meanwhile he and his cronies returned to fete and honour.

"Yet now I see that it was not just jealously, but also hate. For what darkness of heart must lurk inside someone for them to use a child to punish the father. What cruelty is it to take a man's son, and turn him into his lost love."

With those words, the forbidden truth was spoken, made real. The truth that had always been known by all but one at the estate and even that one, despite the silence of the rest, suspected the truth, but had been unwilling to admit it even to self. Sheltered and alone he had always accepted the lies and the liars; after all, a child cannot survive alone. He needs hearth and home, care, support and teaching. These all are worth more than truth and worth even more when wrapped in luxury.

But now the child, the son, felt shame believing that he should not have been docile nor so accepting. He realized he should have rebelled, so it was with a voice full of bitterness that he asked, "Then I am nothing but a weapon aimed at my father?"

A wealth of emotions were on the Warlord's face and his child's statement only caused more to appear. Yet he controlled his face and his turmoil as he stepped from behind table to kneel before the one who reminded him so much of she who was the his mother, then taking a hold of the child's hands he comforted, "Nay, you are so much more. To see yourself so is to see with the eyes of those who have done this foul deed and their souls are twisted beyond measure. You are innocent of all but birth and form, neither of which you controlled. Nay, when I look upon you I do not see a deadly arrow aimed at my heart, instead I see someone wondrous and beautiful and worthy of love, love that your mother had in abundance, love that makes me glory inside to feel."

Again the son knew the father spoke truth, but this time the truth brought not thoughts of shame instead it uplifted. Tears running dark down face no longer dimmed, they sparkled and a smile of joy blossomed to fill the room.

It was a smile that the father could not help but return as he began the final ritual needed in this their first meeting, "One more thing must we determine before we can leave this room and live our life, we must find you a name. In fact It is long past the time that you had a name for you have grown beyond child hood and have become your own person. Yet it is difficult, for though with all my being I know that you are the son of my heart, still I see daughter of eye. I have a name in mind but I know that while it is largely a greedy reminder of the past for me, it may serve as a terrible reminder for you."

"What is the name father?"

"Wilwarin."

Looking at the nervous, hopeful face of his father the son absentmindedly reached up to fondle one of his dangling earrings while he considered the name and its meaning, actually the multiple meanings. He knew the path that acceptance would open, yet the name felt right and he found his voice to say, "It is lovely father. I will be Wilwarin."

With the acceptance the Warlord raised himself to his feet, pulling his child upwards as he stood. Wrapping his arms around his son he marvelled that, though grown to young adulthood, the figure in his arms was so tiny compared to him. Then bending down to kiss forehead above beautiful face, he whispered in a delicate ear, "I am so very happy to be finally able to meet you Wilwarin."

At this statement the no longer child nodded his head before burying head in burly chest and beginning to cry.

Now in his child's life the Warlord was more then willing to accept him as son, but curiosity burned and he desired to know what had been done to make him appear as daughter. Knowledgeable in many obscure arts he quickly realized that they were only helpful on the field of war and that he required help of experts. From these he learned that it was through witchcraft and herbs that his son had been turned into daughter of eye and that only a useless piece of manhood would ever exist to show that Wilwarin was different than he appeared. Accepting as he was of his son's fate, much less forgiving was he of the hands who may not have initiated, yet perpetrated the misdeed. So from that day forward the child no longer had a nanny, instead Wilwarin was attended by handmaids.

With understanding both he and Wilwarin were able to banish what had been done to child to the past and proceed with building a relationship. A relationship that flourished for truly was Wilwarin the son of heart to the Warlord. They shared many interests and were intrinsically able to understand one another with a minimum of words. Rare was the time that they were not in each other's company whether it be on horse about the estate or to village (that was much more than name implied), or whether it be a meal or silently reading book in shared silence.

In only one thing did the father deny to the son, no longer was music teacher allowed through the door for too raw was the Warlord's memory of Merendel for one so much like she to be so occupied beneath his roof. Still they both had love of song and to so honour it Wilwarin continued to dance and to see his son in full grace always gladdened the Warlord's heart anew. While the look in the eyes of guests who also saw the willowy moves left him alternating between bemusement and nervousness.

