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Some places in this world cannot be done justice by word of mouth or the written word. Rather, they must be seen firsthand to be truly believed. Harad was such a place. The further southeast their party traveled, the less Túrien and Eldarion could be persuaded to tear their eyes away from the strange, utterly foreign land which now surrounded them. It was like nothing they had ever seen before. Not even the northern capital of Annúminas on the glassy shores of Lake Evendim had rendered ever-lively Túrien so utterly speechless.

Not a single tree or blade of grass grew as far as the eye could see. Instead the land was decorated by looming walls of sandstone bracketed by towering peaks around which black-winged vultures flew like bats. The sand shifted and scorched beneath their horses' hooves, making even stately old Brego's head droop in distaste. Against the burning yellow of the land, the sky seemed a blue so impossibly bright, it brought to mind an endless jewel in which the world had been encased. It was an arid land, a harsh land...a beautiful land, in its own sun-struck way.

For the men of Gondor and Rohan, the sun became an instant and inescapable enemy from the moment they crossed the river Poros at the southern border of Ithilien. Lord Elphir recommended travelling with the hoods of their cloaks up during daylight hours. Uncomfortable as the hot cloth around their heads was, it at least saved their faces from far more uncomfortable burns. Eldarion especially had to take care, having inherited his mother's porcelain pale complexion. Túrien however was somewhat swarthier, or at least as swarthy as one could call a descendent of Númenor like Aragorn. Still, she too kept her hood up as they rode throughout the day, eyes flashing from one rock formation to the next. Even Éomer, well used to long hours out under the open sky on the rolling hills of the Mark, could only stand to go uncovered in the earliest hours of the morning. Despite best efforts, every last one of them ended up sunburnt to some extent or other by the third day into Harad.

The unblinking sun was not the only eye under which they traveled. One morning Eldarion caught sight of something moving amongst the crags of a nearby cliff. At first, thinking perhaps it might have been a bird he said nothing but continued to watch. A few moments later, another flicker of movement confirmed Eldarion's suspicions. Reining Greyhame closer to where his father rode, Eldarion leaned in to speak in a low murmur while trying not to appear on the alert.

"Adar...I think there are men watching us...there, among the rocks."

To Eldarion's surprise, Aragorn smiled; a quick twitch of the lips that betrayed no unease.

"I had hoped you would spot them as well. Our hosts appear to have sent out a welcoming party."

"Then why do they not come forward and declare themselves?" asked Eldarion, still ill at ease now that he could feel the hairs on the back of his rising beneath hidden gazes.

"I think, perhaps, that they have been told by their lords to watch us, and see how we conduct ourselves within their lands. That is why I have told our sentries and guards not to stray too far from camp each night. No doubt any attempts or suspected attempts by us to scout the area on our way to Harmindon will not be well received." Seeing that Eldarion was still uncomfortable, Aragorn reached across to pat Greyhame's neck. "Take ease, Eldarion. If they meant us harm they have already had ample opportunity to attack. I am confident our 'escorts' will show themselves in good time."

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Sure enough, Aragorn turned out to be correct in his assumptions. On the fifth day the ever-present sandstone hedges which ran through the desert like veins tightened around them, transforming into a labyrinth of sand and stone. A faint trickle of water from somewhere within the rocks caught Eldarion's ear, making him think longingly of his nearly empty water skin. He saw no sign of a stream in the dusty earth though. Even the shadows cast by the walls of the gorge looming overhead wer little more than temptation unfulfilled; the heat was almost as high in the shade as it was in the open.

A snort from Greyhame was all the warning Eldarion got before they found themselves surrounded on all sides. Red and black headwraps appeared from behind seemingly every boulder. Many of the Rohirrims' hands twitched toward the hilts of their swords, including Éomer's. The same was also true for more than one soldier of Gondor. Only with great effort did Eldarion restrain himself from reacting similarly when he saw that Aragorn remained calm in the saddle. The king did, however, subtly let Brego take a step to place himself squarely in front of Eldarion and Túrien.

