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The Men of the West and their Haradrim hosts gathered for dinner in a round hall filled with the glow of firelight. Fire burned in braziers hanging suspended from hooks upon every pillar and in an open pit in the center of the room. A low table ringed the hall a ways back from the central fire; low enough that cushions rather than chairs were set at each place. Musicians could be heard playing unfamiliar instruments, and the sound was somehow both discordant and rich to Eldarion's ears, not unlike the war horns he had heard at the Sea of Rhûn.

Uncertain of where to sit, Eldarion looked to his father for guidance. Aragorn, Éomer, Elphir and Eldarion had all bathed and dressed for a state dinner, although even their linen shirts and thin-layered doublets felt like too much fabric to be wearing in the lingering heat. Eldarion thought his father looked very kingly in gold-embroidered scarlet, as well as suited to the favored colors of the Haradrim. Eldarion himself wore white and dark brown, and was glad he had opted to go without a cloak or cape of any sort. Éomer was already flushed in his lordly cloak of green and gold, although the king of Rohan gave no show of discomfort. Instead he waited unspeaking next to Aragorn, his sun-lined gaze mapping out the hall and everyone in it with the precision of a seasoned warrior.

A young boy approached, addressing them in thickly accented Westron. "Kings and lords of the west, Chieftain Na'Man invites you to join him and his most honored guests at the table."

Aragorn smiled at the boy. "We follow your lead then, good page."

The boy led them around the edge of the room past scores of Haradrim men already seated. Many dark eyes lingered on them as they passed; Eldarion could feel their gazes prickling at the back of his neck. It came as a relief when he recognized Na'Man, Bakr and Tufayl sitting together toward the back of the hall. Empty cushions waited on either side of the three chieftains. They did not rise to greet the newly arrived kings, which would have sparked instant outrage if this dinner were to be taking place in the Great Hall of Feasts in Minas Tirith. Polite smiles brightened the faces of Na'Man and Bakr though, and the chieftains nodded their heads in greeting, which seemed to be considered sufficient. Following the lead of their hosts, Aragorn and Éomer only nodded as well before folding their legs and settling on untaken cushions.

Eldarion nearly bumped his knee on the low table as he sat. His heart sank when he saw the place set on the table in front of him. On either side of the plate were a number of unfamiliar utensils, none of which Eldarion knew how to use. How would the Haradrim speak of Gondor if its prince were to make a fool of himself over a simple dinner? Another thought also set Eldarion's nerves on edge; where was Túrien? Where were any of the Haradrim women, in fact? Looking around the ring of the table, Eldarion could see only men present.

"King Aragorn and King Éomer, we trust you and your people found your accommodations acceptable?" asked Na'Man. The chieftain now wore an open robe of deep saffron over his jacket, the hem of which pooled across his folded knees like woven sunlight.

"More than acceptable, Chieftain Na'Man," Aragorn replied. "The beauty of your house's baths is almost as delightful as the freshness of the water after our days of travel. Truly, Harmindon's aquaducts are a marvel of ingenuity."

"I must admit, their use is impressive," admitted Éomer, somewhat begrudgingly.

Bakr chuckled, his impossibly deep voice like rolling thunder. "The City of Waters has been the crown jewel of our people for centuries upon centuries. The aquaducts find their source from a hidden spring deep within the cliffs. Our ancestors, upon finding the spring and declaring it the heart of life in the desert, labored long and over many generations to deliver its water to civilization. Even in times of war, it is forbidden by law to bar anyone who comes unarmed from accessing the spring."

"The people of Near Harad call the spring Na'Man ab Jubayr, or 'Blood of Life'," added Tufayl.

"An apt name," said Aragorn. "One it seems that you share, Chieftain Na'Man?"

Na'Man flashed a close-lipped smile, one that reminded Eldarion uncomfortably that they sat at the table of Gondor's ancestral enemies. "Only in part, King of Gondor. While the spring is ab Jubayr, 'of life', I am simply Na'man, or 'blood', named so because I was blooded as a warrior before birth, having killed my twin in our mother's womb."

"Is it considered an admirable thing among your people then, to be blooded at a young age?" asked Éomer.

"No, King Éomer, it is not. To be blooded young implies that your own father has failed in his duty as defender of his children. Once a warrior is blooded, they are also potential rivals for their father's command on the battlefield. That is why our people prefer not to permit sons to fight until they are old enough to be bonded to a life-mate at ten-and-nine years of age."

Bakr reached up and seized the back of Na'Man's head, grasping his skull and ruffling his night-black hair in a friendly manner. "Which means that soon enough you'll be having to guard your place at the reins of your Mûmak, lest Sufyan takes it from you and sends you home to smoke and tend the gardens with the elders!"

Prince Elphir, who had been listening with interest, leaned in to speak. "And have you sons of age, Chieftain Bakr? Forgive my rudeness, but it seems to me that if Chieftain Na'Man is old enough to have a son ready to succeed him, then surely-"

"Surely I am an old man and more than overripe for the picking by comparison?" finished Bakr, arching a greying eyebrow at Elphir pointedly, who colored at the cheeks.