Thus their feelings to each other blossomed beyond either's fantasies would have led them to believe. And with the growth Wilwarin grew less docile, stronger though the newborn iron was hidden behind velvet glove. With this confidence the Warlord determined it was time for him to return temporarily to the far outpost of which he still held command to ensure everything was in the state it should be. Hearing of his father's planned journey, Wilwarin immediately pressed a desire to go along but after much discussion the Warlord was able to convince his pouting offspring that it was not safe and that it would be better if he was to travel alone.

There were tears spilled at this parting, but no prophecies told of unending separation and they knew that they would see each other again. Surprisingly to Wilwarin, after this parting he learned that he did not need his father to be his own person. In fact he smoothly moved into rule, with belt hanging with keys about trim waist and commands in dulcet voice, he had become not Master, for there could only be one of those, but Mistress of the Estate and Village of Nindamos.

When the Warlord returned from Tharbad he felt pride at what he saw and the bow he returned to child was as deep as the curtsy of welcome from son. That night they supped alone, sharing all that had befallen each other while they were apart. Son admired a ring with a large stone of opal that now bedecked his father's hand and father listened appreciatively to decisions made on crops and investments made in ships and men. They were pleased to see, though time together was wonderful, that each could succeed and thrive on his own.

Thus was established the ebb and flow of their life, days into months and then months into years. The Warlord continued his endeavors allowing his fame to grow and more wilderness on the mainland came under his watchful eye. Not even aging and ailing Cyratur, nor any of his family were able to loom overhead, casting shadows upon those who they controlled for so long.

With comfort and confidence as norm, it becomes natural for the mind to think of what else is possible, what the future should hold. Yes things were good, but the Warlord had a fear of stagnation, he had seen it bring down many a great man who had decided to rest upon his laurels. Furthermore, he realized that in order to approach greatness it was necessary to venture beyond the comforting walls of home. So he began to seek a path upon which Wilwarin could seek his own fortune, but he was frustrated and angered by the prejudices that he found against the child whom he loved with his entire being.

Returning to Nindamos once more his frustration showed in his frown and the quiet of his staff. Wilwarin seeking to understand the problem sought him that night for a private meeting in the Warlord's office, where they had first met. Once each was in the chair in which they always sat, the son asked, "Father you return to your home not your normal self, what makes you wroth?"

"Child you know I seek place for you to show the world your worth, as you have shown your worth to all in our employ?"

"Aye Father, and though I thrill at the opportunities you present me, I wish to challenge myself in the wider world. Is there none who are willing to accept one such as I in their employ or company?"

"It pains me to admit it, but your reading is mostly correct, only one offer did I receive. And though it has much benefit for me, it asks too much of you."

Receiving such an answer made the question that Wilwarin needed to ask obvious, "From whom was the offer father?"

"It is from the remaining son of Vanger, he who is named Vascal the Duke of the Great Sea at Lond Daer."

Of Vascal, Wilwarin realized that he had only heard scurrilous rumour, but his mind tried to understand what role he could in Lond Daer. It was a great harbour known mostly for ship-building and as gateway to the mainland upon which adventures made their fortunes. It was a city that required many administrators and seemed like a perfect place for someone of his talents. Therefore, he stated his confusion, "I do not understand father, what could be asked of me by Lond Daer that they would not ask of any of their administrators?"

"You understand not child. Vascal does not want seek you for your skills, he wants you as his lady."

Wilwarin was struck dumb, unable to utter a reply to this statement. Realization came that maybe the rumours he had heard about Vascal were not as wrong as he had assumed. When he found no words, his father continued to explain.

"Now Vascal is of stoutest heart, having stood beside his father on the ramparts of Tharbad while the dark host attacked, yet as you may have heard he is not as normal man. He craves not the attention of women preferring the company of men who are like him. Yet he scorns not the grace of female and has long realized that such a presence is sorely lacking in his court, yet he has done naught to end that lack. However, from a mutual friend, one who has guested with us and seen your grace in dance, he learned of you and realized your potential. But even though he is my ally and even a friend he said nothing to me, fearing my reaction. It was only with knowledge of my search of a position for you and an understanding of my failure that he approached. If he had been arrogant as one with upper-hand then he would have been met with harshness indeed, but he came as a humble petitioner."