"Greetings, people of Harad," he said. "We have come as invited by Chieftains Bakr, Na'Man and Tufayl, to meet with them in Harmindon 'ere the first days of autumn."

The Haradrim scouts did not unmask. None of them seemed intent upon threatening the Men of the West though; their hold on spear and shortbow alike remained neutral. One of the scouts stepped down to the floor of the gorge to stand before Aragorn and Éomer's horses. He thumped the butt of his spear on the ground before speaking in a heavily accented voice, muffled ever so slightly by the cloth of his headwrap.

"The chieftains of Near Harad welcome you, Kings Elessar the White City and Éomer of the Green Mark. Chieftain Bakr and his honoured guests await you at the City of Many Waters. Follow us, and we will guide you safely into Harmindon."

With that, their self-appointed guides came down from the rocks, taking up positions in a rectangle around the mounted party. Eldarion glanced at Túrien to see what she thought of her first glimpse of the Haradrim. Túrien's hood was down on account of the shade offered by the stones. She was watching the scouts curiously, taking in their basketweave armor and bone beading just as Eldarion had done when meeting the chieftains at the Sea of Rhûn. Hadhafang hung in its sheath at her hip, polished hilt glinting dully in the muted light. Eldarion hoped they knew what they were getting themselves into.

From that point on, the Haradrim led them on a twisting journey through the maze of sandstone that even a Dúnedain range would have been truly pressed to remember. The ground hardened and grew firm beneath them, and the horses' hooves sent echoing clip-clops all around. Small white lizards skittered to and fro amongst the rocks, watching the strange passersby and no doubt wondering at the hairy beasts upon which they rode. Horses were not kept by the Haradrim, and yet the men on foot had no trouble keeping pace. When at last they turned the final corner, Eldarion gaped in amazement at the sight before them.

The walls of stone fell back, revealing a wide open space nearly as far across as Edoras. The city of Hardmindon was a curious mixture of stick and stone, bleak and colorful. Most of the structures of the city were built from sandstone blocks, but their roofs were woven from a sort of dried reed, creating breath in an otherwise stifling space. Wide awnings of bright red cloth stretched across the streets, shading the front stoops of buildings and even entire city squares. For the first time in days, greenery could be seen in the form of unusual, waxy-leaved trees and ferns. These seemed to flourishing largely in part thanks to the greatest wonder of Harmindon; the aquaducts.

Looking much like bridges to nowhere, great stone causeways funneled down out of the rock faces surrounding Harmindon to criss-cross throughout the city. Everywhere they led, life and growth and color could be seen. Most of the aquaducts seemed to congregate in the center of the city, where a great yellow structure with broad-faced towers and many gardens could be seen. This was almost certainly the seat of power in Harmindon. It was no Minas Tirith, but the City of Many Waters certainly lived up to its name. In the midst of a land as dry and inhospitable as Harad, no doubt Harmindon was a haven of incredible beauty and luxury to the Haradrim.

As their guides led them into the city, it didn't take long for Eldarion to realize just how much they really were strangers in a strange land. The people of Harmindon were unusual to the prince of Gondor's eye, and the same was evidently true twice-over in return. Men and women, all dressed in flowing garb of red, orange and charcoal grey with gazes shadowed by dark eye paint witnessed their passing as no doubt the people of Gondor would react to an envoy of Haradrim passing beneath the Main Gate of Minas Tirith. Many shrank back, even turning away to disappear inside their homes and businesses. Others stood their ground, eyeing the lords of Gondor and Rohan with clenched jaws and narrowed eyes. Only a few watched with what might have been calling benign curiosity. The further into Harmindon they passed, the more Eldarion understood more of why that might be so.

