Land of the King

Chapter 13: Krakens and Kings

Viceroy Anardil

Arnor was in chaos. The Osfalf, the King's new flagship had been due to reach Angrenost almost five days ago now, but it had never come. A nationwide search was ongoing, as the Arnorian navy combed the Sunset Sea as far west as they dared to go, but nothing had been found. Even searches with the Seeing-Stones had failed to find anything, it was almost as if the ship had vanished. Most now believed that the ship had sunk in a storm.

The Council of the Sceptre had announced that if the King was not found by the end of the moon, they would move to declare him dead and crown his son, Prince Earendur.

Anardil had nothing against Prince Earendur personally, although some of his ambitions were concerning, but as Elendur's friend and comrade, he personally wished the King was found, even though that was becoming less and less likely with every passing day.

Suddenly the door to his solar burst open, and his son, and chief lieutenant, walked in.

"Viceroy, a man washed up ashore on the beach unconscious, he's in the healing house now," said Lieutenant Adril.

Could it be? Anardil barely dared to hope, but it was possible, if ever so slightly that this man was his missing king. The Viceroy of Angrenost got up from his chair and followed his son to the House of Healing.

Anardil had almost cried tears of joy when he saw his king lying there on the bed. The healer had been stunned, and had assured him that the King would make a full recovery.

Curiously, Adril had informed him that all of the King's regalia, the Ring of Barahir, the Sceptre, the crown, and even the sword, Narsil, had washed up ashore along with the king. And that news was to some, even better than the news of the King's survival. When a king died, they could be succeeded by their heirs, but heirlooms such as these, the world would never see their like again if they were lost, for the Dúnedain had not the skill or material to make them anew. These heirlooms had been borne on the Nine Ships from Númenor of old.

Interestingly, they had found not only the royal heirlooms on the beach but a strange white horn as well. It looked to be made of whalebone and was inlaid with the pearls of the sea. Interesting, Anardil did not recall the Royal Family counting a horn such as this amongst their heirlooms, perhaps it was from elsewhere, carried here by the currents? He would ask Elendur when he awoke.

Still, the coincidence was uncanny. That the King and the Royal Heirlooms would wash ashore in the same place at the same time? Anardil had never been a very religious man, but this seemed far too good to be true. Something had happened, of that he was certain.

A few hours later, the king had awoken. Anardil had immediately asked to speak with him, and his request was granted.

Entering the king's quarters, Anardil noted Elendur's appearance was far healthier looking than it had been a few hours ago, his skin was less pale and colour had already begun to return to it. One would not expect the man to be 374 years old, yet despite his age, he remained hale and able, befitting his royal heritage.

Bowing in obeisance, Anardil greeted his liege. His show of respect was curtly cut off by the King's command.

"Get up Anardil. I won't have you bowing to me."

"As you wish… old friend," he answered rising, before embracing Elendur warmly.

"All Arnor has thought you lost, I too had believed your ship had sunk in the Sunset Sea."

Elendur grimaced. "They were almost correct. The Osfalf was taken in the midst of a great storm, one of the worst I have ever had the misfortune of passing through. While we tried to keep the ship upright, struggling against waves and winds alike, a kraken ambushed us and destroyed the ship."

Anardil was aghast, as any seafarer would be. It was the worst possible scenario, for a ship to be caught betwixt a storm and a kraken, but it didn't add up.

"That makes no sense. Krakens are lured to the surface by the whales and fish caught by our fishing vessels. The Osfalf should have passed the kraken's notice. Why would it have attacked you? And in a storm as well, what are the chances? How did you survive?"

Elendur did not answer, and Anardil did not press the matter. It was not his place to question his King, only to serve. Instead of answering, Elendur asked, "Has the Council of the Sceptre been informed of my survival yet?"

Anardil smirked, "No I had thought it best to leave the honors to you. They have been tripping over themselves preparing to declare you dead and crown your son."

"No doubt hoping they could influence Earendur more than they could influence me. The Purists are dangerous," Elendur said, frowning,

Anardil nodded, agreeing. The Purists were a faction of conservative Dúnedain nobles who had been rising in influence and power for the past few decades. They had had their beginnings in the nobles who had been rewarded for service by Tarondor Hirgaer in the Conquest of the Grey Islands almost two centuries ago.

Tarondor's conquest, while beneficial for Arnor in eliminating a serious threat on their northern border, had also stirred up the Dúnedain and seeded dangerous ideas in the minds of many. The Dúnedain were the scions of Númenor they thought, greatest of all men. Why should they not rule over lesser men and expand their kingdom, bringing their enlightened rule to the barbarian savages beyond? Why should they, the most noble sons of Earendil, deign to mix their blood with the blood of lesser, inferior men?

Such ideas were very, very dangerous. Similar kinds of thoughts had lead their ancestors, the Númenóreans to their own destruction.

