1: In the Gardens of Lórien

Aman, Second Age, Úrimë 24: 

Laurendil looked up from where he was sitting, enjoying the quiet of the afternoon beside the shores of Lórellin, to see Findaráto coming towards him. The Master Lóriennildo stood up, hastily brushing the grass from his surcoat as he gave his friend a smile.

"Aranya," he said, calling the Elf-lord by the title that he had given him so long ago when he had taken the Life Oath before the court of Nargothrond. He held out his hands in greeting. "I was not expecting you for another month."

Findaráto smiled as he clasped hands with his friend, the two of them exchanging the kiss of liegeman and lord. "There’s been a slight change of plans, Amborondanya," the former King of Nargothrond said. "Come, let us walk."

Laurendil raised an eyebrow at Findaráto’s words but complied readily enough with his lord’s wishes and together the two ellyn walked companionably in silence for a while. Findaráto led them away from the lake, towards a particular grove that Laurendil had only been in once before. When he realized their destination, he faltered, looking uncertain.

"Aranya..."

Findaráto turned and placed a comforting hand on the ellon’s shoulder. "It is well, meldonya. Come, Lord Irmo wishes to speak with us."

Laurendil nodded reluctantly and followed Findaráto to the grove of the Valar where none could enter without invitation. To do otherwise courted death. Laurendil took a deep centering breath as he followed his lord into the grove. The last time he’d been here... he shook his head to clear it of the memories of that visit. Even now, they sent shivers through his fëa.

Findaráto gave his vassal a piercing look, as if he could divine the other ellon’s thoughts, then smiled. "It will be well, meldonya," he said softly.

"If you say so, aranya," Laurendil said, trying to sound more convinced than he felt.

The two ellyn made their way into the grove to find Lord Irmo waiting for them in the center, sitting at a table laden with food and drink. The Vala smiled and gestured for them to approach, which they did, giving him their obeisance before sitting as he bade.

"Please help yourselves," Irmo said, indicating the the table. Findaráto nodded and accepted some lemonade, as did Laurendil, for the day was very warm. Even though they were well into Yávië, much of Aman had been experiencing something of a heat wave lately. When Findaráto mentioned it, Irmo assured them that the heat would break soon.

"Even now my brother Ulmo is sending an ocean storm this way to help break up this heat. Inside a week things will be cooler... and a little wetter."

This last was said with a chuckle and both Findaráto and Laurendil joined him, though they all acknowledged that the rain would be most welcome.

After a moment, Irmo addressed them, sounding more sober. "Events are occurring in the Outside World that require our attention," he said without preamble. "There is particular concern about Anador."

"We’ve stopped sending our people there," Laurendil said. "No one from Tol Eressëa has visited the island for almost two hundred years of the Sun."

Irmo nodded. "Until now."

Laurendil raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You mean some have defied..."

Irmo raised a hand to stop him. "Nay, child. I only meant that the Valar have decided to allow one more visit to the Isle of the Star. There is one more message we would have delivered ere the end."

"The end?" Laurendil whispered, feeling a sudden chill of dread. "What end?"

Irmo looked somewhat grim as did Findaráto, and that, more than anything unnerved Laurendil. "We are not sure," Irmo said then. "My brother has seen things..." He sighed then and gave them both a rueful glance. "Well, needless to say, we feel that sending one more messenger will not be amiss. I fear it may be too late for most of those of Númenórë, but there is still a small group of the Faithful who cling to a hope that relationships with us will improve."

"You believe that... that Sauron has indeed corrupted the King of Númenórë," Findaráto said.

"And most of the inhabitants as well," Irmo added with a nod.

Laurendil gave the Vala a considering look. "Whom do you mean to send and with what message?"

Irmo gave the Master Healer a wry smile. "Can you not guess, my son?"

Laurendil gasped. "You cannot be serious, lord. I have not been to Númenórë since Eärnur..."

"I know, my son," the Lord of Lórien said sympathetically, "which is why I think you need to go at this time."

Laurendil shook his head in denial and even started to stand up, though whether he thought to flee the Vala’s presence even he could not have said. Findaráto pulled him back down. "I told Lord Irmo that I would not force you to go, otorno," the once King of Nargothrond said compassionately. "I do, however, agree with Lord Irmo that this is something you need to do... for your sake, if not for Eärnur’s."

Laurendil gasped and felt tears flowing. Then, to his utter shame, he began weeping and Findaráto rose and took him in his embrace, rocking him gently, letting him cry himself out. Irmo remained seated, watching without expression. Finally, Laurendil’s storm of emotions passed and he became calm again. He pulled himself out of Findaráto’s embrace, looking somewhat chagrined.

"Forgive me, aranya...." he began but Findaráto merely embraced him again and kissed his brow.

"There is nothing to forgive, Amborondanya," he said, "I grieve as well for his loss, but you have closed yourself off to much since his death. He would not have wanted that, indeed, does not."

Laurendil gave a snort. "According to what you’ve told me, he doesn’t even remember us, so how can he want or not want anything?"

Findaráto gave the ellon a considering look. "If he knew how you were acting, he would be appalled that he was the cause of it. He would not want that. He is happy, Laurendil, in ways you cannot comprehend. Soon, though, he will be released from Mandos and when he comes to you I think he will be grieved to learn how you have mourned him."

"And you have not?" Laurendil retorted angrily.

Findaráto shook his head. "I never said that. I miss him terribly, but I also know that he will return to us. We must be ready to greet him with love and patience and he must never know that we were as sorrowful for him as we were. He would not want that and frankly he should not be burdened by such knowledge. Take it from one who knows," he added with a wry smile.

Laurendil did not speak but nodded reluctantly. Irmo spoke then.

"Neither will I force you to go, my son," the Vala said, "but I think it would help you more than you know if you do."

"Must I give my decision now, lord?" Laurendil asked.

Irmo smiled. "Nay, child. Go and speak to your wife and children first. There is still time before you must leave, but if you do not wish to go we must find someone else and frankly I fear that the only other person capable of dealing with what you will find there is standing next to you and you know he will not leave Aman."

Findaráto shook his head. "I vowed never to go any further than Tol Eressëa and I mean to keep my oath. My life is here in Aman now, and I will never see Endórë or any Mortal again until the Renewing." He spoke calmly and without rancor.

Laurendil sighed, then gave the Vala a bow. "Then, lord, if you will give me leave, I would consult with Manwen... and others," he stole a brief glance at Findaráto, "before I give you my decision."

Irmo nodded. "Go then, my children. Come to Taniquetil next Valanya and give us your answer at that time. Until then...."

Irmo was simply not there. Even the table and chairs were gone. Findaráto gave his friend and brother a quick hug and then the two elves made their way out of the grove, both deep in thought and memories.

****

Findaráto left Laurendil at the grove where he made his home with his wife, Manwen, and their youngest child, the older two having already left the nest (or flown the coop, as Manwen put it).

"Speak with Manwen and your children," Findaráto told him, "and when you are ready to give me your decision, you know where to find me."

Laurendil nodded and gave his liege a short bow before entering the grove. Manwen was there, having completed her duties earlier and smiled in greeting. "I did not expect you for some time, beloved," she said, speaking in Sindarin, for they had decided that inside their grove only that language would be spoken unless non-Sindarin speaking guests were there.

He smiled back and gave her a light kiss on the cheek, which she returned. "Nor did I, but Finrod..."

She gave a small gasp and looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see her lord, and was disappointed when she did not. "He is here?" she asked.

"Yes, and he will greet you properly in time," he answered, "but he has business to which he must attend ere he can do so."

She nodded and gave her husband a knowing look. "What is it you are not telling me, husband?"

Laurendil smiled at his wife. "What I need to say I prefer to say only once. The children need to hear this as well."

Manwen raised an eyebrow at that. "Well, you know that Marilla and Vorondil will be coming for dinner and Irmondil said he would be here later this evening as he is dining with friends who have come from Tol Eressëa to visit."

Laurendil nodded. "That is well. Come, I will help you."

They entered the pavilion set aside for cooking and began to prepare the night meal together. "Eärnur is not here yet?" he asked after their youngest child as he prepared the meat.

Manwen shook her head as she cut up the vegetables. "He is still at his lessons with Master Meneldil," she told him, "though he should be done soon."

Laurendil nodded. Meneldil had been something of a thorn in their side when the two of them had first arrived in Lórien, but over time they had learned to respect and even admire the Master Healer and, eventually, the three of them became friends. All their children, in fact, had been tutored in herblore by Master Meneldil. They continued preparing the meal in companionable silence. Manwen forbore to pester Laurendil with any questions concerning Finrod or what was troubling her husband, keeping to safer subjects, such as the latest escapade of their grandson, only just turned fourteen. They were laughing over Manwen’s tale when Eärnur arrived, greeting his parents warmly.

"Your sister will be here with her family shortly," Manwen said to their son. "Go wash up and help set the table."

"Nana, I wish you would stop treating me as if I’m no older than Calaldundil," the ellon protested with a sigh, naming his young nephew. Eärnur, in fact, had nearly reached his third yén.

"A nana’s prerogative," Laurendil said with a smile. "Off you go now."

Eärnur nodded good-naturedly, giving his amillë a kiss and his atar a lopsided grin. He strolled towards his own pavilion, whistling as he went.

Laurendil watched his youngest walk away with a bittersweet look. Eärnur had been born shortly after Laurendil’s last journey to the Star Island seeking for news about his friend who had been lost at sea. The anger he had felt then had transmuted over time into wistfulness whenever he saw his son, named after his friend. Manwen took his hand and squeezed it, knowing where her husband’s thoughts were. Laurendil looked at his wife and smiled, though his eyes were wet with unshed tears. She smiled back and opened her arms, allowing him to enter her embrace and grieve once again for the one who’d been lost.

****

Marilla and Vorondil arrived with Calaldundil in tow just about the time Eärnur finished setting the table. Calaldundil ran to greet his grandparents who hugged him and fussed over him with just the right degree of restraint that he didn’t bolt. The ellon hated being petted and fretted over by the adults around him, so they were careful not to overdo it. Finally, Manwen and Laurendil declared themselves satisfied that Calaldundil had indeed grown overnight and was the handsomest ellon in all of Aman and sent him off to help Eärnur pour the drinks, while they greeted his parents.

Marilla gave a merry snort at the relieved look on her son’s face as he practically ran to the kitchen, nearly tripping over himself in his eagerness to be away from the adults, while her husband, Vorondil, winked at Laurendil.

"Remind you of anyone?" he asked with a laugh.

"Unfortunately, yes," Laurendil retorted with a smile for his son-in-law, "though you were several decades older, as I recall."

"Your brother will be joining us later," Manwen said to her daughter as the four of them moved to sit at the dining table while Eärnur and Calaldundil served the meal. "He’s dining with friends he met in Kortirion when he was last there."

During the meal, Laurendil kept the conversation light and Manwen followed his lead. She wondered what Lord Finrod had asked of her husband, but knew that he would not speak of it until their oldest child was there. In the meantime, Calaldundil kept them entertained with stories of his own adventures. He was one of the few elflings in Lórien, the children of healers, like themselves, and he was the youngest.

"Marilla and I are thinking of sending Calaldundil to Tirion for fostering," Vorondil said at one point. "We think he would benefit from the experience of being around children his own age."

Laurendil and Manwen nodded. "I think that’s a good idea," Laurendil said, smiling at his grandson, who sat there with a scowl on his face. "Just think of all the mischief he can really get into without tripping over Maiar right and left." He winked at Vorondil, who laughed.

"Indeed," he said, ruffling his son’s hair, and the child’s expression was less dark, as he pondered his Anatar’s words, wondering if he were merely jesting with him. "At any rate," Vorondil continued, "I hope to discuss the matter with my Master when he comes next month, see what he says."

Laurendil hid a smile while Manwen busied herself with pouring drinks. Even after all these yéni, Vorondil still referred to Finrod as ‘Master’, though his thralldom had ended a long time ago. Still, Laurendil contemplated, in many ways Finrod was still Vorondil’s Master, for the Noldorin prince had taken the elfling Vorondil had been at the time under his wing and had tutored him in the proper ways of honor and respect, so in that sense, Vorondil had been Finrod’s apprentice.

"I’m sure he will have some ideas about that," Laurendil said. "He’s very fond of Calaldundil, you know."

The elfling’s parents nodded, looking fondly on their child, and the adults continued discussing possible options for fostering. They were interrupted by the arrival of Irmondil, Laurendil and Manwen’s firstborn. He greeted everyone with a smile, ruffling his nephew’s hair and taking a seat next to him, accepting the cup of tea that Manwen offered him.

Laurendil decided now was the time to tell his news. "Lord Irmo has asked me to do something for him," he said without preamble and everyone stilled to hear what Laurendil would say. He cleared his throat and took a sip of tea before continuing. "The Valar have decided to send one last Messenger to Annûnnor and they’ve asked me to go. Finrod agrees with them."

The reactions of the others were typical. Manwen merely sat there looking stunned. Irmondil and Marilla began pestering him with questions, speaking over each other in their haste. Eärnur had an unreadable expression on his face as he watched his atar closely. Calaldundil was wide-eyed with wonder and excitement. Vorondil’s reaction was the most telling. He leaped up, his eyes wide with surprise.

"My Master is here?" he exclaimed. "Why did he not come greet me?" The sense of hurt and confusion on the ellon’s face was heartbreaking and Laurendil stood up and took his son-in-law into his embrace.

"He will, yonya," he said quietly, switiching momentarily to Quenya. "He needed to attend to other business first. We will go together to see him later."

Vorondil seemed mollified by Laurendil’s words and he sat back down. Irmondil and Marilla had ceased their own questions as they watched their atar interact with Vorondil. Laurendil, reseating himself, looked at his family and smiled at them wistfully.

"Lord Irmo feels I need to go on this final mission for the Valar," he said, speaking once again in Sindarin, "and your Uncle Finrod agrees."

"What do you think?" Manwen asked quietly, eyeing her husband shrewdly.

Laurendil shrugged as he and Manwen shared a look between them that their children had seen often enough without truly being able to interpret its meaning. "I told him I would talk it over with you first before I gave him my decision. I am to go to Taniquetil next Rodyn to give them my answer either way."

"And you’re the only one in all of Aman the Valar feel is capable of giving these Edain a message they are likely to ignore?" Irmondil asked his atar skeptically.

Laurendil gave his oldest child a measured look. "Yes," he answered simply and the finality of his tone brooked no further discussion on the reasons of the Valar in this matter.

"Do you want to go, Ada?" Marilla asked quietly, her usually fair face darkening with a frown.

"It’s not a question of wanting, Marilla," Laurendil said just as quietly. "The Valar have asked this of me for reasons of their own. They will accept my refusal but the only other alternative is to send your Uncle and he has vowed never to leave Aman again." He gave them all a wry smile. "There is really little choice in the matter."

Vorondil nodded, his eyes bright with a level of wisdom not given to the others sitting there. "So you’ve already made up your mind to go." It was not a question.

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, I have, but I still felt I should at least discuss this with you all."

"Will it be dangerous?" Calaldundil suddenly asked, his eyes bright with barely suppressed delight at the prospect of danger, though it warred with the equally barely suppressed fear for his beloved Anatar’s safety.

Laurendil addressed his grandson gravely, recognizing Calaldundil’s dilemma. "Yes, daerion nîn, it will probably be very dangerous, for it is death for any of the Eldar to be found on the Island of the Star. Yet, I promise you that I will endeavor to do all to protect myself and return to you safely."

That seemed to mollify the ellon. Vorondil gave Laurendil a wistful look. "I remember Master telling me about his first meeting with Bëor and the Edain when I first came to Lórien as his thrall." The words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone without any sense of shame or guilt. The others merely nodded; Marilla took her husband’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. He smiled at her before returning his attention to Laurendil. "I always thought it would be interesting to meet them. They sounded fascinating from the descriptions Master gave me. I wish I could accompany you, Adar," he added, giving Laurendil a lopsided grin, "but I doubt the Valar, especially Lord Námo, would want me to be out of their sight for too long."

Laurendil actually laughed. "Most likely not, iôn nîn," he said, his eyes bright with merriment. "Lord Námo is much too fond of you and I’m not even sure if Finrod would countenance it."

"Me neither," Vorondil said equably with a smile.

Manwen sighed then. "Well, it doesn’t give you much time for packing if you plan to reach Taniquetil in time, my husband. Will you see Findaráto tonight and tell him your decision?"

Laurendil shook his head. "Nay, tomorrow is soon enough. We will all go to see the Prince that he knows that all of you, even you Calaldundil, are in agreement with this as well."

The others looked at each other and Calaldundil blinked in surprise at being included in his Anatar’s regard. Laurendil remained silent, allowing them all to come to terms with what he had decided even before he had ever left the Vala’s grove. Finally, Irmondil gave Laurendil a smile.

"We agree, Adar," he said simply, "but on one condition."

"And what would that be, iôn nîn?" Laurendil asked though he already suspected what the answer would be, nor was he surprised when Irmondil gave it.

"We accompany you to Taniquetil and then to Tol Eressëa to see you off."

Laurendil nodded, a slow smile creeping across his face, his eyes full of love for the family with whom he had been graced. "So be it," he intoned formally. "Tomorrow we will go see Finrod."

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Úrimë 24: Equivalent to our September 1.

Yávië: Autumn, which begins on Úrimë 5 (August 13).

Note: For convenience, I have adopted the Calendar of Imladris for this story. See Appendix D for details.

Lóriennildo: (Male) Follower of Lórien [modeled after the attested Yavannildi "The Followers of Yavanna"] The feminine form is Lóriennildë, the plural being Lóriennildi. It is a title among those elves who have dedicated themselves to the healing arts under the Lord of Lórien. The Lóriennildi tend to minister to those who are troubled in mind, as well as to the Reborn who are sent to Lórien before being released into the general population. Those healers who tend to minister to the physical hurts of the elves are called Estenduri, "The Servants of Estë" [Estendur (male); Estenduriën (female)].

Aranya: My king.

Amborandanya: My Most Faithful One; a title Findaráto has given Laurendil.

Meldonya: My (male) friend. The feminine version would be meldenya.

Fëa: Soul, Spirit.

Anador: Land of Gift, what the Valar originally named the island that would later be known as Númenórë.

Otorno: Sworn brother.

Valanya: The sixth day of the Valian week, dedicated to the Valar. The "Highday" of the Amanian calendar. The Sindarin forms were Orbelain or Rodyn.

Yén: An elvish century, equal to 144 solar years. Eärnur is 390 years old.

Nana: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of Naneth: Mother.

Ammë: Hypocoristic form of Amillë: Mother.

Atar: Father.

Anatar: Grandfather.

Yonya: My son.

Annûnnor: (Sindarin) Númenor; cf. Arannnor "King's land", an older form of Arnor.

Edain: (Sindarin) Men.

Ada: (Sindarin) Hypcoristic form of Adar: Father.

Daerion nîn: (Sindarin) My grandson.

2: In the Hall of the Elder King

Findaráto looked up from the document he was perusing to see one of Irmo’s Maiar standing before him. "Greetings, Ingil," he said respectfully. "What may I do for you?"

Ingil gave the prince a slight nod of the head and smiled. "Greetings Prince Findaráto. I am to tell you that Laurendil is on his way to see you... along with his entire family."

Findaráto raised an amused eyebrow. "I see," he replied. "You will, of course, divert them from their course. I will meet with them in due time."

"Of course," the Maia said with a gleam in his eyes. "It is why Lord Irmo sent me to warn you."

"And I thank Lord Irmo for his timely warning," the ellon said with a laugh as he stood. He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Off you go now."

Ingil laughed and then was gone. Findaráto stared at nothing for a time, a fond smile gracing his lips. Then he shook himself and sat back down to re-read the missive he’d been looking at when Ingil had appeared. Laurendil and his family would have to wait a little longer before seeing him.

****

Neither Laurendil, Manwen nor anyone else in their family was surprised when a Maia appeared before them as they made their way towards the Ampano Arano where Findaráto dwelt whenever he visited Lórien. Everyone stopped and gave the Maia their bows.

"Greetings, Children," Ingil said with a smile.

"Greetings, Ingil," Laurendil replied. "We’re just on our way to see Findaráto."

Ingil nodded. "Which is why I’m here. Lord Findaráto sends his regrets but he was called away suddenly and cannot meet you at his pavilion."

"Called away?" Vorondil asked with a frown and then he sighed. "I didn’t even get a chance to greet him."

Ingil gave the ellon a sympathetic smile. "I did not say he was gone, Vorondil. I said he was called away. I’m to take you to where he is."

Vorondil’s expression brightened and Laurendil hid a smile, amused how Vorondil still reacted much like an elfling where Findaráto was concerned. He put an arm around his son-in-law’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze even as he addressed the Maia who was patiently waiting. "Lead us then, good Ingil," Laurendil said, "and we will follow."

Ingil bowed then gave Calaldundil a smile as he held a hand out to the youngster. "Come child," he commanded gently, "walk with me and tell me what you have learned from Mistress Nísimalótë," naming the elleth in charge of teaching the elflings of those who were in service to Lord Irmo and Lady Estë. The ellon took the Maia’s hand without hesitation and began to tell Ingil all about learning the names of the stars, which herbs to use to relieve sore muscles and the duties of the different Peoples of the Valar. The others walked behind with indulgent smiles, listening to the elfling gravely explain what Ingil’s responsibilities were while the Maia evinced ignorance of any knowledge of them or those of his brethren.

It was some minutes before any of them realized where they were headed. Irmondil was the first to slow down, followed by his siblings, their expressions ones of doubt and uncertainty. Vorondil simply came to a full stop, his expression closer to fear. Laurendil and Manwen exchanged worried glances but otherwise did not say anything.

"What’s wrong, Ingil?" Calaldundil suddenly asked when the Maia stopped and stared back at the older Elves with compassion. The elfling looked about in confusion. "Why did everyone stop?"

Ingil glanced down at the child and gave him a comforting smile, then looked back at the others still standing there. "There is nothing to fear, my children, you know that," the Maia said compassionately. "All is well. Come. They are waiting."

With some reluctance, Laurendil nodded and motioned for the others to continue, gently taking Vorondil by the shoulders and guiding him forward. Calaldundil glanced worriedly between the adults and the Maia.

"Wh-what’s wrong with Atto, Ingil?" he asked, for he had noticed how white his atto looked. He did not remember ever seeing his atto look so distraught before and it frightened him.

Ingil smiled at the child clinging to him. "It is well, Calaldundil," he said, casting a sympathetic look at Vorondil before returning his gaze upon the elfling. "Your atto will be fine. Come along now. We mustn’t be late."