Although it was apparent that a distinct effort had been made to put the city into its best possible state, the signs of poverty and famine could not be entirely hidden. Thin children with knobby knees darted out from alleys to risk trying to touch the horses' tails, and the fare in the market stalls looked lean at best. Eldarion couldn't imagine what kind of foods the Haradrim could manage to grow in the lands beyond the labyrinth, but clearly it wasn't enough. War had also taken a toll of the city. For every man and young lad that Eldarion saw, there were at least three more women to outnumber him. It reminded Eldarion a bit of how he had heard the older soldiers describe Gondor in the days immediately following the War of the Ring. Apparently the Haradrim had yet to find prosperity again like the west had.

Still, when they reached the central citadel of Harmindon, their hosts were out in state to greet them. One of the scouts that met them beyond the city must have slipped ahead to warn the chieftains of the approaching party, or so Eldarion figured. They awaited the western delegation in an open courtyard filled with leafy ferns, the midday sun casting everyone in gauzy red through the awnings and making the blue tiles of the walkway appear violet. Na'Man was there, as were Bakr and Tufyal. The three chieftains were no longer clad for battle, as they had been when last (and first) they met. Instead the three men wore baggy trousers beneath long, heavily beaded and embroidered jackets, covered at the waist with a broad cloth belt. Like their people, the chieftains mostly dressed in hues of red, black, grey and gold, although Tufayl, the youngest and chieftain of Pazghar, wore a coat in the same brilliant burgundy as the richest of wine grapes. Eldarion was both disappointed and relieved to see that none of them sported their previous display of facial war-paint. Na'Man was almost unrecognizable without the long, scarlet talons bracketing his hooked nose.

Also unfamiliar were the women beside which each of the chieftains stood. They were short, much shorter than a woman of Gondor or even Rohan. However, they held themselves with an air that suggested they were not to be trifled with. Elaborate shawl drapery swathed each of the women in shimmering wraps of blue, green and white. They stood out against the warm palette of their homeland and their menfolk like the clusters of trees and orchids throughout the city.

Aragorn and Éomer dismounted on the step before the courtyard, and everyone else in the kings' retinue followed their lead. Túrien was all but vibrating with excitement next to Eldarion as they followed their father. The shade from the canopy made it hard to tell just how sunburnt Túrien was, but even so a delighted smile was tugging at the corners of her storm-blue eyes. She practically danced along after Aragorn, coming to stop nearly even with him in her excitement. When Aragorn and Éomer bowed politely as befitting a guest though, Túrien did at least remember her manners and dip a knee in what approximated a curtsey without a skirt. Eldarion did love seeing his little sister all wound up and excited like this, which did not happen often within the safety of the walls of Minas Tirith.

"Welcome, King Aragorn Elessar of Gondor and King Éomer Éadig of Rohan, to Harmindon, our precious 'City of Many Waters'."

It was to almost every one of the visitors' surprise when not Na'Man, not Bakr, not even Tufayl spoke first to address the kings of the West, but the woman in emerald green shawls whom Eldarion assumed to be Na'Man's wife. Scarcely missing a beat, Aragon spoke directly to her in return.

"Greetings to you, lords and ladies of the Haradrim. Thank you for your gracious invitation to host us here in your extraordinary city. After many days on the road, the City of Many Waters is surely a sight for sore eyes."

People whom Eldarion assumed to be courtiers of the Haradrim fashion tittered quietly from around the edges of the courtyard. He didn't think that his father had said anything particularly funny, but the Haradrim seemed vaguely amused all the same. It was something of a relief when Na'Man took the initiative to make introductions.

"Kings Aragorn and Éomer, you of course are acquainted with myself and chieftains Bakr and Tufayl. I now am honored to present the Ramyahs, or matriarchs of our three clans. Zamira, Ramyah of Abrakhân..." The woman in blue standing next to Bakr, as generously-figured and full of face as her husband was powerful even in his middling years, inclined her head. Zamira reminded Eldarion of the sort of grandmotherly person who would give you a pastry behind the cooks' backs but still scold you more fiercely than even a parent could. Then she smiled, crinkling myriad of laugh lines around her dark eyes, and Eldarion decided he liked the Ramyah of Abrakhân.