Yet the Purist Faction's words of the superiority of the Númenórean race, and more importantly, their ideas of carving a vast empire and attaining riches and glory for Arnor was proving increasingly tempting.

Anardil himself was not immune to such ideas, but he knew the potential ramifications of such imperialism. How long would it be before Arnor became as decadent and corrupt as Númenor had been? Had their people truly learned nothing from their past?

And the King's son, Earendur, was most attracted to these ideas. He had great ambitions of matching and perhaps even exceeding his great-grandfather's conquests. Anardil was wary of that. Very wary, and he feared his ambitions could lead Arnor to disaster. Tarondor Hirgaer had moved to end a threat, Earendur desired conquest for the sake of power and wealth. That alone proved them to be men cut from very different cloths.

"I will speak with the Council of the Sceptre, give them a little surprise. In the meantime, I need you, Anardil, to prepare Angrenost's fleet for my excursion."

"Your Majesty?"

"Just do it Anardil, and stockpile wildfire on those ships as well. I'll be needing them. You're well versed in that particular substance I'm sure."

Anardil nodded. Years ago he had been one of many soldiers who had tested the wildfire weapons Arnor had been developing. Anardil had gained the attention of Tarondor and had become his attendant. The infamous Battle of the Glowing Sea had been his plan and his loyal and steadfast service had seen him rewarded, first with a holding in the Iron Islands, and later a promotion to Viceroy of Angrenost.

As his King commanded, so he would do, for he was ever the loyal servant of the House of Elendil.

Elendur

The kraken's tentacles began squeezing, snapping the masts and cracking the ironwood hull. Had it been any other ship, the kraken would have crushed it to pieces already. It seemed the ironwood had delayed the kraken, but not for long. All around him, he could hear planks snapping, buckling under the kraken's strength. Below, water had begun rushing into the lower decks.

The ship was lost, and in this storm, no lifeboats would ever make it to shore, if they could even be dropped safely from the ship.

Even as the kraken pulled its catch below the water, the waves swept what was left away. The last Elendur saw as he drowned beneath the waves, was a beautiful woman with her hand outreached for him.

'Please, help me,' Elendur thought, begging, before his eyes closed and his world went dark.

He was woken by the woman, who he now saw had a long tail, like that of a fish, where her legs should have been.

"A mermaid's kiss allows men to breathe underwater briefly. Heed my words.

I and my kin are Merlings, one of the Elder Races. Few of us remain. The Long Night was not kind to our people. There are many of us who resent men for driving us from the shores of lands when we were weak.

When you wake, you will find a horn, made of whalebone, and inlaid with pearls. That will serve as proof of our oath to aid you, as commanded by our patron, Arren, Maia of the Sea. You have but to call, and we shall come. You will know when the time is right. Do not forget, son of Elendil."

Elendur recalled the words of the mermaid who had saved him. Immediately after their conversation, the mermaid had flicked her finger on his brow and the next thing he knew was waking up in Angrenost's House of Healing. He had almost thought the whole thing a strange dream until he seen the horn, the very horn the mermaid had given him, the same horn that hung on his belt. It served as proof at least of what he had seen, but who would believe him? All he had told his men was that they were hunting krakens.

He had taken fifteen ships from Angrenost, all of them armed to the teeth with flamethrowers and scorpions. If anything could take down krakens, it would be this fleet. Yet he wasn't sure how exactly he would lure out these 'hostile' Merlings. His current plan amounted to sailing around hoping his fleet annoyed them enough to attack. It was also very possible that they would wait for the next storm to attack his fleet. Elendur was well aware, as were all in his fleet, that this was a very dangerous mission. One which could lead them to their deaths.

Yet it mattered not. He would see this threat to his people dealt with, even if it cost him his life. Long ago, when he had served under his grandfather, his grandfather had taught him a lesson he would never forget.

The very first day on board, at the age of twelve, his grandfather had given him a mop and told him to mop the decks of the entire ship. Elendur had felt outraged! He had come to learn how to sail! How to steer and command a ship, not mop its decks like some lowly janitor.

His grandfather had shamed him then, when in front of the entire crew, he took the mop back and started mopping the decks until Elendur had felt guilty enough to take the mop back and do as he was told. He still remembered his grandfather's words even to this day.

"Elendur, I did not mean to shame you or degrade you, but rather to humble you. Captains lead by example, they know how to do every single job their crewmembers do and are willing to do it with them. Inspire your men by example, prove to them that you are willing to do whatever you ask them to do, and they will do it gladly. And this lesson is doubly important for you because one day, you will not just be captain to these men, but their King as well. A wise king never gives an order he knows will be disobeyed, and a good king will never command something that he is not willing to do himself."