With that, they continued on until they reached a particular grove, the same grove to which Findaráto had taken Laurendil the day before. Ingil stopped at the entrance and turned to face the older Elves, seemingly able to lock gazes with all of them at the same time. "There is nothing to fear here, Children," he reiterated. "All is well. Laurendil, take Manwen and your children in. I will follow with Vorondil and Calaldundil."

Laurendil gave Vorondil a worried look. Vorondil’s eyes were blank with remembered fear. Laurendil turned to Ingil, his expression darkening towards anger. "Hasn’t he suffered enough without bringing him here of all places? Have the Valar or Findaráto grown so callous as to forget...."

"Peace, Laurendil," Ingil said, raising a hand to forestall the Elf’s words. "Go with Manwen and your children. I will follow with Vorondil."

"I’m not leaving my husband," Marilla said suddenly, "or my son." She reached out and pulled Calaldundil out of the Maia’s hold and into her arms, holding him close. The elfling, who normally would have protested such a move on his ammë’s part, merely stood there in her embrace, his eyes full of confusion and fear. Vorondil never moved, his eyes still blank with a memory long suppressed.

Ingil’s expression of sympathy did not change but something in his stance alerted the Elves, who had instinctively drawn closer to one another. There was a shimmer of light and then Lord Námo was there, his expression grave, though not forbidding.

"Children," he said in a concerned voice, "why stand ye here outside this grove? Enter and fear not!"

No one moved, all eyes on Vorondil who still had not responded to what was happening around him. Námo gave him a sharp stare, frowning somewhat, then sighed. He turned to Ingil. "Take them inside, Ingil, I’ll deal with Vorondil."

Ingil started to acquiesce when Calaldundil suddenly pulled himself out of Marilla’s arms and began attacking the Vala, flailing his fists impotently at Námo’s midriff, which was as high as he could reach. "Don’t you hurt my atto!" he screamed. "Don’t hurt my atto!"

Several things happened at once. Marilla, Laurendil and Manwen all yelled in horror, reaching for the elfling at the same time. Irmondil and Eärnur just stared with their mouths agape at their nephew beating on the Lord of Mandos and slowly backed away, as if to be as far as possible from the wrath to come. Námo, to his credit, just stood there and allowed the child his way while exchanging an unreadable look with Ingil. Vorondil suddenly laughed. That brought everyone except Calaldundil to a standstill. Vorondil continued laughing even as he reached down and plucked his son up, holding him tightly and rocking him to calmness.

"Yonya, yonya," he said, "Even I was never so stupid as to attack one of the Valar." He glanced up at Námo, his expression gleeful. "Though I recall arguing with you over a pail of clams once."

Námo laughed. "It was my pail after all," he said much to the astonishment of the younger Elves. Manwen and Laurendil exchanged knowing looks.

Calaldundil meanwhile had calmed down, realizing that he was in his atto’s arms and that all was well. He opened tearful eyes, wondering if he was going to be punished. Everything was so confusing and he was frightened for his atto. "So-sorry, atto," he whispered.

Vorondil looked down upon his son and smiled wistfully, then bent down and gave him a kiss on his forehead. "I know you are, yonya," he said softly.

Námo turned his attention to Laurendil. "Go inside, child," he said. "Take the others with you. Ingil and I will be along with Vorondil and Calaldundil shortly."

Laurendil only hesitated for a minute before nodding. "Come, all of you. The Lord of Mandos has spoken."

Long ingrained habit of obedience to the Valar took over and with proper obeisance, Laurendil and Manwen herded their three children towards the grove’s entrance. Marilla looked uncertainly at her husband and Námo. Vorondil nodded encouragingly. "Go, best beloved," he said. "We will be well."

Marilla nodded and allowed herself to be led into the grove leaving her husband and son to face the Lord of Mandos alone. Námo gave Vorondil a considering look while the ellon continued rocking his son and crooning something soothing in a soft singsong voice. The Vala smiled to himself as he realized that Vorondil was singing a very ancient lullaby to Calaldundil, who, now that his fear was abating, allowed himself to be comforted in his atto’s arms. Soon, he was falling asleep. Only then did Vorondil look up at the Lord of Mandos.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said. "The sight of this grove...."

"There is nothing to forgive, best beloved," Námo said, brushing a hand softly through Calaldundil’s hair. The elfling’s only response was to snuggle further into Vorondil’s embrace. "It grieves me that even after all this time you are still haunted by such memories. I’m afraid we Valar did you a disservice in that regard."

Vorondil shrugged. "Master warned me that it might happen," he replied. He looked down at his now somnolent son and there was a wistful smile on his face. "He’s so precious," he said almost to himself.

Námo smiled gently and reached a hand to hold the back of Vorondil’s head as he bent down to give the ellon a brief kiss on his forehead. "As are you, best beloved, as are you." He released the elf and gave Ingil a nod before returning his attention to Vorondil. "I think we’re ready to go in, don’t you?"

Vorondil nodded and without hesitation followed the Maia into the grove with Námo right behind him. Vorondil looked about him with interest, for the last and only other time he had been here it had been at night and he had not been fully cognizant of his surroundings at the time. He noticed with some disappointment that Findaráto was not there, though Lord Irmo and Lady Estë were. He gave them a brief but respectful bow mindful of the child in his arms. Marilla came to him, her eyes full of questions. She saw her son fast asleep and smiled, relaxing somewhat. She and Vorondil exchanged knowing smiles and gently kissed each other. When they parted they continued further into the grove where the others waited.

"Is all well, yonya?" Laurendil asked Vorondil, his expression dark with concern as his eyes flitted between Vorondil and Námo.

Vorondil nodded. "Yes, Atar," he said, "all is well now. I’m sorry if I caused you any concern. I guess the force of the memory surprised me more than anything else."

Lord Irmo placed a solicitous hand on Vorondil’s shoulder. "It grieves us all that this has happened, Vorondil," the Vala said. "But if you are well, perhaps we can continue with our purpose here."

Vorondil nodded. "Of course, my lord."

Irmo nodded, giving the ellon a brief smile before turning his attention to the others. "I am also sorry that any of you suffered distress over this. It was not our intention. You’ve been brought here because events in the Outer World are moving faster than we anticipated and it will take you too long to travel to Taniquetil by... normal routes."

The Elves all exchanged puzzled looks. Námo put a hand on Vorondil’s shoulder to get his attention. "Do you remember the conservatory in Ilmarin, child?"

Vorondil slowly nodded and then his expression lightened. "The beach."

"Yes," Námo said with a slight grin. "There are certain places throughout Aman where... energy fields are concentrated enough to allow us to... transport others by the power of our thoughts. The conservatory is one. This grove is another."

Vorondil nodded, then turned to the others. "It is well," he said. "I’ve done this before, though in truth at the time I was too frightened to understand what was happening. No harm will come to you. It may be disconcerting at first but the... transfer is almost instantaneous." He glanced up at Námo for confirmation and the Vala nodded.

"We will each take two of you," Námo said, indicating Irmo and Estë who were waiting patiently. "Vorondil is correct. There is nothing to fear. I will take Vorondil and Marilla. Estë will take Irmondil and Eärnur and Irmo will take Laurendil and Manwen."

Even as Námo was speaking Estë went to the two ellyn and smiled at them encouragingly, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. Irmo was doing the same with Laurendil and Manwen, while Námo was beckoning for Marilla to come into his embrace even as he wrapped an arm around her husband. Vorondil held his still sleeping son a little tighter.

"I... I think it helps if you keep your eyes closed," he said to the others and followed his own advice.

Laurendil glanced at his wife who gave him a small smile and a shrug and then closed her own eyes. He looked over at his two sons and nodded encouragingly. Marilla had already followed Vorondil’s advice. He gave Irmo a glance and the Vala smiled down at him. Closing his eyes, he felt the Lord of Lórien embrace him gently and then there was a sense of movement though he himself did not move.

"You may open your eyes now, Children," he heard Irmo say gently and when Laurendil complied he found himself inside a large conservatory.

The others all opened their own eyes and gazed around in wonder while the Valar looked on with amusement at their expressions of surprise. Ingil was also there and he addressed Vorondil and Marilla. "With your permission, I will watch over your son while you are... visiting. He will be safe with me."

Vorondil and Marilla both nodded and Vorondil handed the still sleeping ellon over to the Maia who cradled the child gently, softly murmuring something when Calaldundil started to stir, sending him back into sleep. Námo then gestured to the others.

"Shall we go? Lord Manwë is waiting for you."

Laurendil nodded and the others followed the three Valar out of the conservatory, down several hallways until they reached a door made of mithril and gold that opened silently at their approach. Inside, they found themselves in a small audience chamber perhaps only forty paces wide. The walls were made of nessamelda wood carved in low-relief depicting scenes of daily life in Aman. The floor was tiled in alternating squares of white marble and green malachite. Above, the ceiling was domed and painted a midnight blue with chips of diamonds embedded into it, forming the constellations one could see at midsummer. Opposite the entrance was a two-step dais upon which sat two intricately carved thrones made from the same nessamelda wood. However, the Elves’ gazes were drawn to the left of the throne dais where a group of comfortable chairs and a settee were arranged around a low table laden with food and drink. Sitting together on the settee were two Beings.

Manwë was clothed in an ankle-length tunic of deep blue silk with gold stars embroidered on the sleeves, hem and collar. A gold linked belt with a buckle in the shape of a star graced his middle while his head was crowned with an intricately wrought gold coronet with a single star sapphire set with in it.

Varda was clothed in a gown of shimmering pale blue figured silk over which she wore a white silk sleeveless surcoat with stars embroidered in gold thread running down the front of the bodice. Her usual wreath of living stars graced her head.

Standing behind them in attendance were two Maiar, Eönwë and Ilmarë.

The Elves made their obeisance and Manwë gestured to them. "Come and sit, Children," he said warmly and they complied, though Laurendil had a rather puzzled look on his face.

"But where is Findaráto?" he asked as he accepted a goblet of wine from Ilmarë who was serving them. "I thought we were being brought to him?"

Manwë nodded. "Eventually, my son," he said soothingly. "He does have other business to which he must attend before he can join us, but he will, never fear. Now, tell us your decision."

Laurendil gave the Elder King a considering look. "I think you already know what my decision is, lord," he said softly.

Manwë nodded. "Perhaps, but for the record," he glanced briefly behind him to Eönwë who nodded gravely before returning his attention to Laurendil, "we need to hear it from your own lips."

Laurendil stole a glance at his wife who smiled faintly, then looked at each of his three children, all of whom nodded. Finally he looked to Vorondil, whose expression for once was unreadable, a rarity for him, and Laurendil found that telling. He returned his gaze to the Elder King and the Elentári sitting serenely beside him and nodded. "I will go to Númenórë as thy Messenger, my lord, little good though I think it will do."

"Thou dost not know what good it will do, child," Manwë answered.

"And mayhap, thy message will be less important than thy presence," Námo added, sounding grave.

The Elves all stared at the Lord of Mandos in wonder. Vorondil then snorted. "And you’re not going to tell us why, are you?" he asked, giving the Vala a cheeky grin.

Námo effected an affronted air, though the older Elves could detect a glint of humor in the Vala’s eyes that the younger ones missed. Marilla gave a small gasp at her husband’s tone and her brothers looked upon their sister’s husband with something bordering on awe at his audacity.

"I never reveal my sources of information, you know that," Námo said in cold tones that made the snows of Taniquetil seem warm in comparison.

Manwë started laughing. "Not even to us," he said with a wink to the Elves, "so I doubt he’ll be any more forthcoming to you Children."

Laurendil shook his head. "I still don’t understand why me," he said with a sigh. "I truly have no wish to leave Aman... my family."

The others looked upon him with various degrees of sympathy. Manwë leaned forward. "As to that, my son," he said gently, "I think you must discover the reason for yourself. As much as we grieve to part you from your family at this time, we think it important that you go. More is at stake than you realize, though I will speak no further on it."

Vorondil then reached from where he was sitting on the other side of Manwen and placed a hand on his father-in-law’s knee. "I know how difficult it is for you, Atar, to contemplate going to Númenórë after Eärnur died there, but I truly believe you need to go. You need to find closure and Eärnur will need to believe that his death was not a cause of bitterness on your part."

"But it was," Laurendil exclaimed. "His death was unnecessary and... and uncalled-for." He gave Námo an accusing scowl.

Námo merely gazed at the Elf with a serene air. "Child, I do not cause death, I am merely Eru’s instrument in caring for the fëar who come to me. Your complaint must be addressed to a Higher Authority than I or even Manwë."

Laurendil went pale at the mild reprimand and began stammering an apology but was forestalled by the doors of the chamber opening and Findaráto walking in. He stopped just inside the doors and made his obeisance to the Valar before continuing into the room. He was smiling but it faded when he sensed the tense atmosphere.

"What’s wrong?" he asked quietly, looking first to Manwë and then to Laurendil for an answer.

Laurendil reddened under Findaráto’s regard and kept his gaze on his lap. Findaráto’s own gaze swept across the assemblage. The Elves were clearly distraught and the Valar were clearly not. He gave Eönwë a glance and saw the thin smile on the Maia’s face. When the silence continued longer than it should have, he scowled.

"Do I have to play at asking questions here? Laurendil?" His tone of voice was that of the King of Nargothrond and long habit made Laurendil respond to it without thought.

The ellon straightened and gazed directly at Findaráto. "I was voicing my bitterness at the needless death of one I loved as a brother, aranya."

Findaráto raised an eyebrow at the terse and formal manner in which Laurendil spoke as if he were giving his king a report on the latest patrols in Dorthonion. He nodded, more to himself than to anyone there as he took a vacant chair and accepted a goblet of wine from Ilmarë, thanking her with a smile. For a moment he pondered his friend’s words, taking a sip of the wine before speaking.

"No death is needless, Laurendil," he finally said. "Having died myself, I think I can speak from experience." This last was said somewhat dryly and Námo actually chuckled.

Laurendil had a stricken look on his face and he began stammering an apology again, but Findaráto merely held up a hand. "Peace, Amborondanya," he said. "Long have I wished that I could ease this bitterness that resides within you over what happened to Eärnur, but that is something you need to deal with yourself. It is one reason I think you need to do this."

Manwen brushed the back of her hand on Laurendil’s cheek. "Findaráto is correct, beloved."

Laurendil reached up and took her hand, pressing a kiss in her palm. "I know," he whispered, sounding forlorn.

Vorondil sighed then. "I still wish I could go with you, Atar," he said, "but I know that Master and Lord Námo won’t allow it." He then cast a wicked grin Laurendil’s way. "So, could you bring me back a present?" he asked using the same tone of voice his own son used on his grandfather whenever the ellon wanted something from him.

The others all laughed, Laurendil laughing the loudest. He reached over and held Vorondil’s face between his hands and gave him a kiss on the brow. "I’ll see what I can do," he whispered with a grin and Vorondil grinned back.

Manwë nodded, pleased that the atmosphere had lightened. "Now that that is settled, let us discuss what our message will be and to whom it will be given. Then we will take you to Tol Eressëa where your ship is even now being readied."

Laurendil nodded as he gave the Elder King his attention. "I am thy servant in all things, lord," he said formally.

The Elves then listened while Manwë spoke. At some point while the Elder King was giving Laurendil his instructions, Ingil entered with a still sleeping Calaldundil and gently placed him in Laurendil’s arms at Vorondil and Marilla’s quiet insistence. Laurendil continued to listen to Manwë’s words with a contented smile on his face as he gently rocked his grandson.

****

All words are Quenya.

Ampano Arano: The King’s Grove, literally, "Wooden Hall of the King".

Nessamelda: "Nessa-beloved"; a type of tree.

Elentári: Queen of Stars, a title of Varda.

3: Many Meetings

Númenórë, Second Age 3295, Yavannië 22:

The wind was blustery that day, sweeping along the streets of Rómenna like a proper housewife cleaning her front stoop. The early autumn leaves skittered across the paths of pedestrians and the tangy scent of salt water filled their nostrils. It was a clean, cold scent and Vandiel breathed it in with relish, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. It never got very cold here on Númenórë, for the island lay far south of the ancestral homes of her people, but the ocean wind often brought less temperate weather during the winter and that was fast approaching.

Vandiel walked along the street of shops, idly gazing at the goods in the windows. She had done her shopping for the day and was making her way back home. She was thinking of stopping at a local inn for lunch when she spied a friend coming down the street.

"Ercassë!" she called out and quickened her steps.

The young woman in question stopped and waited for her to approach.

"What’s wrong?" Vandiel said as soon as she reached her friend, for she could see that Ercassë had been weeping, her usually fair face blotched and puffy.

"Have you not heard?" Ercassë asked in a whisper.

"Heard what? Here, let’s sit and you may tell me what has happened." With that, Vandiel took Ercassë’s arm and steered her towards a bench in a triangle of garden where a small fountain stood. When the two women were settled, Vandiel gave her friend a sympathetic look. "Now, tell me," she said gently.

"It’s Fiondil," Ercassë replied, her expression stricken.

"Your brother! What has happened?"

"He’s disappeared."

Vandiel felt a frisson of fear course through her. It had been happening more and more often, people simply disappearing. No one spoke of it, at least not in her hearing, but she heard the rumors and the gossip of servants. They were saying that more and more of the Elendili were being persecuted, taken to Armenelos, never to be heard from again. Sauron's influence over Ar-Pharazôn was increasing and the lives of the Elendili were becoming more perilous by the hour. She gave Ercassë a troubled look.

"Do.. do you think he was... taken?"

"I don’t know," the maiden replied, breaking down into tears again.

Vandiel took her into her embrace and rocked her gently, her own heart breaking. She had always been fond of Fiondil as they grew up and secretly thought that they would one day be married, though he had given her no indication that he felt anything towards her but friendship. She wanted more, but was too shy to demand it of him, and for the moment, was content with being friends, for she did not wish to do anything to jeopardize their relationship and she loved Ercassë as if she were her own sister. To think that Fiondil might have been snatched by the King’s Men to end his days in torment and despair was more than she could handle and she searched desperately for other reasons for his disappearance.

"Did he leave no word?" she asked. "Did he make no mention of going to see friends or taking a trip?"

Ercassë shook her head. "None. He left the house last night after dinner and never returned. Attû is in a state of fury, thinking he might have met up with his old friends and gotten drunk, but Fiondil rarely drinks to excess anymore and he has not seen those men in nearly two years. Ammî just sits there weeping. I had to get away. I couldn’t stand it there any longer."

Vandiel sighed. It had been a sore point with Lord Ardamir, that in a fit of adolescent rebellion Fiondil had made friends with the younger sons of those lords known to be sympathetic with the king’s policies against the Faithful. He had staggered in at all hours, usually drunk, and had been surly and disagreeable to all. Vandiel had hated what he was doing to himself and his family, but it was her twin brother, Valandil, who had taken his friend to task and had straightened him out. Almost overnight, Fiondil had turned over a new leaf, divorcing himself from his disreputable friends and becoming more responsible. Yet, in spite of this, Ardamir still did not trust his son and always suspected the worst of him. What Lady Yavien thought about her only son was anyone’s guess; she was not one to display her feelings for all to see.

"Do you think his old friends might have sought revenge on him?" she asked, fearing the answer might well be yes, for the persecutions had increased over the last few years as the king fell further and further under Sauron’s influence. Ercassë shivered and shook her head, not willing to answer either way, for it was her worst fear, that Fiondil’s past would someday come back to haunt him with a vengeance.

"What are you two doing here, looking as if you’d lost your favorite doll?" came an amused voice from behind and both women started.

"Valandil!" Vandiel exclaimed as she looked upon her twin smiling down at them. "Don’t sneak up on us like that."

"I wasn’t sneaking, sister," he said with a laugh, "and you haven’t answered my question."

Ercassë started weeping again and Vandiel sighed, her expression distraught. Valandil’s own expression became grave. "What has happened?" he asked, coming around to sit on the other side of Ercassë.

"Fiondil disappeared last night," Vandiel told her twin quietly. "He went out after dinner and never came back. We... we think he might have been... taken," she ended somewhat fearfully.

Valandil shook his head. "No, that did not happen, I assure you."

Something in his voice alerted the two women. "What do you mean, Valandil?" Vandiel demanded. "Know you something about this?"

Valandil stared pensively at the two young women. Vandiel was much like him in looks, her hair a dark brown, almost black, her eyes as grey as the sea. She was tall, as was he, and the blood of Elros Tar-Minyatur seemed to run more clearly in their veins than had been true of their family for many generations. Ercassë, too, had the blood of Elros running through her veins, though the relationship was less direct, being descended from Tar-Aldarion’s youngest sister, Almiel, whereas he and Vandiel were counted among the House of Valandil of Andúnië, being the grandchildren of Elentir, the brother of the present Lord of Andúnië. She was not as tall as Vandiel and her hair was a lighter shade of brown, almost auburn. Her eyes were more blue than grey and Valandil thought they were her loveliest features.

"Can you keep a secret, both of you?" he finally asked, his demeanor grave.

Both young women exchanged glances, then turned to Valandil almost as one and nodded.

"I will tell you, then, what has happened," he said, speaking barely above a whisper, not wishing to attract the attention of passersby, "but not here. Can you meet me in an hour’s time by the Fountain of the Elves?" He named a courtyard that was rarely visited by most of the people of Rómenna these days, but there was a tavern there that was quiet, its owner discreet. Both women nodded again.

"One hour," Vandiel said, speaking just as softly. Then she stood up and, pulling her friend up with her, spoke more loudly. "Well, brother, Ercassë and I still have some shopping to do, don’t we?" Ercassë nodded gamely and Vandiel gave her a bright smile. "So we will see you later, shall we? Come, Ercassë, let us go over to Almarian’s. I want to buy some more of that overdyed floss I bought from her last month." So saying, the two women gave Valandil nods of their heads before setting off down the street arm-in-arm with Vandiel going on about what kind of floss she wanted while Ercassë simply let her lead the way.

Valandil watched them walk down the street and gave a rueful shake of his head before standing and making his way along another street, this one more residential. He did not have far to go, as Rómenna was not all that large a town. Still, by the time he reached his destination, the bustle of commerce had faded into the quiet of well-kept homes. He came to one that looked no different than any of the others along the street. It was, in fact, a townhouse, three stories tall, and the only thing to differentiate it from the other townhouses along the tree-lined avenue was the symbol of seven stars and a tree carved over the lintel of the front door. Even that had been discreetly done, the stars almost hidden in the interlacing of branches. He approached the entrance and pulled on the bell rope. He did not have long to wait before the door opened to reveal the house steward who saw who stood there and gave the younger man a bow and a warm smile in greeting.

