Princess of Arnor - The King's Regent (Under Edit)

Chapter Thirty One: Council of the Dúnedain

"You may be well learned and have some skill with blades, but I still see little more than a child of privilege,"

Haleth led Márafea and Thranduil down more torch-lit tunnels, traversing this way and that, hearing whispers as they passed and occasionally dark shadows moved behind them. At last, they came to a vast cavern with a stream running through the bottom; they had carved steps into the rock along with a platform for speaking with a stone table placed upon it. "This is the great chamber, where all important councils are taken," whispered Haleth. Sitting on the steps were hundreds of Dúnedain, men, women, and children. Márafea had never seen so many of her mortal kin in one place before. Near the platform sat the Lords, Elders and Wardens. They looked on as Haleth led Márafea and Thranduil into the great chamber. Ronil sat with them, Haleth led Márafea and Thranduil to seats of honour, then took her place alongside Ronil.

A bell sounded, echoing around the great chamber and silencing the crowds, Ronil stood and approached the platform to address the waiting crowd. "Good people, Lords, Elders and Wardens. Today, we have summoned a great council. A council that will change the lives of all the Dúnedain forever. Our good King Elessar has, at last, sent emissaries to us, Regents in his name, to help us reclaim our home, restore our lands and take our rightful place in Middle Earth!" he announced.

"They are what King Elessar sends us, a mere slip of a girl and her Elven husband?" laughed one elder. "At least we can have faith in the husband, but a pampered princess in fancy armour is another matter," called another. Haleth stood up, "I can assure you Anberenien Telcontar, is no pampered princess. She saved my life, in Bree and fought off my would be assassin, then executed him herself," said Haleth.

"Sit down Wardress, no one asked your opinion, girl," called the first Elder.

Márafea looked at Thranduil, he nodded and she rose from her seat to join Ronil. Without a word, she unsheathed her blades and placed them on the table for all to see. "You all knew my father, Lord Beren of Duincar. You know of what happened to my Lord Father and Lady Mother. And of my grandmother, Gruinith the Cheerless, as you called her. Seven sons, she bore the Dúnedain and when her husband was killed, with my mother still quickening in her belly, she continued to train her sons in his stead. Yet knowing a terrible doom had been laid upon her, that she would outlive all of her children and should Gruinith's only daughter bear a child, her own doom would not be long upon her. I am the child of her doom, yet she loved me as much as any grandmother, perhaps more so. She had great foresight and knew I too had a great doom upon me, that I would play a part in the restoration of my people. Died fighting with these blades in her hands, just as her sons did. She taught me to use them as soon as I could stand and passed them to me as the light of life faded from her eyes. These are no mere blades, they are of our ancestors, the Númenóreans, a gift from Princess Silmariën to her female bodyguard, then passed from mother to daughter ever since till they came to me," she said.

The first Elder clapped slowly and sniggered "a touching story, Queen of the Wood Elves. But what good are stories to us now? What care we for the Númenóreans and their pompous Armadas, they are best forgotten along with that accursed Island."

"Princess Silmariën was of the faithful, mother of the Lords of Andúnië, our ancestors, do we not stem from their line? Were we not spared from the judgement of Eru? Are we not the people of Elendil, Isildur and Anárion? Does our King not hold the reforged sword as the great seer Malbeth foretold?" said Márafea.

"I see you learned much from your studies at Rivendell. Lord Elrond would be proud indeed of his protege. You may be well read and have some skill with blades, but I still see little more than a child of privilege. What do you know of what we face here, the constant fear of being slaughtered? What our enemies do to our wives and daughters if they can get their hands upon them. You know nothing, child!" cried the Elder bitterly.