"What does it mean that he wants me as his lady? Does he want Mistress of House or more?" Wilwarin asked after moments of silence while considering the explanation.

"It is more," the Warlord replied quietly. "Vascal would make of you his wife."

"But how is that possible?"

"I asked the same question and he said that he had his secretaries search the laws of the land and they found nothing to forbade such a marriage between he and you. And..."

At his son's held up hand he stopped himself from saying what he had to say, realizing that Wilwarin wanted to hear no other words but those that were answers to his questions. Now the decision was his son's hands and that the decision could not be swayed.

"Father before you presented me with this Lord of Lond Daer's proposal you stated that his offer would provide you benefit, what benefit would you gain from me in such a union?"

He would have smiled in pride at the steely edge in the question, yet he knew that a smile would be greeted with more steel and so the Warlord kept it hidden and answered with truth. "Lond Daer is vitally important to all of my endeavors on the mainland. It is the hub for all my supplies be they weapons, clothing, food or other. It is my conduit to this island and my home. It is also where I recruit most of my men and where they go when they seek pleasure unavailable in wilderness. Finally it is strong haven if ever I am overrun by he who is to my East. But Vascal though I would trust him at my back in battle is not given to great rule and some of those with whom he is surrounded I do not trust. Whereas, you who have shown me your abilities in the running of this estate and village would be a comforting presence giving me confidence in Lond Daer."

Considering further for a moment, the Warlord this time did let a smile cross his face before he continued, "Additionally, even more greedily, it would allow me to spend much more time on my ventures as you would be close to me. Instead of having to make a trip of weeks to visit you here in Nindamos, it would be a trip of days to visit you in Lond Daer. I worry for you when you are too far away, yet it is much to dangerous for you to be with me on my adventures."

Offering a quick smile in recognition of this last reason, Wilwarin hesitantly spoke, "I wish to consider this offer for more time, is that possible?"

"Of course my child, it is never wise to rush in such weighty matters as this."

Wilwarin had always loved the sea, its smell and sound, so it was in that direction that he walked as he contemplated what had been offered. But his love for it was much diminished nearly three months later after a long journey when its smell and sound had been overpowered by the ship upon which he sailed. Glad had he been to reach Lond Daer the prior week and leave the ship to be ensconced within a mansion of his father's. But recuperation was over, it was time to take the next step in the saga of Wilwarin.

As he waited his father as escort he studied himself in a full length mirror and was pleased with what he saw. Black hair intricately braided to hold a tiara of diamonds and pearls, rested above a face that was made up though it was unblemished and beautiful. His gown of the traditional red satin was a work of art with a flowing skirt of flowered pleats, over crinolines of the finest lace, that flowed into a long train making the dress unwieldy and forced a slow pace and grace to any movement. The bodice had been fashioned to accent his femininity. It was cut tight to torso wrapping tightly to cling to curve of waist and breast, disappearing to show the swells of the latter in the front and blades of shoulder in the back all the way up past narrow arms joined to thin, graceful neck. Neck that was wrapped in a five strands of pearls ornamenting the expanse of skin, powdered and unmarred by sun, showing above the bodice.

He knew he basked in vanity, yet he was pleased beyond words at what he saw. It showed him in his fullest glory, despite any disagreement that accident of birth would argue. So there was a pleased smile on his face when the Warlord entered the room, a smile soon mirrored upon the father's face when he beheld the vision that was his child. Gently brushing a powdered cheek the man offered his arm to guide his offspring out of the room, only to be slowed by a gently spoken, "Slowly father, it is not easy to walk in this wondrous gown."

On this day even the Warlord was ready to be commanded, so he heeded the request and moved at a more gentle pace until they reached the courtyard where he reluctantly handed his child over to handmaids who would arrange Wilwarin and particularly the train of his gown upon the covered yet open sided palanquin which would transport the bride to husband. By the time the arrangement of dress was complete, the Warlord had mounted upon steed. Therefore, at the senior maids gesture he gave orders to the four strong bearers dressed in his brown to lift and follow him, as he in turn followed fifty of his men marching in step. The procession was completed by the maids, also dressed in beautiful new dresses, who walked behind the palanquin but in front of another fifty men armed, armoured and in brown.