"Lord Valandil," the steward said, "how may I serve you?"

"Greetings, Hallatan," Valandil answered. "I wish to see Anárion if he is available."

"Of course, young lord," Hallatan said, stepping aside to allow Valandil to enter. "If you will wait in the front parlor, I will announce you."

"Thank you." So saying, Valandil stepped into the front parlor, a small room, sparsely furnished, used primarily for receiving visitors. "Especially the unwanted kind," his great-uncle Amandil had once said with a wink.

Hallatan bowed and went down the corridor in search of Valandil’s cousin. It was not long before he returned, gesturing for the young man to follow. "Lord Anárion is in the library," the steward explained.

When they came to the door of the library, Hallatan knocked once, opened the door and spoke. "Lord Valandil to see you, my lord." He then bowed the younger man into the room and closed the door, leaving Valandil alone with his cousin.

In contrast to the front parlor, the library was large and comfortably appointed with deep cushioned chairs and long tables for reading. Most of the wall space was taken up with shelves and in fact the room spanned the second floor of the house. The upper shelves of the library were reached by a beautifully carved wooden spiral stair to his left and joined to a wooden walkway that went along three of the four walls. One set of tall windows allowed light into the room and overlooked the gardens behind the house. A small fireplace was to Valandil’s right, presently burning a cheery fire on this blustery day. A couple of comfortable chairs sat before the fire with a small table between.

The occupant of the room had been sitting at a table near the fireplace, apparently poring over what Valandil could see were maps. Anárion, second son of Lord Elendil, was tall, taller even than Valandil, with the dark hair and sea-grey eyes of most Númenórëans. He was well-muscled and had the easy grace of a warrior, for he and his brother, Isildur, had been trained secretly in the arts of warfare by their atar. When the king had forced Lord Amandil and his people to abandon their homes in Andúnië and reside in Rómenna he had also forbidden the men to train in the warrior’s art as was customary among the nobles of the land, but Elendil had made sure his sons knew which end of the sword was which in spite of the ban. In that Valandil envied his cousins, for his own adar had forbidden him from joining them in their training.

Anárion looked up from his maps and smiled, standing to greet his cousin. "Valandil, it is good to see you."

"And you, cousin," Valandil said, accepting Anárion’s embrace as they exchanged kisses between kinsmen.

"What brings you here?" Anárion asked, reaching over to pour some wine into a couple of goblets from a decanter sitting on the table. He handed one to Valandil and gestured for the two of them to sit before the fireplace to take their ease.

"We may have a problem," Valandil said after taking his seat and a sip of the wine.

"What?"

"Fiondil."

Anárion raised an eyebrow. "So what has he done now?" he asked with a resigned grin on his face.

"You haven’t heard, then, have you?" Valandil said without smiling back.

Anárion’s expression turned grave. "Heard what?"

Valandil sighed. "He disappeared last night," he told him. "I just spoke with his sister. She suspects he may have been taken by the King’s Men."

"You mean those nûphî he was involved with?" Anárion asked with a frown. "Do you think his disappearance is motivated by vengeance?"

Valandil shook his head. "Where’s Isildur?" he asked instead of answering Anárion’s question.

His cousin gave him a puzzled look at the seeming nonsequitur and then his expression darkened into something nearing wrath and he stood up suddenly. "That fool!" he shouted. "That bloody fool!"

"Who?" Valandil asked wryly. "Fiondil or Isildur?"

Anárion sent him a withering look, then grinned. "Both, I suspect, but we knew what Isildur was planning." He sat back down and took a long sip of his wine. "You really think young Fiondil went after my brother?"

Valandil shrugged. "Rather coincidental that he disappears at the same time as Isildur," he said.

For a moment neither spoke, each lost in his own thoughts and concerns.

"What do you want to do, then?" Anárion finally asked.

Valandil let out a breath. "I think it’s time we brought Vandiel into our little group and if Vandiel then also Ercassë. They both deserve to know the truth."

"We have been reluctant to bring either in," Anárion reminded him. "Fiondil especially was against involving his sister..."

"Fiondil is not here to protest," Valandil pointed out to him, "and he may well be beyond all abilities to protest against anything we do or don’t do."

The stark reality of that possibility brought them both to silence again. What Isildur had planned was dangerous but Fiondil following after the elder son of Lord Elendil the Tall possibly jeopardized them both. Finally, Anárion nodded. "Tell them," he said.

"I will bind them to secrecy with the minor oath," Valandil assured his cousin. "They will not betray us."

"I know they will not," Anárion replied with a smile. He rose and Valandil did the same. "Where do you meet them?"

"At the Fountain of the Elves," Valandil answered. "I figured if necessary, I could use the services of Eärendur at the Harp and Torch."

Anárion nodded his approval, for Eärendur was their Oath-keeper. "Go now. We will speak again later."

The two men embraced and then Valandil was making his way out of the library even as Anárion returned to the desk with the maps showing both Númenórë and Endórë, resuming his studying of them.

****

Valandil entered the square were the Fountain of the Elves stood. This late in the year it was not running and the statues of the two elves that graced the center of the fountain looked rather forlorn. He spied the two young women sitting on the lip of the fountain speaking in low tones. They were not the only ones in the square, but the other people were apparently using the plaza as a means of reaching other sections of the town, otherwise the place was virtually empty. He could hear, however, the voices of men in the tavern to his right raised in song and winced. The song was definitely not flattering to the king or his policies. He would have to make a point of speaking to Eärendur about the virtue of discretion, which was rather ironic, considering the Man’s role in their little conspiracy. His grimace turned into a wry smile at that thought.

"You’re late."

Valandil’s smile broadened at the put-upon look his twin gave him. He bowed low to the two ladies. "Forgive me, my lady, but it was necessary for me to see someone first."

Vandiel gave her twin a searching look. "Who?"

Instead of answering, Valandil gestured towards the inn. "Let’s go inside out of this wind," he said. "I’ll explain everything while we have lunch."

Reluctantly the two women nodded and followed Valandil to the entrance of the tavern where he bowed them in. Stepping inside they found themselves in a large common room with a bar running along one side on their right and a large fireplace to their left. Stairs directly ahead led to the upper bedrooms and a corridor ran behind it leading to private eating parlors. The room was not full, but there were plenty of patrons, mostly men but one or two women. Valandil saw Eärendur approach them with a smile. The innkeeper bowed.

"Greetings, young lord," he said with just the correct amount of respect due to one of Valandil’s social standing even though Eärendur was actually Valandil’s superior among the Elendili. "Will you and the ladies be dining here or would you prefer a private parlor?"

"Greetings, Eärendur," Valandil said with a smile of his own. "A private parlor if you please."

"This way then, my lord, my ladies," the innkeeper said with another bow. He led them past the stairs and down the corridor to a door at the end of it. Opening it he gestured them inside. "Will this do, my lord?"

"Yes, thank you, Eärendur," Valandil said. "Will you bring whatever you are serving for lunch as well as some of your mulled cider?"

"Of course, my lord," Eärendur replied. "I will have your meal here presently."

"Good," Valandil said. "Oh, and Eärendur... I will need your other services later."

The two men exchanged looks that did not go unnoticed by the two women. Eärendur bowed again. "I will be available whenever you need me, Valandil." he said quietly, dropping all pretense of the solicitous innkeeper. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

"What was that last about, brother?" Vandiel asked as the three of them doffed their cloaks and hung them on the cloak tree that stood near the small fireplace where a warming fire burned.

Valandil, however, refused to answer, and his expression was just grave enough that neither maiden felt sufficiently brave to insist on an answer. Instead, they took their seats and allowed the warmth of the fire to slowly drive away the chill in their bones, though not that in their souls. Before the silence became too uncomfortable, there was a knock on the door and then a young serving girl entered with a large tray on which were loaded three bowls of venison stew, trenchers of bread and cheese, as well as a flagon of mulled cider and three goblets. The server smiled at them all but did not speak, merely putting everything on the table.

When she was done, she gave them a brief curtsey. "Is there aught else I may do for ye, my lord?" she asked Valandil.

"Thank you, Calinda," Valandil said with a smile. "We are well."

"Very good, my lord, my ladies," she said with another curtsey and left.

For a few minutes, the three of them concentrated on their meal, though Valandil could tell that Ercassë especially was seething at the delay. Valandil, however, refused to be rushed. He needed to think out just what to tell them and what oath to exact from them. He was also trying to figure out the implications of Fiondil’s rash decision to follow Isildur on his equally rash mission to Armenelos.

Finally, though, Ercassë had enough. She put down her spoon and gave Valandil a fierce stare. Valandil thought she looked particularly beautiful in her wrath. "What do you know, Valandil?" she demanded. "Where is my brother?"

"Safe," he answered, hoping he was correct.

"But where?" Ercassë insisted.

Valandil sighed. "He is with Isildur. They have gone to Armenelos."

The two women gave him similar looks of shock.

"Armenelos!" Vandiel exclaimed. "Are they insane? Why would they go where none of the Elendili are safe?"

Valandil took a sip of his cider, savoring the spiced drink, before answering. "I need your oaths that what I tell you is spoken to no one unless I give you leave."

The two women looked at one another and then Vandiel turned to her brother. "We promise..."

"No, Vandiel," he said firmly. "I need more than just a promise from you." With that, he stood up and went to the door and opened it. "Eärendur," he called out and then closed the door again, resuming his seat.

Vandiel and Ercassë exchanged puzzled looks but Valandil’s own closed expression precluded them from demanding answers. Only a couple of minutes went by and then the door opened and Eärendur entered. He carried a large blue leather-bound book in one hand and a sheathed sword, of all things, in the other. As soon as the door closed, the man’s expression changed from one of solicitousness to one of grave dignity.

"Do you require the major oath this time, Valandil?" he asked, speaking softly in Sindarin to the women’s amazement, all signs of being aught but a humble innkeeper gone. "If so, I’ll need to fetch the sereg e-higil."

Valandil shook his head, noticing the pale looks on his sister and Ercassë’s faces. "Nay, gwador nîn," he said, replying in the same language. "The minor oath is sufficient. I do not like to invoke the major oath unless absolutely necessary."

"That is well," Eärendur said with a sigh of relief, "as I hate having to record it. Every time I do, I feel...." He shook his head, unable or unwilling to say more.

Valandil gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know, Eärendur. I feel the same way whenever I administer it." He stood up and gestured for Vandiel and Ercassë to do the same. "Well, let’s get this over with so I can explain what has happened to Fiondil."

Now Eärendur looked puzzled. "Fiondil? Why? What’s happened to that youngster?"

Valandil gave the other man a grimace. "He’s disappeared and Isildur is gone as well."

The gasp of dismay that came from the innkeeper was telling and now Vandiel and Ercassë exchanged worried looks.

"You said he was safe," Ercassë accused Valandil.

"And as far as I know, he is," Valandil replied, then held up his hand. "Nothing more will I say about this until I have your oaths. You little realize the danger you have put us in by insisting on answers, but I hope to minimize the threat by bringing you into our little... conspiracy."

He gestured to Eärendur, who handed him the sword, while the innkeeper placed the book on the table and opened it to a blank page. He then pulled out a quill and bottle of ink from his apron, preparing himself to record the oaths of the two young ladies. Valandil moved over to the fireplace where there was more room, removing the sword from its sheath. He placed the sheath against the stone of the fireplace and held the sword before him, point down.

"You first, Vandiel," he said gently. "Kneel before me and place your hands on the hilt. Repeat the words after me."

For a moment she did not move, but then, taking a deep breath, went to her brother and knelt before him, the hilt of the sword between her hands. She gave an involuntary shiver when Valandil placed his own hands over hers. She looked up and seemed to see, not her beloved brother and twin, but a lord of Men, puissant and wise beyond his years. She found she had to close her eyes for the light that seemed to shine through him, unearthly and ethereal, little realizing that sometimes that same light shone from her own eyes.

"I, Vandiel Elemmaciliel, give oath unto my lord Valandil, that what is told to me in this room or elsewhere so designated, will be spoken to no one unless given leave to do so by my lord or those whom he hath chosen to speak in his name. May the Valar stand witness, they who sit upon the Thrones in the West, and the One who is above all Thrones forever. Á vala Manwë!"

She was weeping by the time she finished speaking, though she was not sure why. Valandil looked down on her with a gentle smile and brushed his hand through her dark locks to comfort her.

"And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given. Oath-keeping with love, oath-breaking with vengeance." He then took the sword and leaned it against the wall so he could take his sister in his arms and embrace her, giving her a kiss on the cheek, before releasing her and gently leading her to her chair where she sat, still weeping.

Then he took up his sword and gestured to Ercassë. "Now you, my lady," he said with continued gravity.

Ercassë looked uncertain but when Vandiel nodded to her, she knelt before Valandil and repeated the same oath. Surprisingly, she did not weep, but it was a near thing. Valandil could see her forcing the tears back as she stammered her way through the oath. Only after resheathing the sword and then lifting her and kissing her gently on the cheek did she break down and start to weep. He then led her back to her chair. Eärendur, in the meantime, finished recording the oaths with a sigh and gave a sympathetic glance at the two still weeping quietly, before turning to Valandil with a wry smile.

"Even so minor an oath as this seems to affect people very strongly," he commented as he stood up. "I will have something stronger brought for the ladies... and you."

"Thank you, gwador," Valandil said with a grateful smile. "I could use something stronger right about now."

Eärendur nodded, collected both book and sword and with a brief bow, left. Valandil did not resume his seat immediately but stood before the fire gazing fondly at the two young women. Vandiel had managed to get herself under control now and Ercassë was following suit. When the door opened again, they were all relieved to see that it was Eärendur, rather than Calinda, who entered. Obviously, the innkeeper was taking no chances. He had a tray on which was a cut crystal decanter of dark red wine and clean goblets.

"I’ll send Calinda in in a few minutes to clear the table," Eärendur said. "That should give you a bit more time to collect yourselves. Do you wish for anything else at this time, Valandil?"

"Nay, thank you, Eärendur," Valandil replied, accepting the goblet that the innkeeper handed him. "We’re fine for now."

Eärendur nodded, gave them a bow and left them alone again. Valandil took a sip of the heady wine, welcoming its warmth and was glad to see that the color was returning in the faces of his two companions.

"Now, I will tell you what has happened." He took another sip of the wine. "There have been rumors out of Armenelos that Sauron has finally convinced Ar-Pharazôn to burn Nimloth."

The two women gasped at that and Valandil nodded grimly.

"We do not know if the king will actually take such a drastic step. For all that he and his court have forsaken the Valar, they are still just wary enough to believe that the fortunes of the kingdom are tied to the Tree. Destroy Nimloth and the destruction of the nation will surely follow."

"So what does this have to do with Fiondil and Isildur?" Vandiel asked.

"Isildur was determined to save something of Nimloth before it was destroyed," Valandil continued his explanation. "Anárion and I hoped to dissuade him from his plans for they were fraught with danger, but he was adamant. He determined to sneak into Armenelos alone and steal a seed from the Tree. Fiondil, when he learned of Isildur’s plan, decided to join him and watch his back."

"Why would Fiondil..." Ercassë began to ask then stopped, clearly perplexed.

"Because he has been a part of our little conspiracy from the beginning," Valandil explained with a thin smile.

"You mentioned that before," Ercassë said. "What conspiracy?"

"The conspiracy to which you have taken oath," Valandil replied. "No, do not ask anything more, for I will not speak of it at this time. Let us wait for Isildur and Fiondil’s return and then I will have Fiondil tell you what this is all about. It was, after all, his idea to begin with."

Now Ercassë and Vandiel gave him hard looks, but he refused to be baited and merely sat back with a smug smile on his face, sipping his wine.

"Who else knows about where Isildur and Fiondil have gone?" Vandiel asked.

"Besides us, only Anárion. Even Eärendur knows nothing or very little about this. I will have to fill him in eventually, but not at the moment."

"Why not Great-uncle Amandil or Cousin Elendil?" Vandiel then enquired.

Valandil shook his head. "It wasn’t necessary for them to be told. It is very dangerous for them now and they are under constant surveillance by the king’s spies. As it is, Isildur probably had a hard time leaving Rómenna undetected himself."

"So what now?" Ercassë asked.

"Now, you go home and give your parents what comfort they will accept from you. Lord Ardamir may think what he will about his son, but you know differently, though I doubt you can convince him otherwise. Stay silent and be watchful. If I hear any news, I will send for you."

Ercassë looked uncertain about it, but eventually, she nodded, giving Valandil a shrewd look. "You sound as if you are giving me orders," she said. "I little like being treated as if I were a girl-child still playing with her dolls."

"If I truly thought that way about you, mellon nîn," Valandil said softly, "I would never have exacted that oath from you or told you what I know." He stood up and gathered Ercassë’s cloak and placed it around her. "Come, then. I will have Eärendur have one of his people escort you back to your home just in case. There are too many of Ar-Pharazôn’s spies about for my liking."

So saying, he led her out after she and Vandiel exchanged farewells. While he was gone, Calinda came and cleared the meal from the table. Vandiel thanked her and indicated that nothing more was required. Valandil returned just as Calinda left and then he was alone in the parlor with his sister, who gave him a hard look.

"All right, brother," she demanded, "you did not tell Ercassë everything."

"You know me too well," he responded with a weary smile.

"We are twins after all," she replied with a smug smile, and he chuckled. "So, what is it? What are you not saying?"

Valandil sighed and took a sip of wine. "Isildur always meant to go alone. He thought that if too many people knew about what he planned it would prove dangerous for all, so he only told Anárion about it."

"But Fiondil went also..." Vandiel began then stopped to think things through. "Are you saying that Fiondil went without Isildur knowing?" she asked in disbelief. The look her twin gave her sent a frisson of fear coursing through her. "How did Fiondil learn of Isildur’s plan if our cousin didn’t tell anyone and for that matter, how do you know of it?"

"I do not know how Fiondil learned of it and I know about it because he told me and then swore me to secrecy."

"And you didn’t try to stop him?" Vandiel asked in exasperation.

"I have my own oaths to keep, Vandiel," Valandil said soberly and his expression was grave, though not forbidding.

"Have you not broken your oath by telling Ercassë and me?" she asked, sounding worried.

Valandil smiled. "Nay. I gave my oath not to tell our great-uncle or Elendil and I sought Anárion’s permission to speak to you and Ercassë. That’s why I was late meeting you."

"So what do we do now?" she asked with a nod of understanding.

He sighed. "We do the hardest thing in all the world: we wait." He rose then and took Vandiel’s cloak from its hook and held it out to her. "Come. Let us return home."

****

All words are Quenya unlesss otherwise noted.

Yavannië 22: Equivalent to our September 29.

Elendili: Elf-friends, those Númenórëans who remained faithful to the Valar and maintained their friendship with the Eldar.

Attû: (Adûnaic) Father.

Ammî: (Adûnaic) Mother.

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

Nûphî: (Adûnaic) Fools.

Endórë: Middle-earth.

Sereg e-higil: (Sindarin) Blood-knife.

Gwador nîn: (Sindarin) My [sworn] brother.

Á vala Manwë!: "May Manwë order it!" An attested phrase found in War of the Jewels, HoME XI.

Mellon nîn: (Sindarin) My friend.

A Note on Relationships: In a discarded version of the Fall of Númenor [see The Lost Road, HoME V], Tolkien told the story of Amandil’s brother, Elentir, who was either in love with or betrothed to Míriel, the daughter of Tar-Palantir. In that version, Míriel became enamoured of Ar-Pharazôn and went willingly to his bed. Later, Tolkien changed the story so that Míriel was forced into marriage by her cousin and her name was changed to Ar-Zimraphel. In the course of revising the story, Elentir disappeared from canon altogether.

I have reinstated him for purposes of this tale minus the story of his love for Míriel. Instead, he marries Lindórië, a lady of noble blood. Their son, Elemmacil, marries Isilmë, a woman descended from the House of Elros through the second daughter of Tar-Anárion, and they are the parents of the twins, Valandil and Vandiel. Thus, Amandil is their great-uncle and Elendil their first cousin, making Valandil, Vandiel, Isildur and Anárion all second cousins to each other.

4: The Order of the White Stone

Nearly a week went by and there was no word. Ercassë remained in seclusion, for her attû refused to allow even Vandiel to see her, much to her distress.

"Lord Ardamir is being most unreasonable," she complained to her brother, but Valandil merely shrugged, saying that said lord was in his right to order his household as he pleased.

"Well it doesn’t please me!" Vandiel protested and Valandil forced himself not to laugh at his sister’s histrionics.

On the evening of the fifth day, Mardil, the house steward, knocked on the door of Valandil’s study where the young man was poring over some accounts.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, young Master," the steward said with a bow, "but there is a man who wishes to see you."

"Who?" Valandil asked with some annoyance. He was not happy to be disturbed, especially as he’d hoped to finish with these accounts that night. He hated doing accounts and wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

"He did not say, my lord," Mardil said, his expression carefully neutral. "He asked me to give you this. He said you would recognize it."

Mardil then offered something that was in his hand and Valandil took it, now intrigued. It was a small flat white stone, hardly bigger than his palm. Engraved in the stone was the image of a tree. Valandil felt himself grow cold. He had never been offered this particular token in his entire life, for those who would give such had not been seen on the island for almost two hundred years. He looked up at his steward.

"And he wishes to speak to me?" he asked.

The steward appeared somewhat uneasy. "Actually, sir, he said he wished to speak to Lord Elentir."

"My grandfather? But...." He paused and stared at the stone in his hand, thinking. Finally he looked up at his steward. "Show him to the library, Mardil, and then ask Lady Vandiel to join us."

Mardil bowed and left while Valandil took a few moments to mark his place in the accounts book, then stood staring at the token, wondering what it might portend. Shaking himself from his reverie, he made his way towards the library. Entering he saw someone standing by the fireplace, still cloaked with the hood up. The person turned to face him, but Valandil could not see his features. He was somewhat taller than Valandil, and slimmer in form, but that was all that could be seen of him.

"Ki-zêri bith ni-mâ?" Valandil asked, remembering to speak Adûnaic, hoping he didn’t sound too haughty, but this whole thing was making him feel strange and he wasn’t sure how to act.

"Ki-na... Bâr Azrutarik Adûnazîrthôr?" There was doubt in the man’s voice, a voice that was more beautiful than any Valandil had ever heard and he felt his heart lurch at the sound of it.

"No," Valandil said shortly. "I am his grandson, Avalôbêl Gimilzagarthôr. My grandfather died six years ago. Who are you?"

It was only then that the man pulled down his hood and then Valandil saw he wasn’t a Man at all.

"Ki... ki-na nimir!" he exclaimed in shock and silently berated himself for sounding so stupid.

