Land of the King, Chapter 80: The Gathering Darkness

5399 E.L.

“A mirian for your thoughts Your Highness?” Lord Elured asked. He was the noble who had been chosen to be Aragorn’s guide when he visited the province of Arnen, one of twenty-two colonial provinces in the far southern region of Hyarmen, the most remote part of the greater Arnorian Empire.

“Breathtaking, and certainly very impressive; how tall can they grow?” Aragorn asked as he continued to look at the giant redwood trees.

“Almost four hundred feet, Your Highness. The tallest we’ve found is around three hundred and ninety feet tall,” Elured answered before explaining more to him as they continued to walk through the forest.

Aragorn’s daughters walked behind them, awed by the immense height of the trees which surpassed any in Westeros. They were not alone, the whole of the party, including his wife Ashara, and his companions and guards, Arthur, Boromir, Faramir, and Halbarad among others were all amazed. It certainly was an experience to see trees that could rival the height of the mythical mallorn of Elenna. Perhaps in some way, it reminded them of the ancient homeland they did not truly know yet yearned for all the same.

Hyarmen was a very beautiful land, he had thought that the moment he had landed in the port of Cair Arnen two years ago, and his time in the colonies since had only further reinforced it. It reminded Aragorn of Westeros in a lot of ways, yet it was clearly distinct. It was rich and diverse with many climates and biomes.

There were massive temperate and boreal forests of pine, and fir, and evergreen conifers, and all other manner of trees. Most notable of all were the giant redwoods he currently beheld, mighty trees that grew as tall as small hills and had trunks thicker than castle towers.

Beyond the forests, hills rolled for leagues, intertwined with massive plains and plateaus, fit for ranching, herding, grazing, and farming. Many great mountain ranges, from lower hills, to mountains with heights that could rival the Frostfangs and Bones crisscrossed the land. Deeper into the interior, there were rocky scrubs and savannah that slowly gave way into the large sandy dunes and desert plains that separated the colonies from the tropical Green Hell in the far north of Sothoryos.

Perhaps most wondrous of all, was how weak winter’s grip was on Hyarmen. The southern promontories and capes were not that far from the cold extremes of the southern ice caps, yet compared to Formenor, or Uilos, the Lands Beyond the Wall, winter had little effect on the continent of Sothoryos. Snow was not unheard of, but most commonly found in the mountains or in the coldest times of the year. And in Hyarmen, the seasons were almost regular.

Aragorn still remembered his lessons as a child, of how Arnorian explorers and scholars had theorised that the commonly held ‘long seasons’ of summer and winter were in truth erratic ice ages and warm periods, with the true seasonal cycle masked by them. Evidence for this seemed to be found in the growing seasons of the harvest cycle, which were not year round in ‘summer’ as one may expect, nor absent entirely in ‘winters’.

Regardless of the truth, the long ‘seasons’ seemed to have less, if any effect on the southern hemisphere and Hyarmen was no exception. When Aragorn had left Westeros for his tour of the empire some nine years ago, summer had just begun and to his surprise when he had learned of the fact, it was still to end. The longest summer in living memory; many were predicting a grim and long winter to follow.

While Westeros prepared for a long winter, an entire continent the size of Essos and all its bounty and riches were in the hands of the Hyarmenians, and there were none to stand in their way, not even the cold of winter or the savage Brindled Men they had driven into the interior. In time, Hyarmen would undoubtedly become another great realm of the Dúnedain, a mirror of Arnor, fulfilling the purpose for which it had been created long ago.

Centuries ago, before the Doom of Valyria, Arnor had established colonies in Hyarmen on the southern coasts of Sothoryos at the far end of the Summer Sea and in Annúrómen as well on the east coasts of Essos, westward from Arnor across the Sunset Sea. The purpose of the colonies had been twofold, to relieve some of the population pressure experienced by the increasingly densely populated continent of Westeros and also to provide a safe refuge for Arnor’s people in the event that the worst came to pass and Arnor was destroyed by Valyria in the Fifth Dragon War they had thought was inevitable. It was thought that from the colonies, Arnor could rise again. After all, the Dúnedain were no strangers to exile.