"...Gulim, Ramyah of Pazghar..." White-clad Gulim, whom Tufayl stood just behind, was truly a wonder to behold. The youngest of the three Ramyahs and also the tallest, her beauty bordered on frightening, perhaps because she was so different from the women of Gondor and Rohan. Her skin practically glowed with inner fire beneath the red shade of the canopies, setting off lips fuller and redder than the brightest of red currant berries. If it were not for the puckered scars marring Tufayl's face, he would have been almost as handsome as his wife, and even so they were still an incredibly striking pair. The thinly veiled distrust with which Gulim eyed the westerners only made Eldarion feel more intimidated by her. He tried not to squirm beneath the gaze of Pazghar's Ramyah.

"...and your hostess, Sawda, the Ramyah of Harmindon."

The first thing Eldarion noticed about Sawda were the dark tattoos marking her face; a single black line from lips to chin, and smaller lines hashes fanning the corners of her eyes. Sawda's features were precise and angular, much like Na'Man's, although whereas he wore his sharpness like a hawk, fierce and focused, she seemed almost serene as she took in her guests. Gold hoops dangled from her ears and around her wrists, but Sawda wore it all lightly beneath the piercing midday heat. Also like Na'Man, Sawda seemed to see more than the obvious; her eyes moved from person to person carefully, lingering on people like Éomer or Túrien apparently at random. When at last Sawda settled on Aragorn, she smiled, a guarded expression but genuine all the same.

"Well met, Ramyahs Zamira, Gulim, and Sawda." Aragorn bowed once again. "May I also introduce my children, Prince Eldarion and Princess Túrien of Gondor, as well as Lord Elphir, Prince of Dol Amroth."

"Your son we are familiar with, having seen his prowess in battle at the Sea of Rhûn," said Na'Man. "Prince Elphir is also a name known to us among the lords of Gondor, as was his father's before him. The princess Túrien however, we are pleased to meet now for the first time and, stars willing, not the last."

Sawda cleared her throat. "It is the custom among the Haradrim that, when multiple clans gather together in one place, the women house together in separate quarters from the men. You, Princess, are of course welcome to remain among your people during your stay in Harmindon, if that is more the western custom. However, if you wish, there is certainly a place for you in the women's wings of the house. I imagine, after your travels, that you would all welcome a chance to refresh yourselves before we gather for the evening meal?"

For once in her life, Túrien had the good sense to defer to their father before charging ahead. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then looked to Aragorn for any sign of misgivings before consenting to be separated from the rest of their company. Éomer's bushy brows, already dangerously close to frowning, now embraced an outright scowl. Elphir, who had the most experience with Haradrim, did not seem overly alarmed though, and so Aragorn nodded in acquiescence.

"I would be glad of the company of other women, after so many days surrounded by menfolk," said Túrien politely.

Zamira smiled again, just as warmly as the last. "Come then, and we will see you settled in rooms and given all you need for your comfort. Na'Man, you will see to it that the kings and their men are likewise quartered."

Although Eldarion was well used to Aragorn heeding their mother's words, both in private and often in public, it still came as a surprise to see not even Sawda, but Zamira, the Ramyah of another clan speak to Na'Man in such a way as implied an order. The chieftain of Harmindon simply nodded though, waving over servants from where they had been waiting amongst the columns bordering the garden.

"Come, lords of the West. Your horses shall be tended to by careful hands, and we have suites well befitting honored guests of your regard. Take all the time you may desire to prepare for dinner; such affairs are unhurried among our people, and the first course will not be served until the sun is below the stones."

Handing over Greyhame's reins to the Haradrim servants was not the easiest thing Eldarion had ever done. Even more nerve-wracking was watching Túrien's back as she walked away from them, following Sawda and the other Ramyahs across the courtyard. She did not look back, and so Eldarion could only trust to these strange and intriguing people to be good to his sister. It seemed, whether they liked it or not, they all now had no choice but to put their trust in folk who had for generations been blood enemies.

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