"I am Laurendil Rialcarion. I have come from Tol Eressëa," the Elf answered, this time in Sindarin, with an amused smile.

"But you’re an Elf," was the only thing Valandil could think to say, also speaking Sindarin.

Laurendil gave him a sympathetic smile. "Yes, and I’ve come a long way to deliver a message to your grandfather, but now you say he is dead."

Valandil could only nod. Never in his life did he ever think to see one of the Eldar, for they had not been seen in Númenórë for nearly two centuries, not since Ar-Gimilzôr had issued the Edict of Forbiddance, declaring that no Eldar would be permitted to land on the island and any caught harboring them would be put to death. Now here was one standing in his library and he had no idea what to do about it.

"Forgive me, my lord," Valandil finally said, sounding rather faint to his own ears, "I’m afraid this is all too... confusing."

Laurendil moved gracefully towards the Mortal, his expression one of concern. He took Valandil by the arm and gently led him to one of the chairs beside the fire and bade him to sit while he went to a sideboard and poured some wine from a decanter. He came back and knelt beside the young Man. "Drink this," he commanded softly. "It will help."

Valandil nodded and took a long sip, letting the warmth of the drink do its work. Soon he was feeling more relaxed and less confused. Laurendil remained where he was kneeling, surreptitiously rubbing Valandil’s back to bring him back to a state of calm. When he was sure the Mortal was in no danger of suffering a brainstorm or fainting, he stood up in a single fluid motion and then seated himself in the chair next to Valandil.

"I am sorry my presence has been such a shock to you, Lord Valandil," the Elf said quietly. "It was not my intention."

Valandil nodded. "It’s just that I never expected...."

Laurendil smiled. "Understood. The question remains though... I was to deliver a message to Lord Elentir, but now I do not know...."

"You may give me the message, lord," Valandil said firmly. "I am my grandfather’s heir, for my parents are also deceased."

Laurendil gave him a quizzical look. "Though the lifespan of your people has greatly diminished over time, I did not think it had so diminished that even your parents would be dead by now, for you are yet young in the reckoning of your people, I deem."

"I am forty years old this month, lord," Valandil answered, "and yes, that is still reckoned as young in the counting of the years among my people, but my parents and my grandparents were killed. An accident, or so it was claimed. There was no way to prove otherwise."

The careful manner in which this last was spoken alerted Laurendil. "You think it was more than an accident, then," he said shrewdly.

Valandil gave him a resigned shrug. "It matters not what I think, lord, for the fact of the matter is that my daeradar is dead, as is my adar, and I have inherited their titles and estates... and their secrets."

Valandil looked directly into Laurendil’s eyes when he said the last and he thought that might have been a mistake, for the Mortal could feel himself falling into unimagined depths and he feared he might never reach the bottom. Laurendil could see the effect he was having on the young Man and reached over to shake him a bit, thereby breaking contact.

"Careful, youngster," the Elf said with a smile. "You don’t want to fall too deeply. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

Valandil nodded and felt himself grow warm with embarrassment, as if he were a child caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t by an adult. He was about to apologize when the library door suddenly opened and Vandiel rushed in.

"Valandil, Mardil said you wanted — oh!"

Elf and Man rose at Vandiel’s entrance. Laurendil bowed to the young Woman, giving her a warm smile. Vandiel merely stood there in shock, her face drained of all color. Before Valandil could utter a word, Laurendil was gone from his side and gracefully catching Vandiel in his arms, lifting her up and settling her down on the window seat overlooking the garden awash in moonlight. It was the only place long enough to accommodate her supine form. Valandil recovered enough from his own shock at seeing his sister faint to go to the sideboard and pour out some more wine, bringing it to the Elf. He was heartened to see that Vandiel was coming out of her swoon and accepting the drink, her color slowly returning.

She looked up at Laurendil over the lip of her goblet, her eyes wide. Then, she struggled to sit up and Laurendil and Valandil stepped back to give her room. "You’re an Elf," she said almost accusingly and Laurendil could not help but laugh and even Valandil found himself grinning.

"So I’ve been told," Laurendil said, "and more than once this evening." He gave Valandil a wink and the young Man blushed.

Vandiel, aware of the fact that she was sitting, suddenly rose and dropped a proper curtsey. "Forgive me, my lord," she said contritely. "I meant no disrespect."

"And none was taken," Laurendil said, smiling at this daughter of Men with fondness. But for the coloring of her hair and eyes she could be his own Marilla when she was but an elfling, yet he knew that this maiden standing before him was no child.

Valandil cleared his throat. "Allow me to make thee known to my twin sister, my lord," he said formally. "Lady Vandiel Elemmaciliel of the House of Andúnië, Lord Laurendil Rialcarion of Tol Eressëa."

Vandiel gave the Elf-lord another curtsey. "I give thee greetings, my lord."

Laurendil followed suit with a bow of his own. "Elen síla lúmmen’ omentielvo, herinya."

"Lord Laurendil has a message for Grandfather Elentir," Valandil explained to his sister and Laurendil saw her eyes widen.

Laurendil nodded, turning away and seating himself again before the fire. Brother and sister joined him. He looked upon them gravely. "Now I understand why Lord Amandil gave me such a strange look when I told him I was to seek out his brother. Yet, he did not bother to correct me of my assumption."

Valandil shook his head. "I do not understand myself, lord," he said. "I apologize for the confusion." He paused, staring into the fire blazing in the grate, reflecting on things. "It was six years ago. We were all together — my sister and I, our parents and both sets of grandparents — for Mettarë on Grandfather Elentir’s estate which was located to the north of Rómenna, overlooking the sea. I woke up to the smell of smoke. I tried to open my bedroom door but... but it was bolted from the outside."

Laurendil willed himself to stillness, fearful of breaking the spell of pain and horror the young Man was weaving. He could see Vandiel’s expression had gone blank with remembered pain. His healer’s senses automatically catalogued the rapid heartbeat that was audible to his elvish ears and he kept one eye on the girl while listening to her brother’s tale.

"My bedroom and Vandiel’s was connected by a third room. These rooms were originally the nursery but even when we reached adulthood we preferred those rooms for ourselves whenever we visited our grandparents. We turned the middle room into a sitting room. The door to that room was also bolted and when I entered Vandiel’s room, her door would not open as well. Smoke was billowing in from underneath the door and I had a time getting Vandiel to awaken."

"How did you escape?" Laurendil asked quietly when Valandil stopped for several minutes, presumably reliving that night.

"The nursery was in a separate wing from the rest of the house," Vandiel answered for her brother. "Though it was on the second floor of the house, it actually was level to the hill behind, so that we could easily climb out the window without having to jump." She gave the Elf a stricken look. "No one else made it out alive," she whispered and tears began streaming down her face. "I miss my nana."

Laurendil felt the shock run through his fëa, and though his expression remained carefully neutral, his eyes were full of compassion. "I am so sorry, my children," he said and opened his arms to them. To their surprise, both Mortals found themselves falling into the Elf’s embrace, weeping tears that neither had permitted themselves to cry before this. For Vandiel, it was a moment of release, of finally being able to say farewell to her loved ones. For Valandil, it was the first time he’d allowed himself to properly grieve and he welcomed that Laurendil had given him the permission denied him by others. For several minutes the two Númenórëans wept in Laurendil’s arms until they eventually stilled into calmness. Valandil was the first to extricate himself. He wiped his eyes on the back of his tunic sleeve and sniffed. Vandiel, more practical than her brother, fished out a couple of handkerchiefs from her bodice and handed one to Valandil with a meaningful stare. Laurendil, seeing the interplay between the twins, hid a smile.

Valandil finally turned to Laurendil, his demeanor still subdued but there was a sense of peace about him that the Elf had not felt from him before. "Thank you," Valandil said simply and Laurendil merely gave a single nod of his head.

"You said you were heir to your grandfather’s secrets," Laurendil said, steering the conversation away from the tragedy of six years past back to their present predicament.

"Yes," Valandil replied, standing to replenish their drinks. "When I turned thirty, my adar and daeradar inducted me into the Order." He nodded to where the carved stone lay on a table that stood between the chairs. Vandiel leaned over and picked it up, glancing at it curiously. She cast a quizzical look at her brother and Laurendil.

"What Order are you talking about, muindor?" she asked.

Laurendil gave Valandil a considering look and the Mortal shook his head. "The women of the family are generally not inducted into the Order. In these last centuries we have felt it to be too dangerous."

Vandiel started looking cross. "Are you going to tell me or should I just leave now so you and... your guest can speak in private?" She made to stand, her expression one of haughty dismay. Female she might be, but that did not mean she was stupid. Let them play their little games of secret societies and passwords.

Valandil had the grace to look abashed. "Nay, muinthel," he gestured for her to resume her seat. "Whether you know it or not, you and Ercassë were inducted into the Order the other day when you took oath to me."

Now Vandiel’s eyes widened at the implications of her brother’s words. Laurendil merely sat back and watched the interplay between the twins. Young they were even in the reckoning of their own people, but he could see the depths of their characters and suspected that when they came into their own they would be forces to be reckoned with, though for different reasons. He had the feeling that of the two Vandiel was the more dangerous though even he could not say why.

Valandil turned to Laurendil as he handed the Elf his drink. "Perhaps you would care to explain to my sister, my lord."

Laurendil nodded, taking a sip of the wine, which he found was rather good. "The Order of the White Tree was formed many centuries ago by those of the Eldar who came to Númenórë and the Elendili."

"But none of the Eldar have been seen in nearly two hundred years," Vandiel protested.

Laurendil nodded. "That is true, yet, it seems that the Númenórëans who belonged to the Order at that time continued the tradition among themselves."

"Why are you here, lord?" Valandil asked as he resumed his own seat. "What message were you to give to my daeradar?"

"I was sent to speak to all the Elendili and warn you to be watchful, for Sauron has finally corrupted your king and most of your people."

"You tell us nothing we do not already know," Valandil retorted.

"Perhaps," Laurendil conceded without seeming to take offense at the young Man’s tone. "Yet those who sent me felt this final warning was needful. No longer can the Elendili look to the West for succor. It will not come. What happens here on Númenórë will affect you all, Elendili and Arandili alike."

For a long moment there was silence save for the crackling of the flames of the fire. Valandil stood up and absently stoked the fire a bit before returning to his seat and taking another sip of wine.

Finally Laurendil spoke, his voice soft. "We of Valinor desire to save Númenórë from Sauron and Pharazôn, but I fear it may already be too late."

Valandil nodded in agreement. "As do I. As do many of us of the Order. Isildur went to Armenelos to steal a seed of Nimloth for we have heard rumors that Sauron has convinced Pharazôn to burn the Tree. He went some days ago but there has been no word."

Laurendil gave them a surprised look. "When I spoke with Lord Amandil," he said. "he informed me that Isildur had returned early this morning before dawn."

Both Mortals sat up at that. "He has returned?" Vandiel asked excitedly. "And Fiondil. What of Fiondil?"

Now Laurendil gave them a puzzled look. "Who is Fiondil, child? Isildur returned alone."

"Alone!" Vandiel exclaimed, standing in her agitation. "Where then is Fiondil? What has happened to him?"

Laurendil raised a hand in protest. "Sîdh, hîn nîn," he commanded quietly. "I do not know. Isildur returned alone with a seed of the Tree and even now lies in bed with a fever. That is all I know."

"These are evil tidings, lord," Valandil said with a frown. "Fiondil is our friend. No one among his family knows Fiondil went with Isildur to Armenelos, save his sister, Ercassë."

"Perhaps Isildur will be able to shed some light on the matter," Laurendil suggested.

Vandiel started for the door. "I must go to Ercassë. She must learn what has happened."

"Ardamir will not let you see her," Valandil reminded her.

She stopped and turned, giving her twin a sniff. "Lord Ardamir may think he knows all the secrets of his house, but I assure you he does not. I will bring Ercassë out and meet you at Great-uncle Amandil’s. If what you said is true, Ercassë is as much a member of this Order of yours as I and she has the right to hear what has befallen Fiondil, more so than any of us."

"Your sister speaks truly, young Valandil," Laurendil intervened, for he could see Valandil was ready to argue the point.

"It is too dangerous for her to wander the streets of the town alone," Valandil protested.

"I will have Mardil escort me and then send him back here," Vandiel suggested and Valandil nodded his acceptance with some reluctance.

"Then go, child," Laurendil said with a kind smile. "Bring your friend to Lord Amandil’s. Fear not! We will find your lost Fiondil."

"Walk softly, muinthel nîn," Valandil said, going to her and embracing her. "The king’s spies are everywhere."

"I will," she answered soberly, suddenly realizing that this was not a game. "I will see you at Great-uncle’s. Námarië."

Vandiel then left, calling out to Mardil. Soon Elf and Man heard the front door open and shut. Valandil turned to Laurendil. "Come. Let us hence."

Laurendil grabbed his cloak and put up the hood. Together the two exited the library and soon were outside heading for Amandil’s home where his eldest grandson lay in his bed, newly returned from a reckless venture, wounded and fevered. As the two walked through the darkened streets of Rómenna each wondered as to the fate of another young Man known only to one of them.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Attû: (Adûnaic) Father.

Ki-zêri bith ni-mâ?: (Adûnaic) "You are desiring to speak with me?"

Ki-na... Bâr Azrutarik Adûnazîrthôr?: (Adûnaic) "You are... Lord Elentir Númendilion?"

Avalôbêl Gimilzagarthôr: Adûnaic form of Valandil Elemmacil.

Ki... ki-na nimir!: (Adûnaic) "You... you are an Elf!"

Elen síla lúmmen’ omentielvo, herinya: "A star shines upon the hour of our meeting, my lady".

Mettarë: Yule.

Daeradar: (Sindarin) Grandfather.

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

Nana: (Sindarin) Mama.

Arandili: King’s Men, literally "Friends of the King".

Muindor: (Sindarin) Brother.

Muinthel: (Sindarin) Sister.

Sîdh, hîn nîn: (Sindarin) "Peace, my child". 

Muinthel nîn: (Sindarin) My sister.

5: At the House of Lord Amandil

When Valandil and Laurendil arrived at Lord Amandil’s house, they were met at the door by Hallatan who looked upon them with dismay.

"Good evening, Hallatan," Valandil said, ignoring the steward’s expression. "We’ve come to see Anárion."

"Forgive me, my lords," the house steward said with a short bow, "but Lord Anárion does not wish to see anyone."

"That’s too bad," Valandil retorted with a little heat, "because I want to see him and I want to see him now. We know Isildur has returned. Now, will you announce us or should I just find my own way to my cousin?"

Hallatan sighed and stepped aside to let Valandil and the other in. Valandil gave him a brief smile. "I know you’re only doing your duty, Hallatan, and I appreciate it, but circumstances have changed and I cannot wait on Anárion to be in the mood to see me or anyone else. Other lives besides Isildur’s are at stake."

"I understand, young lord," Hallatan said.

"Good," Valandil replied. "And when my sister and Lady Ercassë arrive, bring them to us, please."

Hallatan sighed again and Valandil did his best not to smile at the put-upon expression the older man tried and failed to hide. "It will be as you say, my lord."

"Where is Anárion, then?"

"In the library," the steward answered. "Lord Elendil is with Lord Isildur. I am not sure where Lord Amandil has gone. He disappeared some time ago."

Valandil nodded. "We’ll find our own way then."

With that, he and Laurendil left the steward at the door waiting for more unwanted visitors. When they reached the library, Valandil knocked once, then entered. Anárion, who had been standing by the fireplace staring morosely at the flames looked up, his expression dark and joyless.

"Valandil!" he exclaimed, "I gave Hallatan explicit orders I didn’t want to be disturbed. This is not a good time."

"Peace, Cousin," Valandil said with some force, "your feelings are not important right now. I hear that Isildur has returned, so where is Fiondil?"

Anárion’s anger subsided and he sighed, sitting in one of the chairs next to the fireplace, placing his head in his hands. "I do not know. Isildur returned alone. He is gravely wounded and has a high fever. He has not spoken since he stumbled in early this morning."

Laurendil, who had kept his hood up, now pulled it back. "Perhaps I can help," he said gently.

Anárion rose in shock when he realized he was in the presence of one of the Firstborn. "Who are you, lord?" he asked, his expression one of awe.

"I am Laurendil Rialcarion," the Elf said with a bow. "I come from Tol Eressëa. I am also a healer."

"If anyone can heal my son, it will be one of the Eldar."

Laurendil turned to see a Man, perhaps the tallest Mortal he had ever seen. Indeed he topped Laurendil himself by several inches and Laurendil was quite tall for one of the Firstborn. The Man was dark of hair and grey of eye and the Light of Stars shone through them. Laurendil had not seen any Mortal’s Light of Being shine so brightly since Beren. The Elf looked upon the Mortal with grave respect, for he could see that Wisdom sat upon his brow and Justice ruled his fëa. This one was a worthy scion of Eärendil and Elros indeed.

The Man smiled and gave the Elf-lord a bow of respect. "Greetings, my lord, I am Elendil son of Amandil, Lord of Andúnië that was."

"Greetings, my lord Elendil," Laurendil replied with a bow that was nearly as deep as Elendil’s had been. "We are well met. Where lies your son?"

"Come," Elendil gestured. "I will take you to him."

Just then, Hallatan appeared at the open doorway. "My lords, Lady Vandiel and Lady Ercassë," he announced before stepping aside to allow the two young ladies entry. Both women stopped and offered those within their proper curtsies.

"Greetings, Cousin," Elendil said, going to Vandiel and helping her to rise, giving her a kinsman’s kiss, "and you, my dear." He turned to Ercassë and gave her a kiss as well. "But why are you here, child?"

Valandil stepped forward. "Forgive me, Cousin," he said, "but we decided Ercassë should be here to hear what news there might be about Fiondil. We understand he did not return from Armenelos. We were hoping that Isildur could tell us what has happened to him."

Anárion spoke up. "He has not spoken of Fiondil. His fever is very high and his wounds are many and grave. He speaks of nothing." He hesitated then and looked down at his feet. "We... we fear he may be dying."

"But what has happened to Fiondil?" Ercassë demanded with frustration tinged with fear for her brother. "Where is he?"

Elendil took her into his embrace, rubbing her back to calm her. "Child, until this evening, even I did not know that my heir was gone from Rómenna. We know nothing more than that Isildur lies near death."

"With your permission, Lord Elendil," Laurendil said, "allow Lady Ercassë to come with me to see your son. I could use her aid."

Ercassë gave them all a confused look. "But why..."

Laurendil went to her and took her hands into his, smiling down at her gently. "I sense that you have the soul of a healer within you, child," he said quietly. "I think you will be of help here and you do have a stake in seeing Isildur get well, for only he holds the answers to your brother’s fate that we seek."

Ercassë looked between Elendil and Laurendil, indecision written all over her. Her feelings of confusion and fear for her brother were slowly being replaced by awe at the sight of one of the Firstborn standing before her. She glanced at her friend, Vandiel, who gave her a nod and a smile of encouragement, then turned back to the Elf and Lord Elendil. "If you think I can help," she replied shyly.

"Yes, I do," Laurendil said simply but with much sincerity.

Elendil gave the Elf a considering look, then nodded. "So be it. Come, my child, we will see Isildur together." So saying, he led Ercassë and Laurendil out. Hallatan, who had stood by in case he was needed, bowed and then closed the library doors, leaving the twins alone with Anárion.

"Where is Great-uncle?" Vandiel asked as she sat in one of the chairs by the fire.

"Out in the garden, planting the seed of Nimloth that Isildur managed to bring back," Anárion replied as he handed her a goblet of wine. He gave Valandil a measured look. "So how did you happen to meet an Elf-lord?" he asked diffidently.

"He came to our house bearing a message for our grandfather," Valandil replied. "He came bearing a stone of the Order. He said he spoke with Great-uncle this morning."

Anárion raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"You’re asking me?" Valandil retorted with a laugh.

"So did he give you the message instead?" Anárion enquired, sipping on his wine.

Valandil nodded. "He was sent by the Valar to tell the Elendili that we cannot look to the West for succor. I think the Valar mean for us to fight Sauron ourselves. We cannot expect a repeat of the War of Wrath."

Anárion stared reflectively at the fire, sipping his own wine. Valandil and Vandiel remained quiet while he thought. "I feared this," he finally said quietly. "Daeradar said this day would perhaps come."

"And thus it has, daerion."

All three looked up to see the Lord of Andúnië standing in the doorway. Amandil son of Númendil was not as tall as his son Elendil, yet there was a presence about him that made him seem taller than he was. His once dark hair was now silver, for he was nearly three hundred years old, yet he was still hale and his grey-blue eyes were bright and aware.

"Daeradar!" Anárion exclaimed as he rose to greet Amandil. "We did not hear you come in."

Valandil and Vandiel had also risen and now went to their great-uncle to give him their greetings. Amandil’s eyes lit up when he saw his late brother’s grandchildren. He opened his arms to them and gave them hugs. "How fare ye, my children?" he asked, kissing them.

"We are well, Uncle Amandil," Valandil said, returning his kiss with one of his own, "but we are troubled by what has happened."

"Uncle Amandil," Vandiel said as she and Vandiel led Amandil towards the fire while Anárion went to the sideboard to pour some wine for his grandfather, "Fiondil went with Isildur to Armenelos, but he did not return."

Amandil sighed and gave Anárion a nod of thanks as he accepted the goblet before sitting down. Vandiel perched herself on the arm of his chair and wrapped her arms about him. "I know, my child," he answered. "Isildur thought to keep his journey a secret from me, but I knew, and I knew Fiondil went with him."

The three cousins gave Amandil looks of surprise.

"How?" Vandiel asked.

"Because Fiondil spoke to me before following Isildur."

"And now," Valandil said with a worried sigh, "Isildur lies wounded and Fiondil is perhaps captured or...."

He did not finish his thought, but all knew what he meant. Vandiel refused to accept it, though. She sat up straight and glared at her twin. "No! Do not speak of it. Fiondil lives."

"We pray that it is so, child," Amandil said soothingly, rubbing her back, "but if he was captured, he will not be alive for long."

Vandiel still refused to see what the men all knew. "Wh-what do you mean, Uncle Amandil?" she whispered fearfully.

Amandil gave his great-niece a penetrating stare. "You understand what is the fate of the Elendili who are captured by Sauron, Vandiel," he said baldly, refusing to coddle her. She was young and it grieved him to spoil her sense of innocence but he knew that willfully ignoring reality would only lead to trouble for her and others.

She paled and her lips trembled and finally she nodded but did not speak, merely collapsing into her great-uncle’s embrace, silently weeping.

Valandil and Anárion exchanged sad looks but neither spoke while Amandil did his best to comfort his beloved brother’s granddaughter.