As they marched through the gates of wall around the courtyard they moved onto streets lined with the town folk of Lond Daer who were there to see the spectacle. For knowing the likes of their Duke and hearing rumours of the Warlord's son it was spectacle that all thought they would see, yet to all it was denied. None who looked upon Wilwarin saw freak, just innocence and beauty.

With his mind focussed upon the realization that he would soon be married to a man he had never met Wilwarin barely noticed the throngs of people he was carried past, nor heard their murmur that followed in the wake of his procession. Yet he held his head high and looked forward to his destiny with eyes clear and unclouded. And soon the procession moved through another gate into a much larger courtyard where the palanquin was gently lowered to the ground.

Again it was the Warlord, dismounted from horse, who approached and offered steadying arm to guide towards another group of men, who waited upon their slow advance. In the centre of the group, dressed also in wedding garb, was a man not much younger than the Warlord. Wilwarin had not known what to expect but now realized how wrong he had been to expect someone effete instead of the strong warrior that would be required to stand up to enemies beyond numbers. The misjudgement caused him to become even more demure and it was with downcast eyes that he moved away from his father for those last few steps to sink into curtsy, before his soon to be lord and master.

It was a new deep voice that bade him to rise and then lifted his chin so that he looked into eyes that twinkled with merriment and a face wreathed in a smile, which he shyly returned. At this the man laughed and in a voice whispering low enough so that only Wilwarin could hear, "My what a prettily decorated gift, I so look forward to unwrapping it and playing with whatever I find inside."

These words, so irreverently and gleefully spoken caused a blush to creep into cheek and down to the darker red of bodice, but it also caused Wilwarin to be caught up in the joyful tempest that was Vascal, Duke of the Great Sea, Ruler of Lond Daer. For the rest of his wedding day he barely observed the passing of time so often did his new husband reduce him to giggles with outrageous statement after outrageous statement. But from what his handmaids told him on the day after, the wedding had been as one out of a fairy tale.

It had to be the next day that he was told this as soon after dark's arrival the new husband had scooped up his wife and stole to wedding bed where he fulfilled the promise of his first words spoken. And Wilwarin found that his husband could play with great skill, bringing him to heights of pleasure unexpected, but so very welcome. Therefore, by the time he had fallen asleep Wilwarin had learned nothing to make him regret made months before.

For weeks after that day Wilwarin had little opportunity to use the abilities that his father thought would be beneficial to their cause in Lond Daer, instead during most hours of day or night he was instead found in the company of Vascal. It was not until the arrival of a returning adventurer that he was able to expand his duties beyond those demanded by husband.

Patrick of Tol Uinen was an explorer who spent much of his time to the East or to the South mapping terrain as the Royal Cartographer. When not opening wilderness to man he usually returned to the harbour by the Great Sea and to his long time lover, Vascal. The reunion of the two initially pushed Wilwarin into the background, but after a short period he was drawn reluctantly into their circle. But as one would expect this state could not continue and one day Vascal drew Wilwarin aside to express his fears.

"My lovely butterfly I am worried by what I see shaping between you, Patrick and myself. See I am a greedy old lecher, selfish in my wants and jealous of those I consider mine; therefore, I like not what is growing between the two of you. Now though I adore you it is he that I have long loved. Thus it makes me nervous when I see how he looks at you."

"My Lord, I do not seek to come betwixt you and he," Wilwarin protested.

"I know child, but you do not need to do anything other then be yourself, for you are quite desirable. Nor has anything yet occurred that is amiss, but I wish to ensure it continues to be that way. Therefore, I seek to put distance between you two, yet I do not know how."

"My Lord, you have made me your wife and it is a great honour to be so made, but in this your city I am nothing more. Why not put me to work, make me your chá¢telaine?"

Vascal was surprised at this offer, for he himself loathed the thought of the work and effort that would be required to fulfill that role. "You make good sense, besides which I have heard rumbles that not all is well in my city. It may be time for this to be investigated, are you willing to take upon this task."

Wilwarin was surprised to be offered so much, but readily acquiesced, "I would be honoured my Lord."