As the years passed, more and more had begun to leave Westeros for the colonies, fearing the coming of the dragons. Hyarmen and Annúrómen’s population swelled into the millions and war seemed inevitable until suddenly doom came to Valyria and all the fears were proven utterly false.

In the four centuries that followed, Arnor had expanded its power and influence into western Essos, securing control over strategic ports and territories in the Summer, Shivering, and even Jade Seas. Yet the colonies that had once been intended to be the last hope for Arnor were no longer deemed necessary nor important and instead were now curiosities on the remote corners of the greatest empire in the world.

The Kings of Arnor had cared little for them from that point onward for they were remote and wild and sparsely populated and had not the strategic importance or trade and riches of the new lands taken after the Doom. Hyarmen and Annúrómen had consequently been left mostly to their own devices. In these faraway colonies, the King and his decrees were far away back in Westeros.

While the Seven Stones and the glass candles allowed for instant communication, they hardly sufficed for proper governance, and the Kings of Arnor had turned their attentions to new and lucrative acquisitions such as Ibben and Great Moraq to send their viceroys. Bereft of royal attention, the Dúnedain of Hyarmen and Annúrómen had turned to the next best option. The nobility.

The days of the nobility having any true power had ended in Arnor with the Kin-Strife. Feudalism had been put to an end and the private armies and taxes had been abolished. Nobles had been left only their private estates and folded into the royal government as recompense for the loss of their feudal rights. This was not the case in Hyarmen.

With the Kings far away in Westeros, the nobles who had settled in the colonies accrued power and support and now ruled them like the lordships of old. Especially those with descent from the House of Elendil, like Aragorn’s guide Lord Elured, who was his cousin from afar, and one of the most influential men in the province of Arnen and beyond. He was the closest relation to the Royal House in the colonies and without the true royal family present in Hyarmen, he had been who they had turned to for leadership.

Long centuries of little attention or oversight from Morlond had left the colonies and their lords and nobles with unprecedentedly high autonomy over their local governance and laws. They also paid very low taxes; barely anything in truth, tokens of Arnor’s sovereignty over them at most.

Aragorn was not sure what to think of this. Arnor already had four autonomous principalities, Hyarmen and Annúrómen’s self-rule would not be unprecedented. On the other hand, Hyarmen and Annúrómen, while still remote, were developing fast and no longer quite the backwaters they had been four hundred years ago. Their strategic and economic importance was rising with their growing populations and they were autonomous in all but name and could not be so easily corralled into Morlond’s direct rule again.

He was quite cross with his ancestors; their lack of foresight had created this delicate situation that neither he nor his father could easily undo. Still Aragorn consoled himself; Lord Elured and his influence at least proved the colonies still revered the House of Elendil, though Aragorn wished his kingly forefathers had been wise enough to ensure that devotion was kept more closely to their own line rather than given freely to their overmighty colonial cousins.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as Lord Elured led them back to their horses for the ride back to Cair Arnen. As they rode, Aragorn intended to turn his conversation with the man to other matters. As one of the most influential and powerful lords in Hyarmen, Elured was a man Aragorn believed to have the answers and support he sought.

Aragorn looked back at his daughters, Silmariën, Telperiën, and Vanimeldë. The Princesses of Arnor were his pride and joy. They had each inherited the beauty of their mother in their own way, each having his wife Ashara’s haunting violet-grey eyes. Yet they were more than just beautiful princesses, Aragorn saw in each of them the potential for a queen.

For the past nine years, Aragorn had been touring the entirety of Arnor’s great empire. His family had been the guests of honor in every location they visited or stayed at and greeted excitedly by the locals. It was not often that the highest royalty in Arnor visited its far flung outposts after all.

While Aragorn had been pleased and lightened to see the excitement and joy in which the peoples of the empire had greeted his family, the way his daughters had smoothly entertained their hosts and endeavoured to learn and potentially even solve the issues and disputes of the far flung territories of the empire had filled him with more pride and fatherly love then he had thought possible. It had further cemented the determination he had begun his tour with, to see his daughters be recognized by all the empire as his heirs.

He had hinted as much to Elured and to other members of the Hyarmen Council during the duration of his stay. The Council was patterned after Arnor’s own Council of the Sceptre and had representatives from the major lords and officials of each colony and province in Hyarmen. It was also a body the locals had created on their own to sort out disputes rather than wait for Morlond to answer them.