****

Laurendil was surprised when Elendil led him and Ercassë, not to the second floor bedrooms, but further along the central hallway towards the kitchen. Elendil, perhaps sensing the Elf’s confusion, turned and gave him a smile. "My son managed to enter the lower garden, but collapsed just inside the gate. My adar found him, as it is his custom to walk through the gardens at sunrise. Between us and Anárion, we managed to get him inside but decided, given the nature of his wounds, that it would be better for him to be hidden from the rest of the household."

He led them towards a small storeroom off the kitchen that housed shelves full of staples and dry goods. Going to the wall opposite the door, Elendil pressed a stud and part of the shelving opened up silently to reveal a hidden chamber. Laurendil gave the Man an appraising look.

Elendil returned the look with a thin smile. "Dangerous times...."

Laurendil merely nodded as the three of them entered the small room, made smaller by their presence. There was not much in it, just a narrow bed, night table, chair and a small clothespress. There were also no windows, but Laurendil detected a series of air vents near the ceiling and what light there was came from a single oil lamp. Looking to the bed, Laurendil saw a young Man whose features were so close to those of the Man standing next to him that there was no doubt as to his parentage. In spite of the swath of bandages covering him there was no doubt that this was Isildur, eldest son of Elendil. At the moment, though, it was obvious that the young Man was gravely ill and Laurendil’s healer’s instincts took over as he automatically catalogued Isildur’s state. He frowned. Clearly this Child of Men was cuivië-lancassë.

Laurendil stepped to the bed and held his hands above the Man’s body, closing his eyes and softly singing an invocation. The two Mortals with him remained silent. He could sense Elendil’s interest mingled with concern while Ercassë radiated naked curiosity mingled with confusion at the reason for her being there. Then he put all thoughts of the Mortals aside to concentrate on the Man tossing and turning in a dark fever.

Isildur’s wounds, while serious, were not life-threatening. It was the wounding of the young Man’s spirit that troubled Laurendil the most. He came out of his meditation to question Elendil. "Have you any asëa aranion?"

Elendil nodded. "Naneth swore by it and always insisted that we grow some in the kitchen garden." He gave the Elf a deprecating grin. "Adar insisted it was but a weed, but knew enough not to argue with Naneth in her own domain. Even though she is gone from us, we still grow it in her memory, though Isildur would say we did it out of fear of her returning to haunt us."

Laurendil raised an amused eyebrow but otherwise did not comment on that last. He had always been intrigued by the superstitious beliefs of the Edain and their fear of what they called ghosts. It amused him to see that even here among the more enlightened Númenórëans, such beliefs still lingered. Well, regardless, there was Isildur to tend to.

"Your naneth was very wise," was all he said.

"How much do you need?" Elendil asked, gazing at his son with a troubled look.

Laurendil put a hand on the Man’s arm. "His wounds are indeed serious, but it is his fëa, his spirit, that needs the most attention at this moment. Four leaves will be sufficient as well as a bowl of boiling water and some clean cloths."

Elendil nodded. "I’ll see to it." With that he stepped out and carefully closed the door. Ercassë, who had remained silent all this time, standing against the wall that faced the foot of the bed, gave a gasp of fear as the door closed.

Laurendil gave her a comforting smile and held her face between his hands, gazing intently into her eyes. "There is nothing to fear, child," he said softly, willing calmness. "Lord Elendil is right to be cautious in closing the door that this room remain secret. He will return anon. In the meantime, I would like you to sit here." He led her to the chair while he sat on the edge of the bed. "When Lord Elendil returns with the asëa aranion, I want you to dip the cloths in the water and bathe Isildur’s brow."

"Is that all, lord?" Ercassë asked uncertainly.

"It will be enough," Laurendil answered her. "I will do the rest."

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure she truly understood. The presence of the Elf-lord both excited and frightened her and she didn’t know why. Laurendil, meanwhile, started softly singing again, stroking Isildur’s sweat-soaked brow. The Man’s dark hair was limp and lifeless, his features tight with pain and something else, something dark. Ercassë found herself unconsciously beginning to relax and was startled when the door opened again to reveal Elendil there bearing a tray on which sat a large bowl of steaming water and several dark green leaves of the asëa aranion plant.

Laurendil nodded at the Man. "Thank you. That was quick."

"There was already water boiling on the hob," Elendil said as he placed the tray on the floor next to the bed for the table by the bed was already occupied by the oil lamp and a few medical supplies.

Laurendil reached down and took the leaves in his hands, breathing on them and crushing them between his fingers, before dropping them into the cooling water. The air, stuffy and smelling of illness, now lightened with the fresh smell of the sea and green earth. Ercassë felt herself becoming relaxed and refreshed. Even Isildur’s features smoothed somewhat as the fever lessened its hold on him.

"Take up the cloths, Ercassë, and bathe his brow," Laurendil said softly and the maiden did as she was bid, dipping the cloth into the scented water and beginning to wipe Isildur’s face with it. Almost at once the Man gave a sigh, as of relief, and his tossing quieted. Laurendil held a hand above Isildur’s heart and closed his eyes, singing softly. He felt himself slipping further into a meditative state, searching for the fëa of the Man who had suffered more than physical wounds in his desperate mission to save something of the White Tree. It grieved the Elf that that particular gift of the Eldar to Elros Eärendilion was about to be destroyed. He feared it would spell the beginning of the end of this fair island.

Mentally shaking his head, he returned his concentration to finding Isildur’s fëa which apparently was lost in darkness and despair. Not really understanding how it worked he ‘found’ himself standing on an endless plain. The plain was covered with grass and there was the sweet scent of flowers in the air, and the light was everywhere and nowhere. He cast his senses about, searching for the one who was lost and detected a familiar presence. Smiling, he began walking.

*Greetings, child.*

Laurendil stopped and looked about. Lord Irmo stood there smiling at his protégé. He was dressed in a simple white velvet tunic with flowing sleeves, his personal emblem of the rainbow embroidered on the front. A belt of linked leaf-shaped mithril with amethyst flowers in between graced his middle. His dark auburn locks were bound by a thin coronet of mithril with a single cut amethyst.

*My lord,* Laurendil thought, giving the Vala a bow and a cheeky grin, *checking up on me so soon?*

Irmo laughed. *Nay, child,* he countered. *I merely wished to see how you are faring.*

Laurendil gave a shrug. *Well enough for now.* Then he paused, his expression becoming accusatory. *Master, why did Lord Námo not tell me that Lord Amandil’s brother, Elentir, was already dead? I was never so embarrassed as I was when I learned the truth from his own grandchildren. I little like being made to look foolish, especially before one of the Afterborn.*

It wasn’t quite a reprimand, but it was very close and Irmo’s expression became unreadable to the Elf. *The reasons for my brother’s actions are his own, child, and I will not enlighten you. Suffice to say that it was needful for you to learn this on your own. You were sent not just to deliver a message that any could have delivered, as you pointed out to us. It was your healing skills that are most needed here, as I think you can see for yourself and I do not speak solely about the one for whom you are seeking in this place.* He gestured at the featureless plain on which they stood.

Laurendil sighed and shook his head. *Nay, Lord, you are correct in saying that there is more than one person in need of healing. Those poor children....*

*And yourself,* Irmo said with much gentleness.

Laurendil looked up at the Vala and it was several minutes before he nodded, recognizing the truth of his master’s words. *And myself.*

Irmo smiled and reached out to take Laurendil’s head between his hands, bending down to give the Elf a kiss on his brow. *The one whom you seek is behind you, child. Lead him hence, for it is not yet his time to cross over and enter my brother’s domain.*

Then Irmo was no longer there and Laurendil turned to see Isildur who had a quizzical look on his face. *Who are you?* the Mortal demanded, though there was no sense of belligerence in his tone.

*A friend, child,* Laurendil answered with a smile, holding out his hand. *I am here to lead you home. You want to go home, do you not?* he asked when he saw the Man hesitate.

*Home....* Isildur looked at the Elf with much longing. *Where is my home?*

*Take my hand and I will show you.*

It was some time though before Isildur moved to take Laurendil’s hand, but as soon as he did, Laurendil grasped it tightly and then with a single thought, brought them both back into their hröar. He felt the familiar sense of disorientation that quickly passed and then he opened his eyes. Isildur’s eyes were still closed and he did not think the Mortal would regain complete consciousness any time soon, yet he could sense that the Man’s fëa was firmly bound to its hröa once again. Already Laurendil could tell that Isildur’s fever had broken and his skin was cooling. Laurendil sighed and looked at Ercassë still plying the cloths to Isildur’s brow. He reached over and stopped her ministrations.

"His fever has broken," he said quietly. "You may stop now."

Ercassë nodded and put the wet cloth back on the tray by her feet. Laurendil felt Elendil stir where he had stood beside them. "He will recover?" the Man asked.

Laurendil looked up at the tall Mortal and smiled. "It will be a long road, but yes, he will recover."

Elendil closed his eyes and Laurendil could see him mouthing something, no doubt a prayer of thanksgiving to the Valar.

"When his wounds are healed somewhat, I suggest he be moved to his own room," Laurendil said as he stood and stretched. "I think he will recover more quickly in more familiar surroundings."

Elendil nodded, looking down on his firstborn, the look of love and concern on his face evident to Elf and maiden. The Man looked at the elven healer and gave him a deep bow. "Thank you for your aid, lord, and yours as well, my dear." He turned and bowed to Ercassë, giving her a warm smile.

The maiden blushed. "It was little enough, lord," she whispered.

"Perhaps," Elendil said with a nod, "but I thank you anyway. Now, should we not rejoin the others? There is much to be discussed."

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, there is. First, though, we should change the bedding and such now that the fever has broken. It would do your son little good to be lying on sweat-soaked sheets."

Elendil nodded and turned to Ercassë. "Along this hallway on the other side is a linen cupboard. If you would go and bring what we need, Lord Laurendil and I will do the rest."

Ercassë got up and left, returning within a few minutes with clean linen. During her absence, Laurendil and Elendil had replaced Isildur’s stained nightshirt with a clean one from the clothespress. Soon, Isildur was once again ensconced in his bed under clean sheets, never having regained consciousness, though he again seemed restless.

Laurendil placed his hand on Isildur’s brow, whispering a brief invocation. Satisfied that all had been done for him that could be done, the Elf turned to the other two Mortals. "I have placed your son in healing sleep. He will not awaken for some time. Let us leave him to his rest."

Elendil nodded and opening the secret door, allowed Laurendil and Ercassë to exit before following them, closing the door again, leaving Isildur alone in dreamless sleep.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Fëa: Soul, spirit.

Daerion: (Sindarin) Grandson.

Cuivië-lancassë: Literally, "on the brink of life", describing a perilous situation in which one is likely to fall into death.

Asëa Aranion: Athelas, kingsfoil.

Amethyst: A gemstone that is often worn by healers, as it has the power to focus energy.

Hröar: Plural of hröa: Body.

Note on Amandil’s age: Elendil, Amandil’s son, was born in Second Age 3119 according to Tolkien [see The Peoples of Middle-earth, HoME XII]. He was 90 years old when his oldest son, Isildur was born in 3209. Assuming a similar age for Amandil when Elendil was born, I have put Amandil’s birth year at 3025, making him 270 at this time.

6: The Intentions of Maidens

As Laurendil followed Elendil into the library, ushering Ercassë before him, they were greeted by Anárion asking his father about Isildur.

"Lord Laurendil was able to bring his fever down, but..." He turned to the Elf, his eyes full of questions and doubt.

"His wounds are very grave," Laurendil said. "Only time will tell. I had to search for his fëa for it had wandered far, but I believe in time Isildur will recover."

Amandil came before Laurendil and bowed deeply. "Greetings again, my lord. I thank you for the care you have given my daerion."

Laurendil bowed to the Lord of Andúnië. "I am a healer, my lord Amandil," he explained. "It is beholden on me to relieve misery in hröa or fëa whenever or wherever I see it."

Amandil nodded. "Nevertheless, we thank you. Come, let us sit and take our ease and we will discuss what needs doing next."

They all gathered around the fireplace, Anárion and Valandil moving additional chairs for all to sit. Drinks were pressed into people’s hands and for a time there was no speech among them. Finally, though, Ercassë could stand it no longer and casting a glance at Elendil she spoke up. "I am glad that thy son recovereth from his wounds, lord," she said stiffly, "but I would fain learn the fate of my brother. Hath Isildur said nothing concerning Fiondil?"

"Nay, child," Elendil said sorrowfully. "He has not. Indeed, I did not even know young Fiondil was missing until this evening. It is thy brother’s fate which we must now discuss."

"I could go to Armenelos and discover what has happened," Valandil volunteered with some hesitation. "I am not so closely watched as you are, Great-uncle, or even my cousins."

"That is true," Amandil said gravely, "but that is not to say that you aren’t watched."

"You would need an excuse to leave Rómenna," Anárion suggested.

Valandil nodded, his eyes hooded as he thought. No one spoke. Laurendil sat and waited. It was not for him to say aye or nay to any plans these Mortals made for themselves. He had delivered his message and as far as he was concerned his duty to the Valar was accomplished. Yet, something about all this did not sit right with him and he thought perhaps there was more for him here. Both Findaráto and Lord Manwë had insisted that he needed to come to Númenórë for closure and he had not yet accomplished that. He wasn’t sure how he would, but for now he was content to allow events to unfold as they would. His primary goal was to leave the island alive.

It was Vandiel who came up with a solution. She sat up straight and gave her brother a faint smile. "Did you not promise me and Ercassë a trip to Khibîlhazid?" she asked, naming a region to the northwest that lay approximately halfway between Rómenna and Armenelos. It was a popular spot known for its therapeutic hot springs and a favorite haunt of nobles and rich merchants alike. Several nobles had lodges in the region, including one owned by the Lords of Andúnië from earlier times when said lords would be in the capital during Council sessions and would escape to the Springs for rest and relaxation. Vandiel had not been to the family lodge since a young girl, though Valandil had been there on occasion with his older cousins.

Laurendil watched Valandil consider his sister’s suggestion, the young Man’s brow furrowed in thought. The Elf was well aware of the geography of the island, for maps had been obtained for him and he had studied them closely while en route to Númenórë. Valandil looked up at his twin and his expression cleared somewhat. "It might just work. I could leave you at the lodge and continue...."

"Nay, brother," Vandiel interrupted. "I will go on to Armenelos with you."

"Vandiel..." her twin started to protest.

"Nay, Valandil," Vandiel insisted. "I will go with you. You will not leave me behind at the lodge to be sent for when you decide it’s convenient for you to do so."

"As will I," Ercassë said quietly.

Valandil stood, his expression edging towards anger. "Are you both insane?" he nearly shouted. "This trip is dangerous enough without you two making things worse. You do not understand what is at stake."

Ercassë jumped up, her eyes dark with fury. "Fiondil is my brother, in case that little detail slipped your memory," she said with thinly veiled sarcasm and all saw Valandil flinch slightly at her tone. "I will go with you and Vandiel. One of us has to make sure you don’t do something stupid."

The smugness and utter feminine certainty in her tone and Vandiel’s own smirk caused Laurendil to laugh out loud. He was reminded of his own beloved Manwen and even his daughter. It seemed that whatever their race, females were very condescending towards their male counterparts, believing them incapable of performing the simplest of tasks without getting themselves killed. Thinking about it he suspected that they weren’t too far from the truth in that belief considering some of the phenomenally stupid things he had done in his own youth.

"The daughters of Men are valiant," Laurendil said to Valandil. "I don’t think you have the mastery here, Valandil." Valandil simply scowled and crossed to one of the windows, looking out onto the dark garden. A waning moon shone fitfully from above as clouds occluded Tilion’s barge.

Elendil gave the Elf a jaundiced look. "You mean, they are reckless." He turned to the maidens. "What you ask is impossible, Cousin, Ercassë. Valandil speaks truly. The journey is very dangerous."

Laurendil gave them all a brilliant smile. "Very dangerous indeed, but impossible? No, indeed not."

Amandil gave him a quizzical look. "What are you saying, my lord? Surely you do not think these maidens should travel to Armenelos? None of the Faithful are safe there. Valandil going will be risky enough, but the risks will multiply if Vandiel and Ercassë go as well."

"I understand," Laurendil said with a sympathetic look at the Mortals, "but I think you would be wise to allow them to go."

"But why?" Elendil asked, clearly perplexed.

Laurendil cast his eyes to the floor, not entirely sure himself, yet the thought of these two maidens, who reminded him so much of his own daughter, going to Armenelos just seemed right. It was not exactly foreseeing, yet it had the flavor of it. He looked up again and the Mortals had to glance away at the Light that shone from the Elf’s eyes. "My heart warns me that it is necessary for them to go."

Amandil sighed, clearly not happy but resigned. "Then, they will go."

"Daeradar, is this wise?" Anárion asked, speaking for the first time since the discussion had begun.

Amandil gave his grandson a wry smile. "When one of the Eldar speaks, daerion, it is best to listen."

"You are wise, Lord Amandil, in heeding my words," Laurendil said gravely. "I pray that that wisdom will save you from what is to come."

Amandil bowed his head to the Elf. "I only hope it will be enough, for me and my people." Then he looked at Valandil, who had turned back to join the rest of them. "When will you leave for Khibîlhazid?" he asked his great-nephew.

Valandil shrugged. "Tomorrow is Tárion," he said musingly.

"Rather precipitous," Elendil interjected. "Yet, time is of the essence. Fiondil’s fate must be learned and if it is possible he must be rescued."

"And how do we convince Lord Ardamir to allow his daughter to leave when his son is still missing?" Anárion added.

Ercassë glanced around the room, then sighed. "I will simply not return home this night," she said quietly. "Perhaps a message can be sent to my ada in the morning informing him that I have gone with Vandiel to Khibîlhazid, not wishing to remain under his roof when he is being so unreasonable."

Amandil frowned. "Your adar deserves better than that from you, child," he chided her gently. "Ardamir is a hard man but he is not cruel and however he may feel about Fiondil he loves you dearly and running away may well break him. It will certainly devastate your naneth."

Ercassë reddened at the reprimand and would not look at anyone, not even Vandiel, who clasped her hand in sympathy.

"What if Vandiel were to ask for her?" Valandil suddenly asked. All turned to him with questioning looks. "I mean, what if it is put out that my sister has fallen and is confined to bed until her injuries heal and she asks Lord Ardamir to allow Ercassë to attend her best friend?"

"That gets Ercassë out of her adar’s house without disrupting things too much," Laurendil said. "but then what? You still need to leave Rómenna. How will you accomplish that so it looks innocent to those whom we wish to deceive?"

Valandil nodded. "I will announce that I have decided to take my sister to Khibîlhazid to recuperate from her... er... accident, since the Springs are well known for their healing properties." He gave his twin a wide grin and she smiled back. "We can make it a spectacle for the Arandili."

"That solves the problem of getting you three out of Rómenna," Laurendil said, "but it does not get me out. I do not think I should be seen with you when you leave."

"Do not concern yourself, my lord," Valandil replied, his eyes bright with secret mirth. "As I said, I am heir to my daeradar’s titles, estates, and secrets, and daeradar had several of those. There will be a way for you to leave the house undetected."

Laurendil gave the young Man a measured look, then nodded. "I leave the details to you, then, youngster."

"I will have one of my people escort Lady Ercassë home," Amandil said with a smile to the young maiden. "I assume that you are not here with your adar’s blessings, are you child?"

Ercassë shook her head, reddening slightly in embarrassment. "No, lord. I have a way of... of leaving and entering the house without ada or nana knowing. Fiondil..." she stopped for a moment, a slight hitch in her voice, before continuing her explanation. "Fiondil showed me it some years ago when he was... was in the habit of sneaking in and out of the house at all hours."

Amandil nodded. "Then I trust you will have no trouble entering your home unseen." Ercassë merely shook her head again but did not speak.

"What about me?" Vandiel asked, looking slightly amused. "When should I have my... er... accident?"

Valandil chuckled at his twin. "We will return home now ourselves and that will be time enough. I will even send for a healer. Imrahil is one of us," he said, naming one of the Masters of the Healer’s Guild. "He’ll go along with the ruse. Then, if Ercassë is at the house by noon, we can leave shortly thereafter," Valandil replied. "We will indeed spend the first night in Khibîlhazid, then make our way to Armenelos. We can be in the capital by evening three days from now."

Laurendil stood then and gave them all a brilliant smile. "Then, I will go with you to Armenelos, if I may, for my road lies westward."

Valandil merely nodded, silently wondering if the inclusion of one of the Firstborn in this mad escapade would make things better or worse.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Khibîlhazid: (Adûnaic) Seven Springs.

Tárion: Also called Valanya; the last and chief day of the week in the Númenórëan calendar.

7: Voyage to Khibîlhazid

Their plan went forward with little trouble. Lord Ardamir was somewhat reluctant to allow Ercassë to leave the house, but he did not have any reason to forbid her going. Beside the fact that Lady Vandiel was his daughter’s closest friend, she and Lord Valandil were close kin to Lord Amandil, his own overlord. Lord Valandil’s patronage, therefore, was not to be despised nor his wishes ignored. So, Ercassë arrived shortly before the noon meal and while she and Vandiel finished up with the packing, Valandil showed Laurendil how he might leave the house unseen while the three Númenórëans took a more visible route.

"There is a tunnel that leads under the garden and debouches near the quays," Valandil explained to Laurendil as the two of them sat in the library pouring over maps of Númenórë and more specifically, a floor plan of the townhouse that showed the tunnel. "You can leave the house from there and meet us at the quay."

"How do you intend for us to reach Khibîlhazid?" Laurendil asked, studying the maps.

Valandil pointed to the map of Rómenna indicating a firth just to the northeast of the haven. "We could go by horse and carriage, though in doing so we will end up having unwanted company," Valandil said with a wry grin and Laurendil grinned back, knowing full well what the young Mortal meant. "Instead we can take an alternate route. My family owns a yacht. It’s tied to the quay that is just where the tunnel opens up. I will make sure only my people are there to help you into the boat unseen. Once we’re all aboard, we will set sail." He tapped the map. "This firth extends well inland in a northwest-southeast direction. It’s rather narrow, more like a gorge, but it shallows out the further inland you go. There’s a good landing stage at the head of the firth where we can acquire horses and continue on our way. Going to Khibîlhazid in this manner is typical. No one will comment on it. The beauty of this route is that there is no way anyone can follow us without us knowing it."

Laurendil nodded. "It is well, then. How long will it take to reach the lodge?"