"Excellent, then I will let it be known that you are so empowered, though I warn you not to betray my trust."

At this first show of hardness, different than any he had ever seen before, Wilwarin understood that something more lurked beneath Vascal's hedonism. Therefore, he responded with a solemn and honest promise, "I will not my Lord."

Quickly a smile chased away the temporary scowl, "You will likely want to talk to your father about how to proceed, I am sure he has already given some thought to your task just assigned."

Wilwarin's chagrined nod of agreement brought a burst of laughter from the Duke, "Well I must admit this was a productive discussion. I was able to pawn off a task that I did not want to do myself and we found a solution to my worry that was different than the one I had previously considered."

Curiosity peaked, Wilwarin found himself asking, "What would that be my Lord?"

"Well I was thinking that you should seek yourself a lover, one accomplished in arms. A man from whom Patrick would be unwilling to poach."

"Oh," Wilwarin replied in a tiny voice.

"Still now that I think of it again, it may still be good idea both to make you off limit to my love, but also to provide you protection in the task I have set for you."

So tasked by his Lord, and with the advice of his father, Wilwarin first found himself exploring the state of the court and city guard. The first group, closer as they were to the sight of the old soldier that was the Duke, were as impressive as those men who served in the Warlord's own command. Wilwarin with recommendations from both his lords and with good sense, wisdom and learning at father's knee was able to gain inroads and respect amongst this group of men. Also amongst them he found a young lieutenant, highly skilled with sword, to fulfill the last recommendation of the Duke's.

With this backing, Wilwarin then came down upon the city guard, which was full of sloth and rot. It took many a month to bring them up an expected caliber and involved a purge of the officers and men.

With this accomplished he could proceed to explore the rest of the bureaucracy of the city and port. Wilwarin fell heavily upon many a man who thought he was cleverer than truth proved him to be. Soon the sight of the little inspector and his bodyguard were met with heartfelt pledges of innocence. Only during the absence of the Royal Cartographer, when the Duke monopolized Wilwarin's time, was there pause in the investigations.

During one of those times when Patrick was away two missives about old foes, one after the other, made their way from the island to the mainland. The first of these told of the death, from age and illness, of Grand Admiral Cyratur. Following soon behind was word that Cyratur's grandson, the Warlord's son, had marched to Nindamos to proclaim himself lord.

It had likely been done as a statement that the line of Cyratur had not died with the death of its father. But it had also been done with fortunate timing, for the Warlord was on an expedition along the River Glanduin and far away from easy response. Wilwarin felt it was up to him to respond and cajoled his lord to give him leave to do so until it was granted.

Thus on a moonless night a few weeks later Wilwarin and two companies of men rowed ashore in a nameless cove not far from the estate in which he had grown up. Two companies was not a large number, yet Wilwarin felt it was enough for they had a number of advantages. The first, the most important, was surprise as it would be unlikely that Cyratur's grandson would be expecting so quick a response, nor from such a quarter. The second advantage was Wilwarin's knowledge of land and home, which had helped more in planning than it would assist during implementation. The last advantage, almost as important as the first, was the estate itself. Built in a land of peace it was no fortress and they were easily able to gain access to grounds and buildings.

By the time Wilwarin, armoured and armed with a drawn yet unbloodied sword, arrived even the mopping up was almost complete. As he walked with bodyguard through halls that were once his prison and then his home he felt satisfaction at the yellow clad corpses that lined the paths taken by his men right up to the doors of the seldom used throne room. Steeling himself he marched through door and focussed his gaze on the young man sitting on the throne, and in so looking saw nothing of father or self in the man's features.

However, the man immediately recognized Wilwarin for with a snort of humourless laughter he stated, "So it is my unnatural brother, or is it sister, that is behind my downfall."

"What you see is of you and yours' making, but it tells not all. For what I am was forged by my father, unfortunate for you that you had never been placed in the hands of such a smith, else never would you have found yourself such a strait."

"What strait is that?" the man hissed. "Banishment to fair Armenelos instead of this sty in the South? It matters not sssister, this will still one day be mine."

"Banishment?" Wilwarin asked with feigned puzzlement. "But that is not the punishment for usurpation."

"You wouldn't."

