A/N: Welcome to the continuation of the heraldofmanwe Fëanoriel Chronicles stories. This follows after The Knight and the Huntress, which followed after The Eagle and the Star, so be sure to read those first! Without further ado...

Blood in the Water

by HeraldofManwe

The Tar-Minyatur was the pride of Gondor’s fleet.  More than five-hundred sailors and soldiers manned the flagship named for Numenor’s first king.  Spirits were high - the Princess was aboard and the winds were fair. The only person on that ship who didn't look happy was Thorongil.

He stood near the prow staring at the sea as though he expected something to leap from the depths and attack him.  Amdirien crept up behind him. At last, she thought, revenge for everyone he had startled in Minas Tirith.

“Good morning Captain!” she cheerfully exclaimed.

Thorongil spun round, instinctively drawing a silver dagger.  For a moment his black armor started to materialize before fizzling away.

“You think that wise?” he glared.

“Turnabout is fair play,” smiled Amdirien.

Thorongil laughed.  “That's a dangerous thing to do.”

“You're making me nervous,” said the Princess.

“I don't like the sea,” answered Thorongil.

“Aww, what would Ulmo think of that?”

“Do you have any idea how long it would take to swim to shore from here?  Without my wings, we're are at the mercy of this flimsy boat.”

“Flimsy boat!” objected Amdirien.  “There hasn't been a finer warship built since the days of Numenor!”

“Elven ships don't creak so much,” replied the maia, who’s incredible senses allowed him to hear every bending board and beam.

“Beautiful morning, isn't it?” asked Captain Anders, joining them at the prow.  Amdirien had named him captain of her royal guard.

“Good morning captain; apparently everyone's favorite hero is scared of the ocean,” smiled the Princess, patting Thorongil on the shoulder.

“My grandfather served in the navy,” said Anders, “but this is my first time at sea.”

Captain Pedron, who had commanded the flagship since she was launched twenty-one years prior, joined them as well.  “You could pick no finer vessel to take you on your first voyage!”

“Good morning captain,” laughed Amdirien.  “I'll have to promote some of you so I can address you by your rank.”

“Good morning Your Majesty; good morning Captain Anders; good morning Thorongil,” replied Pedron.  Thorongil looked a little disappointed to be the only one without a title.

The Princess turned to leave.  “By your leave, I shall return to my quarters…”

The Princess spent most of the trip to Umbar in her quarters reading a stack of books about the city and its people.  She also spent a few evenings speaking with Mirumor, who had secured passage home on the flagship as partial payment for her help in Mordor.  Nearly two weeks after they set sail from Pelargir they arrived in Umbar. The harbor was bustling with merchant ships and Gondor’s navy. Amdirien looked proudly through a forest of masts flying black flags with silver trees.

As Her Majesty’s ship docked alongside other ships of war, Captain Anders assembled her guard.  Captains Pedron and Anders led her down the gangplank and onto the dock. There they were met by a young servant of the crown, a man named Altazîr.  As he quickly explained, he was the under-secretary of internal affairs. The local officials in Umbar were not expecting the Princess’s arrival, and he apologized profusely that a simple under-secretary was the highest ranking official present to greet such an esteemed visitor.

He led Amdirien, Thorongil, Pedron, and her guard up through the city to a ‘secure location.’

“Far be it for me to tell someone such as yourself their own business, but it might not be wise for you to stay long in this city,” said the man.  “In just the last week, three public officials have been assassinated, and they had guards just like yours!”

“There are no guards like mine,” smiled the Princess with a nod to Thorongil and Anders.

“Of course not ma’am, I meant no offense,” he continued, before being cut off as they came across quite a commotion.  The building they were making for, the Office of Internal Affairs, stood just in front of them - but it was bustling with soldiers shouting and cursing.  A guard ran up to them, pale as death.

“He’s dead!” he cried frantically.  “He’s dead!”

“Who's dead?” asked the under-secretary.

“The director!” shouted the guard.  “Poisoned, or I'm a fool. And the secretary too!  Both dead not an hour after lunch!”

“By god!” cried Altazîr, seemingly at a loss for words.

“That makes you the director, I suppose,” said the soldier.

Altazîr did not look particularly pleased.  The life expectancy of a Gondorian commanding officer in Umbar was getting shorter every day.

“It would appear your ‘secure location’ has been somewhat exaggerated,” complained Thorongil.

“Yes indeed,” replied Altazîr.  He called loudly to a soldier of the guard.  “Lead these men to the central palace!” he commanded.

“Amdirien, I recommend we return to the ship,” whispered Thorongil.

“I will not run like a frightened rabbit back to her hole,” replied the Princess sharply.  “People are dying to defend this city, and I will show them my faith and trust.”

Pedron was of a mind like Thorongil, but he held his tongue.  Anders agreed with Amdirien.

Led by the local guardsman they walked for many miles down wide streets of ornate stone buildings predating anything in central Gondor.  Millennia of war and strife had done little to dull Numenorean stonework from the height of their power. They passed many buildings which Amdirien thought might be ‘the palace’ before reaching an enormous open square at least one thousand feet wide.

It was paved with countless marble stones of alternating black and white.  So finely were they cut that no mortar lay between them, and one could only tell where one stone ended and another began by the change in color.  In the center of the square stood an obelisk seven-hundred and seventy-seven feet tall. It was covered in gold, and though the sun had set it shone brightly against the darkening sky.

‘Ar-Pharazôn’s Tower’ it was commonly called, for it had been built by the Golden King of Numenor who thought himself above even the gods of old.  And why should he not? Even with his Ruling Ring Sauron had cowered before him.

They marvelled at the towering spike of glowing gold as they walked across the empty plaza.  On the far side they came to massive building with a elegant domed roof in its center.

“The Golden Palace, Your Majesty,” said their guide with a bow.

Thorongil felt inclined to point out that the palace was made of grey marble, not gold.

“You'll have to ask a historian about that,” replied the guard.

It had once been gold - when it was expanded and redecorated during Ar-Pharazôn’s rule.  The gold plating had long ago been stripped away from everything but the inside of the domed ceiling over the central ballroom, which was impossible to reach without impractical effort.  The wealth had likely gone to finance wars against Gondor, or Sauron’s campaigns in the North and East. The enchanted gold on the obelisk outside could not be so easily removed.

They were greeted by many men with long bureaucratic titles; Elerína would have been intrigued, but Thorongil was not.  He couldn't care less who the deputy commissioner of fisheries was. Seemingly everyone with an office in the palace lined up to introduce themselves to the Princess.

“I suppose this is as exciting as their lives get,” muttered Thorongil mockingly.

That night the Princess was given a stately room high in the palace, and her guard took rooms near hers.  Thorongil was unhappy that her room had a window and suggested she take one of her guards’ rooms instead, but she insisted that she would be fine.  To her surprise he let the matter rest without too much trouble. That night she wished she had taken his advice - not for security, but because some small bird or bat occasionally fluttered about in the rafters of her high ceilinged suite.