Valandil shrugged. "If all goes well, we will reach the lodge around sunset. I’ve sent some of my people ahead to prepare the place for us." He gave the Elf-lord a wry grin. "Too bad we won’t really be staying. It’s rather a good place for bird-watching and the hot springs are quite relaxing. I haven’t been there for several years now."

Laurendil gave him a small smile. "Perhaps when this is all over you can take your sister and your friends there and stay for a time."

"Perhaps," Valandil said doubtfully, "although it’s getting colder and in another month no one will bother to go there." He shrugged. "Best to wait and see what happens first. Fiondil is what is important now."

"You are correct, youngling," Laurendil agreed. "Your friend’s safety is paramount. I only hope we are in time. I know full well the fate of those among the Elendili who are caught by the king and... and Sauron." He grimaced at the name and Valandil had the distinct feeling that there was more to it than just general distaste for speaking Zigûr’s name.

"Well, as to that," Valandil said with a sigh, "we won’t know until we get to Armenelos."

****

"You should arrive at the quay before us," Valandil said to Laurendil as they were about to depart. They were standing before the hidden panel in the library that opened onto a set of stairs leading down towards the tunnel. "When you get to the other end, someone will be there to see you safely aboard our boat. We should be along soon after."

Laurendil nodded, gave the young Mortal a brief embrace and smile and, taking the lit torch that Valandil handed him, made his way down the stairs. Only when he reached the bottom did Valandil close the panel behind him.

The tunnel proved to be dry and well made, the walls brick-lined, the ceiling shored up with heavy beams. Even the floor was smooth with a paving of slate. Rather than encumbering himself with his rucksack, that was safely stowed away with the other supplies that were taken to the yacht earlier. He grinned at the memory of Vandiel with her ankle neatly wrapped and her face artfully made up to look as if she’d received some bruising in her fall. Ercassë had snickered at the look of disbelief that Valandil had given his sister and Laurendil had had to hide a smile when he noticed the house steward, Mardil, rolling his eyes.

According to Valandil, the tunnel was less than a third of a league in length and it did not take him long to reach the end. He’d been assured that other Elendili would be there but he was glad that the door at the end of the tunnel had a peephole that allowed him to view his surroundings before committing himself to stepping outside. Looking through the peephole he saw only a single Mortal standing just before the boat that was moored at the end of the quay. He was wrapped in a nondescript cloak with the hood up. The Man turned his head slightly towards the tunnel entrance and Laurendil was relieved to recognize Elendil’s younger son, Anárion.

He found the latch as Valandil had described it and cautiously opened the door, extinguishing the torch as he did so. He saw Anárion walk casually towards him and taking a quick look around gestured to him. Laurendil stepped out of the tunnel.

"Welcome, my lord," Anárion said in a low voice. Laurendil acknowledged the Mortal’s greeting with a nod then turned to assure that the tunnel entrance was concealed. He was surprised to find that even on this side it appeared to be an actual door and gave Anárion a quizzical look which Anárion returned with a grin.

"Hide in plain sight," Anárion said, pointing to several other similar doors situated along a bluff overlooking the bay. "But if you check, you will find that the knob of this door does not turn. To access the tunnel from this side, one needs the proper key. These other doors, however, are real enough and lead into storerooms for sailing and fishing gear."

Laurendil nodded his understanding, pleased at the cleverness, indeed the very deviousness of the Men who had designed the secret tunnel. Almost elvish, he thought with a smile and quickly followed Anárion along the quay towards the yacht. It was not very large, perhaps not more than sixty feet in length with a beam of about thirty feet with a shoal-draft. It seemed unlikely then, that the yacht was ever used to sail beyond the safety of the haven into the open sea. Neatly painted on the side of the boat was the name Uinéniel.

"I am surprised to see you acting as my guide, Lord Anárion," Laurendil said as they reached the gangplank and made their way aboard. There were no others around the quay and Laurendil wondered vaguely how they had managed it, but assumed that Lord Amandil was just powerful enough to assure complete privacy if needed.

Anárion shrugged and gave the Elf-lord a wry grin. "If the situation were not so grave with my brother, I would have liked to have joined you in your adventure," the younger son of Elendil confessed. "As it is, this is as close to it as I can come and I will do what I can to aid you and my cousins." His smile left him and he gave Laurendil a grim look. "Fiondil is a good friend to me and Isildur. We rather look upon him and Ercassë as if they were our cousins as well. It would grieve us all if Fiondil were to end his days as a sacrifice to Zigûr’s hatred for the Elendili."

Laurendil nodded. "I understand and I thank you for your aid."

He looked with interest as Anárion showed him around while they were waiting for the others to arrive. "There are usually two crewmen," Anárion explained. "Their berths are fore. Between their berths and the salon and galley are two suites. I suspect you and Valandil will share one while the two maidens will share the other."

Laurendil had little experience with boats or ships of any kind. He had not been in a position when he set sail to Aman earlier in the Second Age to appreciate Círdan’s workmanship, as wounded in spirit and in need of healing as he had been, though he did not realize it at the time. Even during his time in Tol Eressëa he had tended to avoid the havens of Avallonë and Tavrobel, preferring to live in Kortirion. When he had returned to Tol Eressëa to take ship to Númenórë, he had not spent much time exploring the ship which Lord Ulmo had had built to the Lord of Water’s specifications for Laurendil’s exclusive use. He had spent the majority of the voyage in meditation, contemplating the mission given him.

"It appears to be well-kept," Laurendil said as they came back on deck after Anárion had shown him the cabins below. He was not sure if that was the proper term to use for a boat, but did not know how else to say it.

Anárion nodded. "Valandil is an avid sailor, though not as much of one as Tar-Aldarion," he said with a chuckle. Laurendil smiled, and nodded, though he knew little about the history of the island. He had been given a brief summary of the history of the Line of Elros, so was at least familiar with the name, if nothing else. "Ah," Anárion said, looking up, "they’re coming." He pointed towards the north side of the bay and Laurendil’s elvish eyes saw a rather interesting sight that nearly made him laugh aloud.

Valandil and Vandiel had apparently decided to make a spectacle of their departure. Valandil had hired an open carriage for his sister and Ercassë. Laurendil wasn’t sure why an open carriage until he noticed Vandiel playing the ill-tempered invalid for all she was worth. His superior hearing had picked up her ranting at Valandil while Ercassë attempted to soothe her friend. Valandil did a very good job of being the put-upon brother who was only trying to do what was best for his sister as he rode beside the carriage on a bay horse.

"The hot springs will do you good, sister," he heard Valandil say in an exasperated tone, his features darkening towards barely suppressed fury, though Laurendil could almost see the twinkle of amusement in the young Man’s eyes even from this distance.

"But I don’t want to go to Khibîlhazid!" Vandiel fairly screamed. "There’s nothing to do there except sit in a pool of hot water!"

"Which is the whole point, Vandiel," Valandil stated, gritting his teeth. "Healer Imrahil said you were not to do anything until your ankle healed. And the waters will help with that."

"But I can do that just as easily here," she protested.

"You’re the one who’s been nagging at me to take you to Khibîlhazid," Valandil said with a scowl. "Now that I’m taking you, you don’t want to go. Honestly, Vandiel, make up your mind."

By now the procession, joined by amused bystanders, had reached the quay. Anárion had quietly suggested that Laurendil go below deck so that none would know he was there and the Elf complied, standing just inside the hatchway so he could continue watching the show. Anárion, in the meantime, doffed his cloak and strode to the gangplank.

"Ah," he said aloud over Vandiel’s continued protestations, "I see you’ve arrived in good time, Cousins. The yacht is all ready for you." He gestured and two Men came aft from where they had been working on some lines and went to help Valandil with Vandiel who had quieted down but still looked mulish. From his vantage point, Laurendil could see Ercassë’s face and chuckled at the maiden trying hard not to laugh and spoil everything. Her eyes were bright with amusement even as she pretended to try to comfort her friend. The Elf suspected that once all were aboard and the yacht safely away there were going to be gales of laughter from the three young Mortals.

In due course, all were aboard. Anárion bade his cousins a fond farewell and followed the servants who had come with their baggage down the gangplank. "Safe journey," he said, "and Vandiel, I hope when you return it will be in a better mood."

"When Beleriand rises again," Laurendil heard her mutter darkly and everyone laughed. Orders were given and the yacht was released from its mooring. The sails were raised and soon they were away. Laurendil remained below deck until Valandil poked his head through the doorway with a wide grin on his face. "All clear," he said. "If you stay to starboard, no one on shore will be able to see you."

Laurendil nodded and came up on deck. Vandiel and Ercassë were ensconced in comfortable lounge chairs with blankets wrapped about them. In spite of the warm sun, the air was decidedly cooler out on the bay. He looked about to see that the yacht was making its way across the bay, keeping well away from other boats. He decided it would be wise to keep his hood up, at least until they had cleared the haven and were heading out into the bay where few would be able to see him. He glanced across the waters and saw they were fast approaching a small isle set in the middle of the bay that Laurendil knew had been put there by Uinen, the Lady of the Sea, herself. The yacht was moving windward to the island, thus effectively putting the island between them and the shore. He saw a tall tower built on its rocky ground, shining white in the late afternoon sun.

"That’s the Calmindon," Valandil said, noticing where Laurendil’s eyes had wandered. "Tar-Aldarion had it built," he explained, "as well as the seawalls that protect the bay."

Laurendil nodded and watched with interest as the seagulls screamed around the tower. He remembered how the sound of these seabirds had sent him into paroxysms of rage and denial, sending him deep into the wilds of Eriador, eventually across the Misty Mountains into the Silvan haven of Lórinand. Only, he mused wryly to himself, that had not worked. The calling of the gulls had invaded his dreams and haunted his waking moments. Finally, King Amroth had practically ordered him and Manwen to return to Lindon and take ship. He had hated the elven king then, but not now. Now he felt only gratitude for Amroth’s wisdom and caring.

The yacht continued round the island. Valandil had taken the helm from his first mate, Beregar, and Laurendil marveled at the easy competence with which the young Mortal handled the boat. The two crewmen, some years older than Valandil, went about their tasks in silence, the silence of long-time friends who did not need to fill the space between them with idle words. Valandil, in fact, seemed to treat the two Men more as if they were older brothers rather than his crew.

"So, Beregar," Valandil called out as he shifted the wheel slightly, forcing the boat to keel to port as it came round the final point of Tol Uinen, heading directly for the firth that would lead to Khibîlhazid, "have you finally asked Núneth for her hand in marriage, or must I be condemned to never seeing you wed and bed her?"

Laurendil saw Vandiel and Ercassë exchange amused looks as Beregar reddened slightly and laughed, along with his mate, whose name Laurendil had learned was Orchaldor. It was he who answered Valandil’s query. "Why Captain, did you not hear?" the older Man said, giving Valandil a wink. "Beregar actually bought the betrothal rings, but he’s suddenly gotten cold feet and has yet to ask the fair Núneth."

Valandil gave Beregar a considering look, even as he continued to steer the boat towards the northern shore. "Is that true, Beregar?"

"Aye, Captain," the man said, turning even redder than before. "I purchased the rings only the other day, but I’ve not had time to ask Núneth. Her attû decided to visit his holdings in Hyarrostorni and she’s gone with him."

"Ah, pity," was the only comment Valandil made. "Orchaldor, prepare to bring her about," he ordered and for the next several minutes the three Men were busy tacking the sails to catch the wind as Valandil competently brought the boat into the firth.

The firth was indeed narrow, the cliffs sheer as they passed the headlands and entered the calm waters. The sails slackened slightly, but Valandil appeared to be too savvy a sailor to be caught out and quickly maneuvered the boat to catch the wind once again and they continued sailing up the gorge. As soon as the haven of Rómenna was hidden from view, Vandiel stood up with a sigh, reached down and untied the bandages that swathed her left ankle. She turned to Ercassë. "Come, let us retire for the nonce. I wish to remove this ridiculous looking face paint. It’s served its purpose."

Ercassë agreed and in minutes the upper deck was left to three Men and one Elf. Valandil motioned for Laurendil to join him at the wheel. "Would you like to steer her, my lord?" the young Man asked.

Laurendil gave the Mortal a surprised look and felt something like a thrill course through him. It wasn’t quite excitement but something deeper. "I have no experience with boats or the steering of them," he admitted.

Valandil gave the Elf-lord a wide grin. "Don’t worry. If you do anything stupid, we all know how to swim."

Laurendil could not help but laugh at Valandil’s quip. "That’s easy for you to say, youngling, but I never learned."

Now it was Valandil’s turn to look surprised. "What!?"

Dimly Laurendil noticed the other two Men stopping to stare at the Elf in disbelief before realizing what they were doing and hastily returning to their work. "It’s rather hard to learn to swim when there isn’t a large enough body of water for learning in," he explained calmly.

"Ah, well in that case," Valandil said, "perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, going by boat then."

Laurendil shook his head. "Do not concern yourself, Valandil," he said gently. "I have every faith in your abilities and that of your men to bring us all safely to harbor."

Valandil smiled. "Then, come," he gestured at the wheel, "let me teach you somewhat of sailing. It will while away the time for we have a few hours yet before we reach the Landing."

Laurendil allowed himself to be persuaded and in moments he was standing at the helm with Valandil beside him showing how to move the wheel. When Vandiel and Ercassë came back on deck some time later, bearing trays of food and drink, it was to find the Elf-lord happily steering while Valandil and the other two Men were teaching him the words of a simple sea chantey.

****

The firth did not broaden so much as it shallowed out until they were sailing through wide open spaces. All around were fields of grain as they passed one farm after another for the Orrostar was known for its wheat and rye. It was, in fact, the breadbasket of the island. Further north a bluish-grey smudge rose against the horizon marking the highlands that protected the inner regions of the land from the cold northeast winds. Valandil pointed out some of the features of the farms, explaining some of the farming techniques used by the Númenórëans.

"When our ancestors first came to the island," Valandil said, "Lord Eönwë remained with them for several years and taught them much about farming and such, for our people had little skill in such things, having had to devote ourselves to warfare for so long."

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, Eönwë spoke of it to me not too long ago."

The Mortals around him looked upon him with varying degrees of awe. Laurendil gave them a brilliant smile. "I was born in Aman before the Darkening," he said gently. "I have conversed with all of the Valar and many of the Maiar in my time and am, in fact, in service to Lord Irmo."

They all thought about that for a time. "So... you’ve... you’ve never been to Ennorath." Ercassë finally ventured, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Laurendil’s smile became a little sadder. "I was part of Lord Finrod’s entourage," he replied and the Mortals’ eyes widened even further at that revelation. "I survived the War of Wrath and returned to Aman about five hundred years later with my wife."

For a time none of the Mortals spoke, all lost in thought of this Elf-lord in their midst remembering the Light of the Two Trees and seeing the Rising of Ithil and Anor, surviving the very war that had brought about the raising of Númenórë for their ancestors. It was almost too much for them to grasp and they all welcomed the sight of the Landing and the need to prepare to disembark. Laurendil watched with faint amusement as the Aftercomers scurried about to bring the boat to harborage. He stayed well away from the activity, content to let them do the work for which they were trained.

The Landing was a series of wharfs jutting out into the waters. There were no other boats so they had their pick of moorings. On the shore were several well-built huts which Valandil explained were used primarily for storage. Waiting for them were Valandil's servants with horses. It took a very short time for them to secure the boat and go ashore. Valandil greeted the men quietly and helped his sister to mount while Laurendil gave Ercassë a hand up. He glanced at the horses, admiring them.

"Here, my lord," Valandil said quietly as he led the Elf towards a roan stallion who looked upon them all with intelligence. "This was my adar’s horse, Arroch. He’s a bit spirited, but I think he will do well by you," he ended somewhat apologetically.

"Thank you, Lord Valandil," Laurendil said with a smile. "I’m sure we’ll get along just fine." He started singing softly to the horse as he ran a hand over its body, slowly removing the saddle and handing it to one of the servants before leaping lightly upon the horse’s back. Arroch sidestepped a few paces and then stopped, apparently content to let this Firstborn ride him.

As soon as all were mounted, they set off. Laurendil gazed at the surroundings with interest. The land here was relatively flat and stony. To the northwest of the Landing were a series of stone buildings that Vandiel, riding beside him, explained marked the hot springs.

"There are changing rooms and rest areas," she said, "as well as a tavern during the season. Our lodge lies further west, which is convenient for it will bring us that much closer to our goal."

Laurendil nodded but did not otherwise comment. The sun was nearly setting now and its rays threw shafts of light that set the grey stones around them afire, turning them reddish, while the sky above was darkening towards midnight blue with faint blushes of rose and purple. Soon the first stars were peeping out and Laurendil was heartened to see Eärendil’s Star shining before them. It felt as if a part of home was with him. Shortly after the final rays of light slipped below the horizon they reached the lodge, a large two-storied stone building that nevertheless had a rustic air to it. It did not take long for them to see to the horses and enter the lodge.

Laurendil looked about as they came into the central hall. It was open to the second story and was clearly the main meeting room for its inhabitants. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes or figures out of history (Laurendil recognized a depiction of Túrin fighting Glaurung before the gates of Nargothrond) covered the bare stone walls. A large walk-in fireplace dominated one wall where a fire was already burning. To the left was a doorway leading towards the dining room and the kitchen beyond, according to Valandil, and to the right were two smaller rooms, a library and a parlor. A wooden staircase led to the upper gallery where the bedrooms were situated.

Valandil gave Laurendil, Vandiel and Ercassë a small smile when they were alone once the servants had disappeared with their baggage. "Welcome to Khibîlhazid," he said with a sweep of an arm. "Enjoy what you can of it for we must be on our way again before dawn."

"And then, Armenelos," Ercassë said, her expression and tone unusually grim. "I.. I only hope we are in time... for Fiondil’s sake," she stammered, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. Vandiel and Valandil embraced her, hoping to give her some comfort, though they were crying as well.

Laurendil stood apart for a moment, looking upon them with grave sympathy. "Indeed," he whispered more to himself. Then he went to the three Mortals and softly sang a song of healing and hope as he took each into his embrace for a time offering what comfort they would accept from him, while Eärendil’s Star continued to ride the heavens in serene beauty and indifference to their sorrows and worries.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Zigûr: (Adûnaic) Sauron. Literally, "Wizard".

Uinéniel: Daughter of Uinen. This epithet was first given to Erendis, wife of Tar-Aldarion, by Valandil, First Lord of Andúnië. [see Unfinished Tales, 'Aldarion and Erendis: The Mariner's Wife'.]

Calmindon: Light Tower.

Lórinand: (Sindarin/Silvan) Golden Valley; one of the earlier names for Lothlórien.

Arroch: (Sindarin) Noble or kingly horse. It was, in fact, the name of Húrin’s horse. [see The Children of Húrin.]

A Note on the Geography of Númenor: The island is shaped like a five-pointed star, each ‘arm’ of the star is named for the direction in which it lies relative to the center of the island, called Mittalmar, or the ‘Midlands’. Orrostar therefore is the ‘Eastlands’. The other regions are Forostar ‘Northlands’, Andustar ‘Westlands’, Hyarnustar ‘Southwestlands’ and Hyarrostar ‘Southeastlands’. Emerië, which was the chief place of sheep pasturage on the island, lies in the southwest of Mittalmar between the Rivers Siril and Nundúnië. A small part of the Mittalmar was separated from the rest and called Arandor ‘Kingsland’, comprising the Meneltarma, Armenelos and the haven of Rómenna.

Khibîlhazid and its hot springs is an imaginary feature of Númenor for the purposes of this story.

Further note: The word ‘yacht’ may seem modern, but the word is recorded as early as 1557: yeaghe "a light, fast sailing ship". It apparently comes from early Dutch: jachtschip ‘hunting ship, ship for chasing, fast pirate ship’.

A shoal-draft boat is one that has a shallow enough draft to be able to maneuver through the shoals or shallow waters so it can reach areas of land inaccessible to larger boats and ships.

8: Dulgâban

Dawn found them a league or so from Khibîlhazid. Valandil was leading, heading more northwest rather than due west where lay Armenelos.

"I wish to approach from the north," he explained when Laurendil enquired about the route. "There is a farming community not far from Armenelos call Dulgâban. The east gate is too dangerous for us, but there is a way to enter from the north that will not arouse suspicion. We will spend the night at the village and continue on in the morning. If any asks, we are farmers from Dulgâban come to sell our wares."

Vandiel gave her twin a skeptical look. "Do I look like a farmer’s daughter to you, brother?" she asked.

Valandil grinned. "As long as you don’t open your mouth and betray your upbringing, you should be fine."

"Why you!" Vandiel exclaimed in mock anger. "Just for that, I’ll have to think up a very nasty trick to play on you."

"Oh, you better watch out, Valandil," Ercassë warned with a laugh. "I’ve seen just how nasty Vandiel’s tricks can be."

Valandil laughed also. "Well I know it," he replied. "But what I said about Vandiel goes for you as well. Let me do the talking. You two should remain quiet and look suitably awed at the thought of your first visit to the capital."

Vandiel stuck out her tongue and Ercassë gave him a reproachful look. Laurendil looked on in amusement. "And what about me, my lord?" he asked. "How will you explain me in your entourage?"

Valandil actually smiled at the Elf-lord, digging into his saddle bag and pulling out what appeared to be a head scarf which he handed to a surprised Laurendil. "Wrap this about your head to hide your ears. Too bad I didn’t think to bring shears. You should really cut your hair to look more like us."

Laurendil went still at the Mortal’s words, shock coursing through him. Yet, what the Man said was true, little though he liked the idea. He smiled grimly to himself. He would never hear the end of it from Vorondil if he returned to Aman with his hair cropped. "Perhaps there is something I can do about that before we reach Armenelos," he commented quietly as he took the head scarf and wrapped it about his head.

"How do you intend for us to impersonate farmers, Valandil?" Ercassë asked.

"We have friends in Dulgâban," Valandil explained. "They will lend us the necessary clothing and we will go with some of the farmers to the city, for tomorrow is market day."

"By ‘we’, you mean the Order," Vandiel said and Valandil nodded but did not elaborate.

"You have been to Armenelos before, Valandil?" Laurendil asked.

The young Man nodded. "It has been many years but I went there a number of times with Adar."

"I wish we could have gone to Armenelos directly," Ercassë complained. "I chafe at this delay. My brother could well be dead!"

"Then, whether we arrive early or late," Laurendil gently chided, "your brother will be beyond all aid. If that is true, it will be our task to learn of his fate and retrieve his body for proper burial."

Valandil shook his head, frowning. "If Fiondil has been taken and declared a traitor he will be drawn and quartered and then his remains will be burnt, his ashes scattered to the four winds." He visibly swallowed and the two maidens paled and looked decidedly ill.