"Forgive me, I meant no disrespect..."

"Be at peace, none was taken. You are not wrong, Lord Elphir; my eldest is indeed old enough to have sent me to the gardens near-on a decade ago. I however have been blessed with six daughters, each the pride of Zamira's house. My eldest learns and waits to follow Zamira to the title of Ramyah of Abrakhân, and the two after her have been bonded, one within our clan and one to a warrior of Pazghar. The three youngest are not yet of age, and so have a few years yet in which to bring their old father joy."

"Your daughter Usaymah brings such light and wisdom to us in Pazghar that we scarce know how we endured the years without her, Bakr," said Tufayl. "My younger brother especially is a changed man for living within her house."

"Speaking of daughters..." Aragorn spoke calmly, but Eldarion was relieved that he was finally addressing the lingering question of Túrien's whereabouts. "...will the women be joining us for dinner this evening? I would speak to Túrien, if she can be spared."

Na'Man indicated the span of the hall with a wave, more particularly the many cushions which still remained empty at the table. "The women will arrive when they deem it time for the meal to be served, King Aragorn. Fear not, for I suspect they will not be long in coming now that the sun has set beyond the cliffs."

Sure enough, less than five minutes later there was movement in the direction of the hall's main door. Page boys flanked the doors, and the musicians changed their tune, adding in high, reedy instruments that rose like a breeze through carven wind flutes. All of the men seated around the table stood as if on cue, and following their lead the men of the West did the same. It was the sort of fanfare that would have precluded the arrival of a king at a state dinner in Minas Tirith. Curious, Eldarion watched with interest as the doors to the hall slid open.

Sawda, Zamira and Gulim led the women into the room, the ramyahs' trailing gowns and wraps floating after them in the warm evening air. Almost immediately Eldarion spotted Túrien in their midst. She wore the ruby red gown which their mother had sent her with, belted with delicate chains of gold and stitched with tiny stars and shields at the neckline. The dress had been altered since Eldarion last saw it though. He could have sworn that, when last he saw it on Túrien at the feast marking their return from the Sea of Rhûn, it had boasted full trumpet sleeves. Now though, it appeared that the sleeves had been removed at the shoulder seam, replaced instead by gauzy red cloth that drifted weightlessly around Túrien's arms. Túrien seemed both safe and, if anything, completely at ease with her present company. In fact, she flashed both her father and brother a beaming grin as she followed the ramyahs around the table to where they sat.

It was only when Sawda and the other women were completely seated that the men returned to their cushions. Servants carrying trays laden with covered dishes began to file into the hall from the main doors, and the strong scent of spiced meat reached Eldarion's nose. There had been bowls of fresh fruit in their rooms that afternoon, and so he was not famished, but dinner smelled good enough to make his mouth water regardless. Aragorn beckoned Túrien in with a crook of his finger, and she leaned over from her seat beside him close enough that he might speak to her privately. The two exchanged a few murmurs, and after Túrien shook her head Aragorn seemed satisfied. He turned to Sawda and offered thanks for hosting such a fine dinner, as well as praised the comfort of their accommodations once again. Éomer did the same, and the Ramyah of Harmindon accepted their courtesies with a dignified nod and smile.

As each servant stopped and offered their tray in front of him, Eldarion could only guess at what each dish might be and take a chance. Some like bread and eggs were fairly apparent, even though the eggs were boiled and peeled with some sort of red-orange power and sprigs of herb served over top. Others were more difficult to pinpoint, including a number of stuffed dishes and what looked like pickled vegetables diced and served in sauce. The largest trays featured cubes of cut meat skewered on long wooden rods, interspersed with brightly colored peppers and liberally seasoned. These were incredibly spicy when Eldarion tasted them, driving him to drink deeply from his cup of sweet apricot juice. Túrien laughed as he tried to contain his stinging coughs. Much more appetizing in Eldarion's opinion were the round, slightly crisp balls of what Tufayl told him were crushed beans mixed with dough. All in all the food was delicious, and after watching the Haradrim carefully Eldarion was able to navigate through the many eating utensils without obvious difficulty.

When the last bite was cleared – it seemed important that no morsel of food be left uneaten on one's plate – the servants came forward once again to clear away the dishes. Strong coffee was poured out and served along with wine and small bowls of a light pudding covered with ground nuts and cinnamon. Sawda clapped her hands, making the metal bracelets on her wrists jangle loudly.

"Let us have sweet music and dancing, to feed our spirits now that our bellies are content. Come musicians, play us a song!"

The minstrels, who during dinner had lapsed mostly into low background music, now once again lifted their art to the ears of all. Drums, stringed instruments and singers piped up in harmony to create an eerie, blood-stirring chorus. Dancers appeared at the doorway; young men and women alike, all clad in the brightest of colors and much intricate jewelry. They went barefoot, whirling and swooping into the center of the room in a storm of dark skin and iridescent silks. Eldarion scarce could decide where to look, with each dancer more entrancing than the last. Túrien appeared similarly awestruck, her hands clasped in excitement as her eyes flashed from one performer to the next.