“Your Highness,” Lord Elured began after Aragorn had finally stopped dallying and asked him directly. “I can safely say on behalf of our esteemed Council that most of us find ourselves in agreement that Princess Silmariën should inherit the Sceptre. However, you ask for more than empty words, but rather real support, and in that we find ourselves in a dilemma.”

“And that would be?” Aragorn asked, knowing this was a play for something.

“Arnen and the colonies of Hyarmen as a whole have long since stopped having any active involvement with the homeland’s affairs. We do not get involved in the politics of the royal court, and in exchange we rule ourselves however we see fit, though of course with Arnor as our sovereign and overlord,” Elured said.

“And I take it you are afraid lending your support to my daughters would be considered interfering in the homeland’s affairs and could jeopardise that arrangement?” Aragorn asked, sensing what Elured was getting at.

“Precisely, Your Highness.” Elured smiled. “That being said, I shall again reiterate that we here in the colonies have a much less… dogmatic view on things, and would be all too happy to support your daughters’ claims but not if that means the homeland will use it as an excuse to curtail our autonomy and the powers of our elites,” he finished.

“A valid concern, though one that is unfounded. I can promise you neither I nor anyone in my family have any desire to disturb the colonies,” he said.

Elured’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. “We appreciate that, Your Highness. However, it’s hard to speak for tomorrow and the people that succeed us. You and your daughters may not desire to interfere now but who is to say you will not change your mind in the future? Or that your descendants will have the same opinion?

“In light of that uncertainty, we in the Hyarmen Council would want the status of Hyarmen to be confirmed in written form before we give your daughters our full and considerable support. This document would clarify our obligations to the Sceptre of course, but also guarantee our rights, privileges, and autonomy in a manner following the precedents of the existing four principalities within Arnor; Formenor, Formen-Imladen, Pentos, and Braavos,” the Councilor said.

Elured might suggest his proposal as simply being support in exchange for a formal recognition of the status quo but Aragorn could tell what was really being asked. A principality had to have a prince.

“And should the colonies of Hyarmen be accorded the rights of a principality, will it be as one principality or as twenty-two?” Aragorn asked with an eyebrow raised.

“One naturally,” Lord Elured answered. “Making each colony its own principality is quite unnecessary I believe given the sparse populace in the colonies. Furthermore, it will not resolve our need to have our own governing body or individual close at hand to resolve disputes. The Council is in agreement with me here. Should we be granted principality status, it will be the whole of Hyarmen as one realm.”

“And who should be the Prince of Hyarmen and rule over such a realm?” Aragon asked. “You would be the natural choice for this Prince would you not Lord Elured? You are kin to me and the Royal House, if from afar, a descendant of Elendil in the male line. You wield great influence here in Hyarmen already.”

Elured bowed. “I am ever the humble servant of the Royal House.”

Aragorn stared pointedly at him. “Yes I’m sure you are.”

Together, the twenty-two colonies of Hyarmen were large enough to rival mainland Arnor in size. Any would be prince of the region could easily make himself a king in all but name. And of course Elured could easily claim that serving his own interests was still serving the House of Elendil by technicality, since he was a member of it, however distant. Perhaps it was time to remind his cousin that he was the prince.

“I will speak to the King on the matter, but that would be dependent on my receiving the letters of support I have asked for,” Aragorn said firmly, making his terms clear.

Aragorn had made no promise that the principality would be created and granted, only that he would speak of it to his father. He held power here, not Elured. Letters of support from Hyarmen’s lords might help him convince his father to amend the Law of Succession but Aragorn would one day be King and he could do that with or without Hyarmen.

Elured noticed the command and bowed stiffly. He had overreached too far and they both knew it. “Very well Your Highness.”

When their tour of Hyarmen finally concluded weeks later, Aragorn was not afraid to admit that he would miss the beauty of Hyarmen and the welcome of its people. Perhaps he might visit it again in a few decades, when more pressing matters were settled.

As he boarded his ship, his close friend and goodbrother, Sir Arthur Dayne greeted him and Aragorn nodded to him as he helped his family aboard.

“Everything ready Arthur?” he asked.

“Yes Your Highness, Boromir and Faramir are here as well.”