Laurendil felt himself grow cold with anger and unconsciously fingered a sword hilt that was no longer there. "How soon would they execute him?" he asked.

The Man shrugged. "Hard to say. At a guess I would think they would try to... obtain some information from him first before killing him." He glanced quickly at his sister and her friend, then turned to Laurendil, giving him a meaningful look.

"Ah..." was the Elf’s only comment, well aware that Valandil was speaking of torture. As terrible as that might be, he prayed for all their sakes that the young Man still lived.

They passed the rest of the time in near silence, stopping at noon to rest and have something to eat. Valandil estimated they would reach the village within a few hours. "One of the farmers, Beren, is a member of the Order. He will aid us."

"What of his fellows, though?" Laurendil asked with a frown. "Surely not all in the community are Elf-friends."

"Nay, they are not," Valandil agreed, "but neither are they Arandili. They wish only to farm their lands and raise their families in peace and care little for the policies of the great lords of the land. They may not aid us, but neither will they hinder. Beren is well respected amongst his fellows. We will not suffer any harm there." The confidence with which he spoke assured them, though Laurendil vowed not to let his guard down. There was no telling how the Mortals would react were they to discover one of the Firstborn in their midst; best to remain wary at all times. Luckily, he would not require any sleep. He had rested well the night before and would not need to sleep again for several days.

Valandil’s prediction proved true and by late afternoon, just as the mid-Autumn sun was setting, they arrived at the outskirts of the farming village of Dulgâban. It was a prosperous looking community with well-kept houses and paddocks. Fields newly reaped of their harvest ringed the village. They looked bare and forlorn in the dying light. Valandil led them unerringly towards a small house on the village outskirts. Here they met his friend, Beren, who turned out to be a jovial Man perhaps a decade or so older than the twins. In spite of his relative youth, he was already married, as was common among farmers, and the father of three children, two daughters and a newborn son.

"This is Haleth," Valandil introduced them to Beren’s wife when they entered the house. Haleth was a cheerful Woman with auburn locks and eyes of a startling blue. She was quietly nursing her son, a lad of three months, named Gundor. The daughters were Hareth, the oldest at fourteen, and Emeldir, aged ten. Both maidens had inherited their mother’s red hair, but Hareth’s eyes were grey, while Emeldir’s eyes were more hazel. Beren, himself, was dark of hair and grey of eye like many of the Númenórëans, though he admitted that he was not descended from any of the noble houses.

"I’m a farmer," he said with a smile. "It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be."

The presence of one of the Firstborn was cause for some alarm and awe, especially on the part of the two girls, but when the situation was explained, all were willing to be of help.

"I can lend you and Lord Laurendil some of my clothes," Beren said to Valandil, "and I think between my wife and daughters, something can be done to make the Lady Ercassë and your sister look more like farmers’ daughters."

"As long as we don’t open our mouths," Vandiel muttered with a scowl and Valandil rolled his eyes while Beren and his family looked on in confusion, not understanding the reference.

"Pay my sister no mind, Beren," Valandil said. "She’s just miffed because I would not let her pilot the boat."

"You and Lord Laurendil were too busy singing dirty sea chanteys," she complained, sticking her tongue out at her twin, much to everyone else’s amusement.

"They were not dirty!" Laurendil exclaimed with a laugh. "Now, ‘The Elf and the Fruit Vendor’... that’s dirty!" The Mortals all stared at him in amazement.

"Yo-you know that song?" Valandil asked in disbelief.

Laurendil laughed again while Beren’s two daughters plagued their mother with questions about the song. Vandiel and Ercassë were trying not to giggle. Beren just turned bright red and refused to look at Haleth, who had a peculiar smile on her face, totally ignoring her daughters’ pleas for information.

"I well remember Barahir teaching that song to my own lord, Finrod," Laurendil told them. "And that was well before young Beren came to a Man’s estate." He gave them a smirk. "I even helped with a couple of the verses."

"No-not verse... thirty-one?" Valandil fairly squeaked and Laurendil laughed again.

"Oh no!" Laurendil protested. "That particular verse is pure Adan. No Elf would ever have come up with it."

Valandil gave a sigh. "That’s a relief... I mean...."

Laurendil merely laughed harder at that, and soon the others joined him, albeit with some embarrassment. Haleth then ordered her daughters to get the supper together while she and Beren entertained their guests. Soon, enticing smells came from the other side of the large single room that served as parlor, dining room and kitchen. A door led to Beren and Haleth’s bedroom, while a ladder led to the loft above where the girls slept.

"We can put you and Lord Laurendil in the barn," Beren told Valandil, "and the ladies can sleep up in the loft with our daughters, though, four young women together... I doubt there be much sleeping among them." He laughed and winked at his wife who merely smiled as she gently rocked her son sleeping in her arms. Valandil and Laurendil smiled though none of the four young women in question did.

"I will have no need for sleep," Laurendil informed them. "I will remain on guard, just in case."

Beren looked at the Elf in surprise. "Yet, surely, lord, you will need some rest."

Laurendil shook his head. "I slept well last night. I will not need to do so again for several days unless I expend my strength. Do not be concerned. It is the way of my people not to need as much sleep as the Secondborn, except when we are still children." He reached over and gently brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, a soft smile on his lips.

"Do you have any children, lord?" Haleth asked shyly.

Laurendil nodded. "Three, though only the youngest still resides at home, but then, he’s not yet four hundred." He grinned at the stunned looks on the Mortals’ faces. "Truly, he is too young to be on his own."

The others were saved from having to respond to that statement by Emeldir announcing that supper was ready. It proved to be typical farm food: baked chicken, roasted potatoes, cornbread, fresh green beans and an apple pie. The girls were served water while the adults all had ale. The conversation was kept light and inconsequential and only later, as they sat by the fire while Hareth and Emeldir did the dishes, did they speak of their plans for the next day.

"There will be several of us going," Beren said. "It should be easy enough for you to join us. Most of those going are members of the Order. The real problem will be disguising Lord Laurendil." The farmer looked at the Elf-lord with some doubt.

Laurendil smiled somewhat wistfully. "Do not concern yourself there, my friend," he said softly. "I will do what is necessary to hide my features." He gave a glance at Valandil, who merely nodded.

Beren seemed satisfied with that and soon after they all retired for the night, for they would need to leave at dawn to reach the city in good time. Within a half an hour the household of Farmer Beren was fast asleep, except for Laurendil, who idled his time by singing softly while sitting on a bale of hay as Valandil slept beside him wrapped in two cloaks.

****

The night proved quiet and uneventful. An hour before dawn, Laurendil roused Valandil and met Beren who was hitching a mule to a wagon filled with produce for the market. They gave him a hand and then the three made their way to the house where they found Haleth stirring porridge over the wood stove with one hand while suckling her son in the other arm. She gave them a bright, contented smile before returning to her task. The two daughters were also up and setting the table. Of Vandiel and Ercassë there was as yet no sign.

Valandil gave Beren an apologetic smile. "I fear my sister and Lady Ercassë are not used to rising before the sun."

Beren shrugged and gave the young lord a smile of his own. "They are unused to traveling as you have as well, my lord. No doubt they are worn out. Perhaps we should let them sleep as long as possible."

"Nay, good Beren," Valandil said. "We cannot afford the time." He turned to Laurendil. "This is why I did not wish to drag them with us."

Laurendil’s expression was sympathetic, though his tone of voice was less so, for he truly had no desire to listen to these children complain about one another during his sojourn with them. "Nevertheless, they are here now, so it’s best to deal with them instead of complaining."

The reprimand, while mildly spoken, was rather a shock and even the two girls stopped what they were doing to stare open-mouthed at the Elf. Valandil sighed and gave Laurendil a grimace. "You are correct, of course," he admitted reluctantly. "I should probably go wake them." He made towards the ladder but Beren stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps one of my daughters would be a more appropriate choice," he said and then without waiting for Valandil’s permission he turned to his youngest. "Emeldir, go you and rouse the ladies. It is time to break our fast. We must away in half an hour."

"Yes, Ada," the child said and the expression of glee on her young face as she climbed the ladder set Laurendil chuckling. The others gave him enquiring looks.

"I’ve seen that same expression on my own children when they have been given permission to... er... wake one of their siblings," he said with a grin and then up in the loft they heard a cut-off screech from Vandiel and the adults and young Hareth started laughing.

Within minutes everyone was gathered for a quick breakfast, Vandiel and Ercassë looking both unamused and half-awake as they shoved the porridge down them without really noticing what they were eating. While Valandil and Beren went out to make last-minute adjustments to the load on the wagon, Laurendil quietly asked Haleth for a pair of shears. The Woman gave the Elf a searching look but then nodded, silently handing him a pair of cutting shears that were in her sewing basket. Laurendil thanked her and then started awkwardly trying to cut his own hair. Haleth gave a tsking sound, handed the sleeping Gundor to his oldest sister and took the shears from the Elf’s hands.

"Sittest thou here, lord," she said quietly, pointing to a stool. Laurendil complied and in a few minutes much of his hair lay on the floor. Haleth finished and picked up a small mirror and handed it to Laurendil. He stared at his reflection and wondered that he did not feel anything at the sight of his hair shorn to the shoulders. He gave a slight shudder, silently berating himself. After all, it was only hair and would grow back. He handed the mirror back to Haleth with his thanks, then went outside, wrapping the head scarf around his ears and adding a broad-brimmed straw hat to further hide his features. He had traded his traveling leathers for a simple homespun shirt and breeches. Valandil was similarly dressed and the two maidens had borrowed colorful skirts and bodices from Haleth. All their own clothes were stuffed into saddlebags which were hidden in the wagon underneath the cabbage and turnips.

Valandil and Beren looked up as Laurendil joined them by the wagon. Valandil nodded at the sight of the Elf, his expression rueful. "I regret you had to resort to this, my lord. If there had been some other way..."

"Do not trouble yourself, youngling," Laurendil said dismissively. "It is, after all, only hair and it will grow back."

By now the others who were going into the city were gathered about the wagon. Besides Beren, his daughter Hareth would also accompany them. Several other farmers with wagons approached, giving the newcomers curious looks. Beren gathered the Men about him and spoke softly to them.

"They are friends who need to get into the city. They search for one who may have been taken by the Arandili for their own amusement."

The other farmers grimaced at that. While not all were Elf-friends, they had little love for the King’s Men and were more than happy to help these strangers rescue their friend from the clutches of the Arandili and greeted them all warmly. There was some discussion about whether Laurendil and the others should be hidden in the wagons but in the end it was decided against that plan and so dawn saw the rescuers walking in the midst of the farmers of Dulgâban.

"These are good people," Beren said to Laurendil as the two walked together. "They will not betray us."

To that Laurendil had no comment. Instead he spent the time looking about, taking in the scenery. The road they traveled was well trod, perhaps one of the few real roads on the island. Far to the west, rising from the plain before Armenelos was the Meneltarma, its peaks wreathed in autumn mist. Seeing where the Elf’s gaze had strayed, Valandil leaned closer to speak to him in soft tones.

"The king has forbidden any to climb the mountain," he whispered. "None of the Elendili have been allowed on the mountain for many years now, since Zigûr began to turn Ar-Pharazôn’s heart from the Valar. It is a great sorrow for us, that we cannot commune with Eru as was our custom."

"One need not climb a mountain to do that, child," Laurendil said gently. "He is ever in our hearts, as are the Valar."

"The Valar have forsaken us," Beren, walking on the other side of Laurendil, said with some heat, though he kept his voice down.

"Say rather that the people of this isle have forsaken the Valar," Laurendil retorted mildly. "You envy the Valar and the Firstborn for their immortality and spurn the gift which Eru has granted you."

"How can death be a gift?" Beren demanded.

Laurendil, however, refused to be drawn into a debate on the relative merits of the various gifts given to Eru’s Children. "That is something you must learn for yourself," he suggested, "trusting to Eru’s love and accepting the gifts that he has given you in joy."

"Rather easy to say for someone who’s never going to die," Valandil said, though his tone was neither accusatory or belligerent, merely stating a fact as he saw it.

"I am as capable of dying as you are, child," Laurendil said, his expression turning briefly sorrowful as he thought of his friend Eärnur.

The switch in mood brought the conversation to a standstill and the two Men remained quiet for a time, both looking thoughtful as they pondered the Elf-lord’s words.

"Look!" Hareth exclaimed, pointing down the road. "Armenelos! We’re nearly there."

Laurendil looked up from his contemplation and saw the Royal Heavenly City of the Númenórëans and stopped in shock. The city sat on the plain before the towering mass of the Meneltarma surrounded by a wall pierced by four gates. He shook his head in disbelief. On his last visit to the island there had been no wall around Armenelos. Something in the mindset of the islanders had changed in the intervening centuries. He wondered idly if the walls were meant to keep something out or something in and he felt himself grow cold at the implications of either answer.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?" Hareth asked him, her eyes shining at the sight.

Laurendil gave the child a sad smile. "Not as beautiful as you are, Child of the Edain," he whispered in her ear and the girl blushed, but looked pleased nonetheless.

Beren suggested that Valandil and the others gather more in the center of their group. "Hopefully, with this being market day the press of the crowd will make it less likely that the guards will stop us as is sometimes their custom."

"We can only hope," Valandil agreed.

Laurendil, meanwhile, made sure his hat was firmly in place and he made a conscious effort to slump somewhat, for he was easily taller than any there and would therefore be more noticed by sharp-eyed guards. Vandiel and Ercassë put their shawls over their heads in imitation of Hareth and the one or two other women who were accompanying them. Beren suddenly started up a harvest song and the other farmers joined in. Surprisingly, Valandil also sang, and Laurendil realized the young Man had probably entered Armenelos by this same method many times before.

They came abreast of the city gate, an imposing structure that reached a good forty feet above them with a tunnel leading into the city that was easily twenty feet long. Sentries walked the wall itself while guards stood on either side of the gate entrance with pikestaffs in their hands, eyeing the crowd of people making their way into the city from the outlying farms. Their own group did not slow as they came to the gate nor did they cease their singing. Laurendil kept his eyes on the ground and softly sang a Song of his own, a Song of Power that Findaráto had taught him, one of hiding in plain sight. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be working.

"Halt!" one of the guards called out and immediately several men armed with bows poured out from the guardrooms that were built on either side of the gate entrance, just inside the tunnel, their arrows nocked. In seconds their little party was surrounded and the grim looks on the faces of their captors did not bode well for any of them.

****

Dulgâban: (Adûnaic) Black Earth, from dulga "black" + aban "earth, elevated land". The village is so named because of the rich soil surrounding it.

Adan: (Sindarin) Man, Mortal; specifically, one who belonged to one of the Three Houses of Elf-friends who eventually settled on Númenor.

9: The Shipwright’s Granddaughter

Laurendil had a fleeting moment of panic that faded almost at once. Really, he could almost hear Finrod say with a sardonic smile, you’ve faced the hordes of Morgoth in your days, never mind dealing with temperamental Valar. Why then should these children with their toy weapons frighten you so? That thought steadied him. He knew they could all end up dead before the day was over, but that did not frighten him so much as the thought of what his Mortal friends would suffer, especially the maidens.

As the leader of their little party, Beren took command, looking at the guards with mild interest bordering on amusement and Laurendil could not but help admire the Man’s calm. Truly, the Secondborn had nothing for which they need be ashamed. They might not have the powers of the Firstborn but neither were they helpless. Ilúvatar had gifted them with a streak of audaciousness not normally found among the Firstborn. It was why Finrod had found them so endearing.

"Captain Ulrath," Beren said mildly as if he were commenting on the weather, "would you care to explain the meaning of this?"

The captain gave the farmer an apologetic look. "Sorry, Beren," he said. "I’m just following orders."

"And those orders were to accost innocent farmers who have been coming to the city every market day for years?"

The guard shook his head. "Nay, we have been ordered to look for... spies."

Beren now gave the hapless guard a measuring look. "Spies, is it? Well, I assure you the only spying any of us have been doing lately is on my father-in-law who insists on hiding the best of the mead he’s brewed this past season."

There was soft snickering among the other farmers. One of them nodded. "Aye, that’s true enough, Beren. Your Haleth’s da is a wily old bird, bless his selfish little soul."

Now there was genuine laughter among the group of farmers as Beren eyed the guard. "Well, Ulrath, are we to stand here all day while our produce goes to waste?"

But the captain was not about to back down yet. "You have some additional people in your party, Beren, strangers I’ve not seen before."

"No more you haven’t," Beren said agreeably. "My sister’s two daughters and son," he pointed to Vandiel, Ercassë, and Valandil. "It’s their first visit to Armenelos."

"I was unaware you even had a sister, Beren," Ulrath said suspiciously.

"As you are no doubt also unaware that my younger brother died at the age of eight from a fall," the farmer retorted and the captain had the grace to blush and offer an apology.

"And this one?" the captain asked uncertainly, pointing to Laurendil. "Is he your long lost cousin?"

Beren gave the captain a feral smile. "Well, now that you mention it...." then he laughed at the look of disbelief on Ulrath’s face. "Nay, good Captain," the farmer relented, "this is the husband of my Haleth’s cousin. He suffered a head injury a while back, hence the head scarf. Seems to have lost most of his memories, poor man. Our own healer has done what she could for him. We’re taking him to the Houses of Healing here in hopes they may restore his memory to him."

He gestured for Ulrath to come closer as if to share a confidence, though Laurendil could hear him well enough. He was amazed at the quickness of the Man’s mind in spinning his tales, for he realized with some chagrin that they never thought to work out a story for all of them. Beren gave the guard a wink. "Poor fellow doesn’t even recognize his own wife or children." He shook his head looking regretful. "Sad, really."

Whether Ulrath truly believed the farmer or not, they never knew. The captain merely gave them a hard stare, then sighed as he looked at Beren. "You’ve never lied to me before, Beren," Ulrath said grudgingly. "Go and may all your wares sell."

"Thank you, Captain," Beren said with a smile, then turned to the younger Mortals. "Come along children, no time for gawking. Let’s get on our way, we’re holding up traffic."

"Yes, Unca Beren," Valandil said, roughening his voice to sound more rustic. "C’n we still visit the gardens like what you promised?"

"Yes, yes," Beren said with a put-upon sigh, "after you’ve helped set up the stall. Come now, Cousin," he took Laurendil’s arm, speaking solicitously as if to a sick child, "we’re going to take you to a nice place where they will help you get better."

Laurendil gave the farmer a confused look. "I... I’ve been ill?" he asked, careful to speak Adûnaic as they all were and keeping his voice low and uncertain.

"Yes, Cousin," Beren replied with weary patience as if he’d been saying the same thing many times. "You hurt your head and now we’re taking you to those who will help you get better. You want to get better don’t you?"

Laurendil hid a smile at the way the Mortal was addressing him, merely nodding and keeping the confusion on his face for the benefit of the guards, who, at Ulrath’s orders, had lowered their weapons. The farmers took hold of their wagons and trundled through the tunnel and on into the city proper. It wasn’t until they were two squares away from the gate before anyone dared to breathe. Laurendil gave Beren a considering look.

"That was quick thinking on your part, my friend," he said approvingly.

"Nay, my friend," Beren said with a short laugh. "I worked that all out on our way here as I had a feeling we might be stopped."

Laurendil’s estimation of the Man’s abilities rose all the more at that admission and he nodded his thanks.

****

For the sake of any who might be watching, Laurendil and the others helped in setting up Beren’s stall and then, with the farmer ostensibly giving them the directions to the Houses of Healing and the gardens, neither of which they had any intention of actually visiting, Laurendil set off with his young companions. Vandiel pretended to lead him, speaking gently as to a young child until they were several streets away from the market. Then Valandil led them down an alley, across two squares and through a second alley before bringing them to a quiet street.

"This is the Street of the Shipwrights," he explained quietly, as he led them to a particular house that looked no different from all the other houses in the row. Laurendil looked at the house with interest, a memory niggling at him, but it faded when Valandil brought them to the door. "The person who lives here is an Elf-friend," he said even as he knocked on the door. "We’ll be safe here, or as safe as anyone can be in this city."

"How can any of the Elf-friends remain undetected here in Armenelos?" Vandiel asked.

"They play a dangerous game, those who remain within the city," Valandil conceded. "Discovery means an agonizing death."

Before anyone else could say anything the door opened to reveal an older Man, his hair greying. He stared out at them and it took Laurendil a brief second to realize that the Man was blind.

"May I help you?" the Man asked.

"Greetings, Boromir," Valandil said. "It is I, Valandil. I’ve come with friends."

"Lord Valandil," the old steward said with a bow, "welcome and enter." He stepped aside and allowed them all to enter before closing the door. "If you will wait in the front parlor," he told them, "I will inform my lady that you are here."

"Thank you, my friend," Valandil said. "I know the way."

Boromir nodded and gave them all a bow, walking slowly but confidently down the hallway, leaving Valandil to show them into the front parlor, a formal room with stiff uncomfortable looking furniture. It was a cold room in many ways, Laurendil decided, and wondered at the occupants of the house.

"Who lives here, Valandil?" Vandiel asked her twin.

"Her name is Lady Eärwen," he answered. "She is actually a distant cousin of ours being the granddaughter of Eärnur Ciryatano, Lord of Andúnië about four hundred years ago."

"The Shipwright?" Ercassë asked. "Did he not drown?"

Valandil nodded. "Aye. His ship disappeared in a storm off the southern coast. All hands were lost."

The Mortals did not notice the look of anguish in Laurendil’s eyes as they discussed what to them was ancient history, no longer a source of pain. He almost envied them the distance time had given them, whereas his memories were forever present before him. He would never be able to forget the desperate searching for his friend, who had shared the same name as well as the same fate as these children’s ancestor, the anguish of admitting defeat and the sense of failure as he returned to Aman without even Eärnur’s body.

"Some say the storm was not normal," Laurendil said in a distracted tone, ignoring the looks of surprise on the faces of the young Mortals.

"And do you believe that, my lord?"

They turned to see a woman standing at the doorway with Boromir behind her. Laurendil saw a Woman of great age as the Númenórëans reckoned it. Her hair was pure white and she walked with a cane, but her eyes were bright and knowing and she held herself with great dignity. Laurendil bowed to her as did his companions.

"Ossë has been known to... play with the ships of Men in the past," he said cautiously, not wanting to get into a discussion about what was such a painful subject for him. "The seas have usually been calm that time of year and Eärnur was an excellent sailor. I fear we will never know the truth."

If the lady was surprised to see one of the Firstborn standing in her front parlor, she did not show it. Instead, she gave him a penetrating look. "You remember my grandfather?"

Now Laurendil was surprised. "Ah... yes, of course," he said, enlightened. "I knew Eärnur only slightly, my lady," he explained. "I had a friend aboard that ship...."