"Lieutenant, please exact punishment upon the usurper."

In moments the deed was done though the lieutenant moved quickly to chastise those of his men who had missed. But Wilwarin gently reached up caressing his cheek to calm and state, "Worry not Love, he moved as fast as man can move. In his last moment did he finally prove that he was my father's son."

Wilwaring then set lieutenant and troops to establish defense in case of counter-attack. But it came not and Wilwarin lingered unmolested, reestablishing control over Nindamos, for days and then into weeks. During the wait there came news from Lond Daer that was shocking, but despite a desire from the men to return home to confirm the truth, he would not leave his post until he who held his greatest loyalty returned. So it was that on his father's arrival did Wilwarin learn the unhappy news that he had been widowed and the story behind his husband's death. He wanted to mourn the laughing, joyful Vascal, but knew he had one more task before he could do so. Therefore, after asking leave of his father he boarded his ships with his men and returned to Lond Daer which was still bedecked in black to honour the passing of the last of Vanger's sons.

Upon his return to Lond Daer Wilwarin did not even wait for lengthy docking, instead he immediately took to launch and rowed ashore so that he could go directly to dungeon to see he who had killed Vascal. Upon arrival he looked upon the man who showed none of his usual dapperness and asked, "Why Patrick? Why would you kill he who loved you so."

Returning the look with eyes of the dead Patrick answered, "It was an accident. We argued so in my drink I struck him and he in his drink stumbled causing him to strike his head against a table."

"Over what did you argue."

"You know very well over what we argued foul seductress," Patrick cursed with worn and exhausted anger. "He offered me everything else, but he would not let me have you. He selfishly kept you to himself, unwilling even to share."

Wilwarin sighed, for he had expected this truth having often felt Patrick's eyes boring through his clothes. "But I did not want you Patrick, I always found you lacking. I only wanted Vascal."

"Matters not! He should have shared. You're so pretty. Yes how could he say he loved me when he would not share?"

"I know why he would not share, but I do not understand how he could love such as you. You know what I must do now, don't you Patrick?"

"Of course I do you witch. But I will be cursing you every step of the way."

There was now only anger and madness in Patrick's eyes, neither past lusts nor sanity remained. Patrick was only left as a shell, defeated in every way. Yet Wilwarin still remembered the night of their meeting; therefore, with a somewhat malicious smile he repeated words he first heard spoken to him by the man now in his power, "Worry not Sweets, it won't hurt opverly much."

But like Patrick on that first night so too did Wilwarin lie. And even in lies did Wilwarin encompass the cartographer for impalement is a painful way to die, specially for one as strong as Patrick who would linger long.

At that point only one thing remained between Wilwarin's becoming both Lord and Lady of all Lond Daer, the will of the High King. Therefore, he watched Westward for vessel bearing judge until one day a sail of royal blue was spotted upon the horizon. Forewarned of a landing party Wilwarin had his maids dress him in a lace gown of the purest white. Thus showing the colour of his innocence he welcomed, with great humility, one by the name of Atanamir who was the new Grand Admiral after Cyratur.

He initially came across as harsh over both the death of the Royal Cartographer and Scion of Armenelos, but soon was much taken both by Wilwarin's reasoning and appearance. He saw not how one as tiny and yet so very brave could be held in the wrong for acting to put close to wronged lords, father and husband both. Innocence could not be debated.

After this meeting fully did Wilwarin come into his own and so too did Lond Daer blossom under his rule. Yet he did not do it alone, his father was always close at hand to advise to listen. And soon father welcomed him into a select company and as a sign of his membership Wilwarin was given a golden ring upon which was mounted a large diamond. It was a thing of beauty and wearing it made Wilwarin even more so, causing many who glanced upon the vision to fall in love. But none fell harder than the Grand Admiral. For despite his title and birth the man was weak and venal, as easily ruled by his lusts as poor, departed Patrick.

Central to those lusts was Wilwarin and he never tarried long away from Lond Daer. And despite the Ruler of Lond Daer's disgust at the man's touch he accepted them, for it was in bed after passion was spent that he could whisper in the future King of Numenore's ear.

Whispers provided by he who presented Wilwarin, his father and their company of nine with rings, the Lord Sauron.