Aragorn and Éomer took in the spectacle with just as much appreciation, joining in the applause as the song ended. When the music changed and the dancers showed no signs of retiring though, Aragorn shifted his attention to Na'Man.

"Chieftain Na'Man, when last we met, you requested among other things the ownership of the lands we know as South Gondor, to you Harondor. If such a thing were to come to pass, which clans would occupy that land? Which chieftain would rule there?"

Rather than answer, Na'Man turned to his wife. Sawda met Na'Man's eye, and then the two changed seats, placing Sawda on the cushion closest to Aragorn. Before Aragorn could wonder at this apparent outright snub by the Chieftain of Harmindon, Sawda's lips quirked in amusement.

"If it is matters of land that you wish to discuss this night, O King of the White City, it is me that you must discuss them with. Were we in your city, it would be your queen the Evenstar that Na'Man would likewise be seeking out for such a conversation."

"Forgive me my ignorance, Ramyah Sawda," said Aragorn. "but it seems I may require some instruction regarding the manner of your peoples' governance. Before coming to Harmindon, I knew Na'Man to be the leader of your clan. Since arriving though, I have come to wonder if I was not mistaken?"

"You were both correct and mistaken, King Aragorn. By Haradrim law, the chieftains are lord and master in all things beyond the clan circle. Once within the bounds of home though, whether that be a lowly camp circle or the towering stone walls of our City of Many Waters, the ramyahs rule all. It is the same in every family be they simple or noble; to men goes the battlefield, and to women goes the home. Each is mighty and respected within their given sphere. Therefore I bid you bring all your matters of state to me that we might deliberate on them during your stay here in Harmindon. The same to you, King Éomer of the Green Mark."

"Is there ever any crossing over between the spheres, Ramyah?" asked Éomer. "Do Haradrim women ever take up the spear and fight alongside their men, as the Shieldmaidens of Rohan are wont to do from time to time?" A note of irony found its way into Éomer's voice, no doubt remembering how Éowyn had defied both himself and their uncle to enter the fray on the Fields of Pelennor.

A dancer whirled by especially close, and Sawda took a moment to dip a finger into her wine, flicking the droplets onto the dancer's trailing silks. This seemed to please the dancer, who beamed and pranced away to the applause of all.

"Yes, although it is likely just as commonplace a thing as your Rohirrim Shieldmaidens. Chieftain Bakr is in fact trying to tempt one of his younger daughters to take up the reins of their Mûmak before he grows too old." Sawda turned her attention to Aragorn in full force. "Returning to your question, King Aragorn, that is perhaps a discussion best left for morning light. For now though, I will say this; the lands of Harondor could make a great difference to our people. Just as we share the waters of Na'Man ab Jubayr with all, so would the lands of Harondor be shared. It has been proposed that the smallest and weakest of the clans be granted reign of Harondor, there to settle and find prosperity at last. There are many such groups, descendents of clans defeated by rivals and cast away from their ancestral oasis, which scrape poor and meager livings from the desert sand. Few of them have sufficient means to keep Mûmakil, and so would be unable to offer threat to your southern borders at Ithilien and Dol Amroth."

"The most powerful among the Haradrim would step back and allow the meanest and lowliest to profit from such a prize as South Gondor?" asked Éomer wonderingly. "And how would the people living in cities like Harmindon take such a thing, to be told that they must remain where they are while others profit from lands capable of bearing crops?"

Sawda lifted a wry eyebrow at Éomer. "Ah, but we do in fact stand to gain by such an arrangement with the lower clans, King Éomer. For, as it stands now, we are bound by law to permit them free access to the waters of the spring. This means the constant presence of near-strangers just beyond our city. The desert clans are also often hungry, and therefore often troublesome to others. Removing them to Harondor will allow not only their own to flourish, but us as well who need no longer contend with their desperate raids on travelling caravans. Besides...we who live in our beloved City of Many Waters have no desire to leave."

"And so you would put Haradrim raiders on the borders of Ithilien, Ramyah?" asked Aragorn gravely.

"There is a difference between raiders who fight for sport and half-starved families hungry for good lands, King."

Throughout much of the conversation, Eldarion had been listening with as much attention as he could spare from the delights of the Haradrim dancers. When the three rulers fell silent next to him Eldarion's mind was free to rejoin his eyes. Túrien sat rapt with fascination on his other side, and when Eldarion followed her wide-eyed gaze he could see why. A bare-chested young man spun and swayed nearby, sweat making his skin gleam in the light of the central fire. The men of Gondor certainly did not look like that when they danced. Eldarion thought to tease Túrien...at least until Gulim stood up several cushions down. When the Ramyah of Pazghar stepped lithely out of her shoes and over the table to join the dancers, white shawls trailing behind her like mist, Eldarion could scarcely keep his own mouth from hanging agape.

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