Those words had ingrained themselves within his being. From that day forth, Elendur had worked his way up, and earned the respect of the crews of all the ships he served on with his willingness to go beyond what was asked and his initiative. When the time came to captain his own ship, the respect and loyalty he had gained from his sailors had seen them following him to stranger tides.

How could he ask these men to sally forth to their likely deaths and not lead them in doing so? Not many would look down upon him for it, but Elendur knew he would disappoint his father and grandfather if he did such a thing. The Kings of Arnor were not like the fat and lazy lords of some other lands, who sat in their ivory towers feasting as they sent their men to die far away from their homes and families. The Kings of Arnor lead by example, from the front, always there, like a shining beacon to their people.

Elendur would do his duty, and as he looked at the massive storm brewing on the horizon, he had a feeling it was not that far off.

That night, a storm as deadly as the last one he had gone through hit his fleet. And just as he had predicted, they came. Nine monstrous krakens and Elendur swore he could see their Merling masters swimming in the stormy sea. The moment they had been spotted, Elendur had sounded the whalebone horn, hoping that the mermaid had been telling the truth and that there was help on the way. Yet Elendur was experienced enough to know that it will take time for them to reach their position, until then wildfire would have to suffice.

It was dangerous using wildfire under such conditions, but use it they did, what did they have to lose? At this point the men of the fleet fully expected to die, and with that mindset, they sprayed the wildfire at the krakens. The emerald flames poured out of the spitfires, igniting the tentacles of the krakens and Elendur knew they were doomed, for wildfire did not die until it had burnt everything it could. Yet their brethren withdrew from the surface and began harassing them from beneath, trying to capsize their boats or crack their hulls.

They couldn't afford to use the wildfire anymore, the treacherous winds and waves could easily see the flames turned against their ships, and in the corner of his eyes, Elendur could already see some of the other ships blazing green. Yet at this point, with the storm raging about them, their deaths were near at hand. If they were to die, they might as well take their enemies down with them.

Elendur had just been about to give the order when at long last, help arrived. They burst out of the water, clashing with their foes, merfolk and kraken alike. Tridents and spears clashed beneath the waves, and Elendur knew that majority of the battle was taking place beneath the water's surface

The moment the allied Merlings had come to their aid, the storm had begun to subside. The waves calmed enough for Elendur to see, ahead of him, one of his ships still being attacked by a kraken. Whilst it was likely too late to save the ship, Elendur resolved to save the men aboard.

Grabbing a steelbow, he nocked the arrow and drew the bow, his hand pulling end of the arrow just right of his face. Keen eyes tracked his target, the great eye of the kraken. For a single precious second, the winds were just right. His taut muscles relaxed, and his hand released the arrow's end.

Stories would tell of this feat for centuries to come. The arrow flew true, a two-hundred-yard bowshot over stormy seas and wild winds.

The kraken writhed in agony, its great tentacles splaying all over before they crashed down upon the waves.

By this time, the storm had calmed almost entirely, and rays of sunlight had begun to pierce through the dark-grey clouds like spears.

The Merling who had saved him came to the side of his ship, to the awe of all his men, looking curiously at how her tanned skin turned into sapphire blue scales halfway down her body, turning into a huge tail.

"You remembered, King Elendur," she said, impressed.

"It would be very hard indeed to forget you my lady. My thanks for saving me. Would you give me the honor of knowing your name?"

"The mermaid smiled, "Adella is my name. You will not see us again King Elendur. My people's time in interfering with the surface has ended. This civil war has sapped what little of our strength remains. Rest assured, that our people shall not stir the oceans against you any longer. Any storms you face from now will be entirely without our intervention, according to the natural order of the world."

"Where will you go then?" Elendur asked.

"We will retreat to the depths of the oceans, and leave the lands to Men, as it should have been long ago. The time of the Elder Races is swift coming to an end." And with that, the mermaid turned and dived into the water, all her brethren accompanying her.

It was only later that Elendur discovered that losses had not been nearly as high as he had feared. Many had given testimony of the Merlings saving them from a watery death. And the horn he held in his hands would always be held as an heirloom of his line, to bear testimony to older times.

By now, the storm had subsided entirely and the ocean became almost unnaturally still, the sun shining from above a now cloudless sky.

When King Elendur finally returned to Annúminas, it was without his ironwood flagship. Yet his actions had earned him a place of note in the Annals of his line, comparable to great figures of old, such as Tarondor Hirgaer, Isildur the Brave, and even the legendary Founder, Elendil the Tall. The legend of the Krakenslayer would be told for millennia to come.

Author's Note: The Merlings have some form of influence over the sea and its creatures. similar to the ability of the Children to influence the forests and animals, I guess. But it isn't as OP as it sounds. They can't create storms out of nothing but can supercharge them to a degree. And their ability to do so is waning as their strength is tied to the Maia Arren and is waning with his.