“That’s good. I was afraid Faramir would be so enamored with the colonies that he would forget we were leaving today,” he jested with Arthur before heading into his quarters.

In his hands were exactly twenty-two written endorsements of the heirship of his daughters, gathered over the course of the year he had spent in Hyarmen, and but a fraction of what he had gathered in the past nine years. Arnor and its empire had spoken.

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5400 E.L

When Aragorn returned to Morlond at last after ten years of absence, he found himself arriving to an autumn on the heels of the longest summer in memory. His mind was dwelling on other things than the seasons however.

Armed with the support of the greater empire, he felt much more confident in presenting his case before his father and the Council of the Sceptre to amend the Law of Succession. While it was certainly possible for him to simply do it by decree when he became King in his own right, facilitating the chance in law now would ensure a smoother transition of power and ensure his daughters were not denied their birthright should the worst come to pass and he predeceased his father.

His uncle Rickard had arrived yesterday along with his sons, his cousins Brandon and Eddard, to present their own case to the Council of the Sceptre. Aragorn had asked to meet with them before the council meeting on the morrow, and convince them to drop their claim for the good of Arnor.

Waiting in a private, Aragorn greeted his kin warmly when they finally entered. “Uncle, Bran, Ned, welcome. Please, take a seat.”

“I think we all know what you have called us here to speak on Aragorn, so let us not waste time trading niceties and greetings. The realm has been debating this for decades, and now you have pushed the Council and my brother into finally making a ruling on it. So tell me nephew, what makes you think that either I or my sons will step aside for your daughters in a breach of the traditions of our realm?” his uncle asked.

Aragorn had expected this and argued back. “Isn’t it strange Uncle? Do not the Rhoynish laws of inheritance passed down to Norda indicate that the eldest child, regardless of gender, should succeed? Did you not yourself break with tradition when you caused a succession crisis in the North? Why then do you feel so strongly that you and your sons have more right to the Sceptre than my own daughters?”

His uncle took it in stride. “It was a different time, and a different people. Norda was not ready to be directly ruled from Morlond, I knew that and your father knew that. We both acted in the best interests of both kingdoms to prevent a civil war like what happened in the Vale.”

“By the laws of both Arnor and Norda at the time, my father Arathorn was the rightful heir to both kingdoms. You and my grandmother denied him that and for the sake of peace and love of kin, he accepted the compromise to name you an autonomous prince. I remember Uncle, I may have been but a young lad at the time, but I remember this much at least.”

“You speak of the laws of Norda, yet what of the laws of Arnor cousin? Never has there been a ruling queen of Arnor for the law does not allow such. This has been so since Elendil himself, from Valandil, the first Lord of Andúnië in Númenor of old. Do you despise your own traditions so much or do you simply think us unworthy to rule Arnor?” Brandon asked, with a bite in his voice.

“Calm yourself Brandon,” his uncle rebuked.

“I mean no insult cousin, but might I ask you a question? What name does your father rule under?”

Brandon was confused and Aragorn pressed his advantage. “His regnal name and title Brandon, tell me you know that at least.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken the opportunity to disparage his cousin, but Aragorn was more than a little annoyed at his brash attitude and words.

Brandon gritted his teeth. “Prince Rickard Stark of Formenor, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

“And therein lies the problem. Your names. Your father rules as a Stark Prince, not as Prince Araphant of the House of Elendil. Do you even remember your Sindarin name Brandon? Because I don’t, and neither does Arnor. None of you ever use them. How do you intend to rule Arnor bearing a Nord name, dressed like a Nord, and spoken like a Nord?” Aragorn said, before turning to his uncle.

“Uncle, you claim to have pressed for Norda to maintain some autonomy and independence from Arnor because you felt the Nords were not ready for a full union with Arnor. You are aware that if Brandon or his son does succeed myself, you are ultimately creating the scenario you so hoped to avoid? Unless you have a confession to make that it was greed and ambition that motivated you and not love of country as you claim?”

“We have already created a precedent for a second son to inherit Formenor. There is no reason it could not happen again,” his uncle said with a steel gaze.

“While that may be true, have you ever considered that just as you claim Norda was unwilling to accept my father as its king, that perhaps Arnor does not desire to have a Stark carry Elendil’s Sceptre? Rightful heirs you may be by the laws as they stand, yet the people think differently,” Aragorn said as he placed a box on the table.

“This box contains letters of endorsement from every part of the realm and the empire. Each one declaring that the peoples of those regions support the proposed amendment to the Law of Succession.”

“What of it?” his uncle asked as he raised his eyebrows. “Myself and my sons have supporters aplenty, traditionalists who do not believe in breaking the line of kings. The desires of faraway colonies and territories, or of subjugated lands in Essos is of little import in the homeland. What Arnor decides they will follow. Are you so sure Aragorn, that the Kingdom is ready to end the male line of Elendil himself?”

“Are you so sure of yourself Uncle? Many have called for ruling queens in the past, and not without precedent; Aldarion’s Law of Succession gave Númenor three ruling queens.”

“An ancient law of little relevance that was never followed in Arnor. Like Brandon said, Arnor has never had a ruling queen.”

“Neither did the North until Serana, granddaughter of Nymeria, won the war against her cousin that made her queen and ensured the rise of Norda and the Rhoynish laws in the North. Neither did the Vale until Queen Alyssa rose to power upon the murder of her father and brothers at the hands of her uncle. The time is ripe for a change in Arnor. All three of my own daughters are intelligent and well-groomed to rule. The Arnorian people know and love them, while you and yours have spent decades secluded away in Formenor.

“Can you not see Uncle that this is best for everyone? You and your descendants can continue to rule Formenor and not have to concern yourselves with the affairs of Arnor and the empire. Arnor will have a queen who has toured every corner of its domain, has seen all its lands and peoples and heard their petitions. The compromise you and my father secured will remain intact with little need to upset or disturb the delicate balance. The people of Norda should rejoice, for at long last Arnor too has seen the wisdom in adopting Nymeria and Aldarion’s laws on succession.”

His cousin Brandon got up from his seat. “We’re done here. It’s clear that this discussion is going nowhere.”

“Yes I think we are,” his uncle said as he himself rose. Ned followed the two of them, having not spoken at all, but he looked somewhat regretful to Aragorn.

Before they left however, Aragorn called out to them. “Do not forget yourself Starks. Remember that I, not you, am first in line to the Sceptre. Who is to say I do not follow Aldarion’s example and simply change the law by decree? What will you do then? Follow in the steps of Argeleb the Traitor? We all know how that ended,” he warned. His uncle and cousins did not take his threat lightly, glaring at him before they stormed away.

The next day, Aragorn walked out of the council room, annoyance coursing through his veins at the verdict. While many on the Council had acknowledged his letters of support and his words, enough had also heeded his uncle’s arguments on tradition and precedent to make the vote inconclusive and thus no recommendation was given to his father the King, who had thus postponed the final decision to a later date.

“What are you waiting for Father?” Aragorn could not help but think as he walked.

He was temporarily drawn from his thoughts by white in the corner of his eyes, turning to look out the window to see a light fall of snowflakes upon Morlond. Winter had come.

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On a dark, frigid, moonless night, he stirred. Seven chains wrapped around his soul, keeping the pieces from reforming. For thousands of years he had been trapped in this state, neither living nor dead. An undead wraith-like being, yet his power had been felt across the world, affecting the seasons, lengthening the winters which his treacherous siblings had responded to by lengthening the summers.

As he struggled against the spiritual chains, he felt two pieces of his soul connect, and power thrummed through his fëa, more power than he had felt for thousands of years. Little by little, the links in the chains holding him became brittle, the last shreds of power left to his siblings disintegrating as his soul fragments connected and slowly reformed his hröa, his body.

Until at long last, the chains snapped entirely, and he was able to reform his body, taking the shape he desired. Truly alive for the first time in millennia, he took a deep breath of the cold icy air, and felt it invigorate him. The Lord of Winter had returned at last and night would fall upon the world once more.

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Author’s Note: Sothoryos as continent is inspired by a combination of South America, Australia, and Africa. The Arnorian colonies in Hyarmen probably have the terrain and climate of the Andes, Argentina, Australia, and New Zealand. 

The ‘mirian’ is the Arnorian currency, being the Sindarin translation of Westron ‘castar’.

Finally, after a long, long time, we have reached the final arc. The Second Long Night. It’s been a long ride! I look forward to taking you all on to the finish line from here! Stay tuned!