Now all of the Mortals looked at him in surprise. The lady moved further into the room and took a seat. "Boromir, let’s have some refreshments," she said without looking at her steward.

"As you wish, my lady," Boromir said with a bow, then closed the door behind him as he went to fulfill his lady’s command.

Eärwen gave her guests an amused look as they stood there before her. She turned her attention away from the Elf to the only one of the group she knew. "Perhaps, Valandil, you will be so kind as to make the introductions."

Valandil grinned and gave her a bow. "Allow me to make you known to Lord Laurendil from Tol Eressëa." He then bowed to Laurendil. "My lord, Lady Eärwen, granddaughter to Eärnur Ciryatano, Lord of Andúnië."

Laurendil gave the lady a bow. "I do not see the resemblance, my lady, forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive, my lord," Eärwen said with a wave of her hand. "In truth, I take after my adar’s family more than my naneth’s."

"And this is my twin sister, Vandiel," Valandil continued with the introductions, "and our friend, Lady Ercassë Ardamiriel."

"Welcome to you both, my dears," Eärwen said.

The two maidens gave her their curtsies even as the door opened and Boromir stepped in with a tray of food and drink, walking unerringly to a sideboard where he placed the tray. He turned to face them. "Will there be anything else, my lady?"

"No, thank you, Boromir," Eärwen replied. "Would you see we’re not disturbed? I’m not receiving any visitors."

"Especially the unwanted kind," Boromir said familiarly, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Eärwen laughed lightly. "Especially those."

Laurendil watched the exchange with interest, recognizing that these two were more than just mistress and steward but good friends who understood one another implicitly. Boromir bowed to them and left. Eärwen then gestured to Valandil.

"Would you be a dear and do the honors?" she asked and Valandil went to the sideboard to pour the drinks while Eärwen motioned for the others to take seats around her. When all were supplied with a light yellow wine and a plate of ginger biscuits sat in easy reach, she gave them a knowing look.

"Now, perhaps you’ll be so kind as to tell me why you children are here and why, by all the Valar, is there an Elf in my front parlor?"

The exasperated tone of her voice forced a giggle out of the two maidens and both Laurendil and Valandil were smiling. Laurendil nodded to the young Man and Valandil answered for them.

"Lord Laurendil is here because the Valar sent him," he said and Eärwen raised an eyebrow at that but forbore to speak, merely nodding. "We’re here," Valandil gestured to his sister and Ercassë, "because Ercassë’s brother is missing." He quickly filled her in on the events of the last week. Eärwen remained silent through the narrative, but her eyes were expressive.

When Valandil finished, she sat there for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, she spoke. "And you think I can help you," she stated.

Ercassë nodded, her expression one of distress. "Please," she said simply.

Eärwen nodded. "Well, I will see what I can do. It will take some time to gather infomation. In the meantime, I will have Boromir show you to your rooms. Let him know if there is anything you need. You do not have baggage?"

"Actually we do," Valandil said. "They are with Beren of Dulgâban." Eärwen nodded at the name. "He is selling his wares at the market today."

"I see," the lady said with an amused glint in her eyes. "And wouldn’t you know it, just this morning Boromir informed me that we’re all out of rutabagas."

They all laughed at that.

"I will have some of my people bring your things," she continued. "Perhaps you will do me the honor of dining with me tonight."

Laurendil stood and bowed. "It would be our pleasure, lady," he said, accepting her invitation for all of them.

"Good," Eärwen said, standing. Laurendil and Valandil both offered her their arms and she gifted them with a brilliant smile as she walked between them with the maidens trailing, "and perhaps, Lord Laurendil, you might tell me what you remember of my grandfather. I was born some years after his death, you see, and have no memory of him save the tales others have told me."

Laurendil was loath to speak of Eärnur Ciryatano, but seeing the genuine need for information that lurked behind Eärwen’s request, he nodded and gave her a brave smile. "I would be happy to, child," he said, though he did not sound particularly so to the others.

****

It was late on the following afternoon when Eärwen summoned them. Laurendil had spent the time wandering through the back garden, carefully keeping the hood of his cloak up to hide his face. What the youngsters did to while away the time he did not know and frankly did not care. He spent most of the morning sitting in the branches of an elm, speaking softly to the ambali, little yellow birds common to Númenórë, who came and perched on his arms and sang to him.

This time they gathered in what turned out to be the library, a much cozier and more pleasant room, Laurendil decided, as he entered with the twins and Ercassë. Boromir closed the door behind them, remaining in the room. The room’s most interesting feature was the sunken fireplace around which was a seating area covered with deep cushions. Steps led down to the pit. Eärwen was already there and gestured them all to join her.

"My father designed this," she explained as they found seats. "He thought a place before the fire should be reserved for quiet conversation while other activities, such as reading or games-playing, could be pursued elsewhere in the room without anyone being disturbed."

They nodded their understanding and Laurendil sat back, watching. This really was not his concern, and he should have left for his ship before this, yet something told him his aid would be needed, so he waited to see how events would unfold. He recalled Lord Námo’s admonishment that perhaps his message was less important than his presence. He was beginning to suspect the Doomsman of Arda was correct. As always, he said to himself, hiding a smile at the thought.

"I have made some discreet enquiries," Eärwen said without preamble. "I’m afraid the news is not good, but neither is it bad." She paused and gave Ercassë a sympathetic look. The young maiden sat tight-lipped, unconsciously twisting the ties of her gown. "About ten days ago, there was a... disturbance at the Court of the Tree," she continued, then turned to Laurendil. "That is where Nimloth was planted by our first king," she explained and the Elf-lord nodded. "Anyway, the reports, or rather the rumors, are conflicting, but what my sources have been able to gather is that two people entered the court unbidden and there was an altercation between them and the guards. At least one of the guards was killed."

There was an indrawing of breath from the youngsters, though neither Boromir nor Laurendil made any movement. Laurendil suspected the older Man already knew what his mistress was telling them.

"My... brother...." Ercassë whispered fearfully and Vandiel took her hand and held it tightly.

Eärwen shook her head. "The only thing we have been able to learn is that one of the two intruders escaped."

"Isildur," Valandil whispered.

Eärwen raised an eyebrow at that then nodded. "Yes, well that would explain many things about this incident that have eluded us. At any rate, my dear," here she turned back to Ercassë and laid a solicitous hand on her knee and patted it, "the other intruder, whom we must assume was your brother, was taken alive and now lies in the Morimindon."

"Mo-morimindon?" Ercassë asked fearfully. "Wh-what’s that?"

"An evil place, my lady," Boromir interjected unexpectedly. "Few survive their time there."

"As well you know, old friend," Eärwen said softly.

"But... what is it?" Ercassë insisted.

"It’s a prison, Ercassë," Valandil stated baldly, then turned to Laurendil. "Be not surprised that she does not know of this, lord," he said, "Lord Amandil has endeavored to keep much of the evil that is perpetrated here in Armenelos from the general populace of Rómenna. He was once a close friend of Ar-Pharazôn and a trusted member of his Council, but then... Zigûr came between them and the king banished all the Elendili to Rómenna. Lord Amandil no longer sits on the king’s Council, but he still keeps an eye on all that happens here in the city."

"Can he truly keep such knowledge from everyone?" Laurendil asked, feeling disturbed on a deep level without understanding why.

"No, of course not," Eärwen interjected forcibly, "and I told him so. I’m afraid, though, that Amandil is a bit... old-fashioned," here she gave the Elf a wicked grin. "Seems to think that women and children need to be protected from the evils of the world. Hmph. As if gender or age is any guarantor that such evil will not find you. Best to be prepared, I say. That’s why I remained in the city rather than running away to Rómenna where that old coot thinks he can protect me."

Laurendil was hard-pressed not to laugh, though he noticed that Boromir was smiling. Valandil and the two maidens just stared at the elderly Woman with their mouths hanging open.

"Uncle Amandil is not an old coot!" Vandiel finally protested.

Eärwen laughed. "Well, he is to me my dear, and I’ve known him longer than you have. Now to the business at hand.... What your brother said, Vandiel, is correct: Morimindon is a prison and a place of great evil." She turned to Laurendil. "Have you ever heard of it, my lord?"

Laurendil shook his head. "It did not exist in your grandfather’s day," he said.

"Many things did not exist in my grandfather’s day," she retorted with a grimace, then sighed. "Well, that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that as far as we can tell, your brother still lives, though for how much longer is anyone’s guess."

"What can we do?" Ercassë pleaded.

Eärwen patted her knee and gave her a small encouraging smile. "What we can."

"The Morimindon is well guarded," Valandil stated. "It’s also quite large. How can we get in, much less find Fiondil?"

"What you say is true, Lord Valandil," Boromir said, turning his sightless eyes towards the younger Man, "but there is a time in the early morning, just before dawn, when the guards are few. That would be the best time to enter."

"But how, and again, where do we look for my brother?" Ercassë asked, her expression at once impatient and perplexed.

"There is a way in," Boromir answered her, "though it’s not without its risks. As to where young Fiondil will be housed... my own sources say he’s in the lower dungeons. We’ll need to go down two levels belowground."

"‘We’, old friend?" Eärwen asked in surprise. "Do you intend to lead these children into that noxious place?"

"I have been there before," Boromir answered equably. "Blind I may be, but I know my way around as these children do not."

"And who do you call ‘children’ here?" Laurendil interjected with a smile.

"Yes, who?" Vandiel demanded, looking put-out. Valandil and Ercassë had similar disgusted looks.

Eärwen turned to Laurendil, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Forgive us, lord. Boromir and I did not intend to insult you." Boromir nodded at these words. Eärwen continued, gesturing to the three younger Mortals. "To us, they are very young."

"As are even you to me, my daughter," Laurendil could not help saying with all the haughtiness of his Noldorin blood and watched in amusement as both Eärwen and Boromir blushed. Eärwen, in fact, was unable to meet the Elf’s eyes.

"Nor are we children," Vandiel insisted, "whatever you say."

"Indeed not," Laurendil said with a light laugh, "else you would not be here."

"Lord Laurendil speaks truly," Eärwen added. "You must forgive those of us who are old in years, my dear. I have seen nearly three centuries of life and I forget sometimes how it feels to be young."

"Well, if what Lord Laurendil said about his youngest son is true," Valandil said with a wide grin and a wink towards the Elf, "you’re much too young to be living on your own."

Eärwen gave the younger Man a quizzical look while both Vandiel and Ercassë snickered. She noticed that the Elf-lord’s expression was completely unreadable, not even his eyes gave away what he was thinking. "And what do you mean by that, young man?" she demanded.

Valandil laughed. "Well, only that Lord Laurendil’s youngest son is a century older than you and he’s still living at home with his parents."

Eärwen raised a disbelieving eyebrow as she gave Laurendil a measuring look. The Elf merely smiled. "Truly, he’s much too young to be on his own," he said equably.

The three youngsters laughed then and it was a few minutes before they could get their levity under control. Laurendil recognized it for what it was: a release of emotions held too tightly, so he did not mind being the object of the jest, or rather his son. He would have to remember to tell Manwen about it; she would appreciate the humor of it.

"When should we assay the tower then?" Vandiel finally asked when they were more sober.

"Tonight," Laurendil said with bald certainty. He had a premonition that after tonight it would be too late for any of them, though he could not say exactly why.

Both Boromir and Valandil nodded. "It would be best," the steward said.

"Nai le tiruvar ar varyuvar iValar," Eärwen fervently prayed.

"Násië," Valandil whispered and the others echoed him.

Laurendil sent his own silent prayer winging towards Aman, confident that Lord Manwë would indeed hear them, though he was still doubtful that any of them would come away from this venture alive.

****

All words are Quenya.

Ciryatano: Shipwright.

Ambali: Plural of ambalë: ‘yellow hammer’; also written Ammalë.

Morimindon: Black Tower.

Nai le tiruvar ar varyuvar iValar: May the Valar guard and protect you.

Násië: Amen.

10: Margileth

The Morimindon was originally so called because of the dark stone of its construction. It had been built in the days of Ar-Gimilzôr, shortly after the Edict of Forbiddance. The tower was built just outside the city where walls were being constructed. As it stood to the west of the city limits, looking towards the Meneltarma and ultimately to the Blessed Realm, its original purpose was probably that of a watchtower against the Eldar. Shortly after Ar-Pharazôn took the throne it began to be used as a prison for ‘malcontents’ and ‘traitors’. Rumors of torture and worse being perpetrated within the walls of the prison were whispered about but could never be proved. When Ar-Pharazôn brought Sauron back to Númenórë, and that Maia began to corrupt the king, rumor became reality.

Lady Eärwen was not sanguine about allowing Vandiel and Ercassë to join in what she admitted was but a fool’s hope of a rescue, and while both Valandil and Boromir were also inclined to agree with the lady, Laurendil was adamant that the two young women join in the rescue. "They will both be needed," was all he said, and the implacableness of his tone and the depths of wisdom and age they saw in his eyes as he spoke stopped their protests.

Reaching the Morimindon undetected was, of course, their primary concern. Boromir assured them that there was a way in that was unknown to most and it would be unguarded, but getting there was another matter. Finally, they realized the easiest solution was to simply leave the city, not by the north gate, but by the west.

"There is the outlying village of Lonopelë," Eärwen told them, "which lies to the south of the Morimindon. You could make your way there. No one would remark at your doing so."

So it was decided. Valandil, Boromir and the two maidens would travel together, pretending to be a grandfather being taken by his grandchildren to visit a relative in the village. Laurendil assured them all that he would be able to pass through the gate under the eyes of the guards without being noticed.

"There are ways of tricking the eyes of those of... weaker wills so they do not see what one does not wish for them to see," he told them. "I will have no problem leaving the city."

"We cannot approach the prison until well after dark, though," Vandiel pointed out, "so where will we go in the meantime once we leave the city?"

It was Boromir who answered. "Ah... we will actually go to Lonopelë," he said with a grim smile, "for as it happens, there is an old woman, a widow, with whom I am acquainted. She will welcome us and entertain us with her interminable prattle about her insufferable grandchildren and when the hour comes for our departure we will be heartily glad to be leaving her for a prison."

Eärwen laughed aloud at the deprecating tone of the Man and Laurendil hid a smile while the three younger Mortals stared at the steward with open-mouthed confusion.

"Pay him no mind, my dears," Eärwen said to them with a wave of dismissal. "My steward is being naughty. The widow in question is his own beloved sister, Margileth, and she dotes on her younger brother very much."

"Too much," Boromir muttered darkly, but Eärwen merely laughed again.

Thus, an hour before the gates would close, the guards at the west gate watched with studied disinterest as three young people chivvied an old blind man along. "Come along, Gran’fer," one of the maidens said with a scowl on her pretty face, "Auntie Margileth is awaitin’ supper on us. We’re gonna be late if’n we don’t hurry."

"Peace, daughter," the old man said somewhat tetchily. "I cannot go any faster than I can. We will get to your auntie’s house in plenty of time, no fear. Now where’s that useless brother of yours gone to?"

"I’m right here, Gran’fer," the young man replied, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. "I ain’t been far y’know," giving his putative grandsire a scowl which the man could not see. "I was just admirin’ the guards at the gate. I sure be wishin’ I could be a guard." He looked a bit wistfully at the men standing at attention and one or two of them gave him a brief sympathetic smile as their small group filed past them.

The old man just shook his head. "Pure foolishness," he said angrily. "You’re not fit for guarding the privy, boy."

One or two of the guards snickered at that and they saw the young man roll his eyes while the two maidens shook their heads. It was obviously an old argument between them. The Men at the gate were so busy watching the old man berate his seemingly useless grandson that they never noticed the dark shadow of the Elf flit past them. For that matter, neither did anyone else.

****

"Not fit to guard the privy, am I?" Valandil asked with a snort once they were away from the city and nearly at the outskirts of the village. Vandiel and Ercassë started laughing, but quietly so as not to draw attention to themselves from the passers-by. Boromir merely smiled and said nothing as they continued walking. Laurendil caught up with them just about then. He gave Valandil a look of amusement.

"I’m not sure your attû would approve you joining the guards, youngster," he said with a sly smile.

The younger Man laughed. "He’s probably spinning in his grave right now at the thought." The other Mortals all snickered and Laurendil looked at them in amazement, not expecting such levity. Then, memories surfaced of the Edain under his command and some of their jokes about death and dying. He continued walking along with a thoughtful expression on his fair face.

In the meantime, Boromir gave them softly spoken directions to his sister’s house and soon they were standing before a well-kept cottage surrounded by an herb and flower garden.

"What a lovely cottage," Ercassë exclaimed as they opened the gate leading to the front walk that wound its way past beds of asphodels and helinyetilli, hollyhocks and mundulóci with here and there quiquilla and quinquenna. Roses — pink and red and pale yellow — climbed the fence while purple helilohti covered the lintel of the cottage door. Window boxes on either side of the door were filled with golden-red culdalotsi.

The cottage itself was a small two room affair with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. The door was framed by two small mullioned windows and was painted a cheerful blue. It appeared to be the sort in which the upper half could be opened separately thus allowing air and sunlight into the house. Such was the case when they arrived. Smoke rose from the chimney and smells of cooking emanated from the open doorway. Boromir smiled as he gave a hail. "Greetings, Margileth," he called out.

From inside they heard someone coming to the door. "Boromir, is that you, brother?"

"Even so," the house steward replied. "and I bring guests."

The others saw an old woman, her hair steel grey, her face full of wrinkles, but the eyes that looked upon them were a clear blue, like the summer sky, and were bright and merry. She was wiping her hands on a starched-white apron. "Why, brother," she said in exclamation, "could you not send word of your coming and that you bring guests, and such guests? Come in, come in." She unlatched the lower half of the door and gestured for them to enter.

Inside Laurendil and the others saw a keeping room with a wooden table and two benches dominating the center. A wood burning stove took up the wall on their right while a rocking chair sat to one side of it. On a brightly colored braided rug a black cat with a splash of white on its forehead slept, cocking its ears at the sound of voices but otherwise refusing to acknowledge their presence. Herbs hung in swags from the beams along with ropes of onions, garlic and potatoes. A blue vase graced the center of the table filled with roses from the garden. A cupboard and another table covered with crockery were placed against the wall opposite the stove. A door leading to the bedroom faced them.

When the elf removed his hood and head scarf, Margileth stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "Odd, for a moment there I thought you were one of the Fair Folk," she muttered as she went briskly to the stove to check on her stew, "but your hair is too short, for I recall descriptions of the Eldar and all say their hair is long."

Laurendil smiled. "Indeed. It is as I have heard as well," was all he said and the others snickered.

Margileth turned around and glared at them, then addressed Boromir directly. "Well, brother, and what brings you here and are you planning on introducing me to your fellow conspirators?"

"Peace, sister," the old man said with a fond smile. "The youngsters are Lord Valandil and Lady Vandiel, kin to our Lord Amandil and with them is their friend, Lady Ercassë."

Margileth gave the three younger Mortals a piercing look. "Yes, I see the resemblance," she said as she stared hard at Valandil and Vandiel. Valandil gave her a small bow while the two maidens offered her their curtsies. "Hrummph. Well it’s pleased I am to make your acquaintance, I’m sure, though I wonder what such as you are doing cluttering up my home."

"Now, Margi, that’s not polite," Boromir admonished her with a frown.

The Woman sighed and gave them a deprecating smile. "No, I suppose it’s not, but I little like having complete strangers drop in on me unannounced."

"And for that, dear lady," Laurendil said, stepping forward to take her hand and bow over it, "we crave your pardon. I am Laurendil, by the way," he added with a sly grin, "in case Boromir forgot I was here, which is the only reason I can think on for him neglecting to introduce me along with our companions."

"Now, my lord," Boromir protested, though he was smiling as he spoke, "I’d not forgotten thee. I was merely saving thee for last."

"Ah... well, in that case, please do the honors."

"Hrummph," Margileth snorted. "A bit late since you’ve already given me your name, youngster."

Now the younger Mortals started laughing. Margileth gave them confused looks and, ignoring her brother, turned back to Laurendil with a bemused expression.

"You must forgive my companions, child," Laurendil said with a gentle smile, "they are still rather young."

Margileth stared at the Elf in confusion and then it slowly dawned on her who this person truly was. "Oh by the Stars of Elbereth," she whispered, the blood draining from her face. Laurendil grabbed her before she stumbled back into the stove and led her to the rocking chair giving orders as he did so.

"Water, now," he said commandingly, "or if there be anything stronger, that will do."

Boromir went unerringly to the cupboard and opened one of the doors, pulling out a decanter and a wooden cup, then returned to where Laurendil was kneeling beside the rocking chair. The cat had gotten up and was now sitting in its mistress’s lap, offering her its own brand of comfort. Laurendil was rubbing one aged hand while Ercassë knelt beside her as well, doing the same with her other hand. Boromir’s hands were shaking enough that Valandil took the decanter and cup from him and splashed a good amount of the wine into the cup before handing it to Laurendil.

"Here, my dear," he said solicitously as he pressed the cup to Margileth’s lips, "drink this."

It took a moment for the old woman to comply but by then her color was returning and her heartbeat was more regular. She stared at Laurendil over the lip of the cup, her eyes wide with wonder. Finally, she pushed the cup from her and started to stand, but Laurendil pushed her back into the chair. "Rest," he said. "You’ve had a shock."

"M-my stew," she protested.

"I will check it," Vandiel said, glad to be able to do something beside just stand there. Laurendil gave her a bright smile and a nod of encouragement before returning his attention to their hostess.

"There, nothing to worry about," he said reassuringly. "I’m sure your stew is just fine. I want you to sit here and relax. I am sorry for this, my dear," he added with a slight frown. "I fear we’ve done you a disservice coming here, but I assure you it is needful and we will not be staying long at any rate."

Margileth nodded somewhat distractedly, giving her brother her attention. "Would you care to explain from the beginning, brother? And the rest of you, sit, sit. No sense standing on ceremony here."

Laurendil nodded to the others, who took seats on the benches. Vandiel continued to stand by the stove checking the stew, however, while Laurendil simply changed his position to sit on the braided rug, his legs crossed. The Mortals all stared at him in consternation.

"My lord!" Margileth protested, starting to rise, which did not please the cat, who jumped off her lap with a hiss and went over to the Elf-lord, who smiled at the animal and gently picked it up before settling it on his own lap, even as he was waving Margileth back down.

"No, child, do not get up," he ordered. "I am quite well here with my new friend." He glanced down at the cat now kneading the Elf’s tunic, its purr so loud it was clearly audible to all.

Margileth reluctantly complied while the younger Mortals looked a bit uncomfortable. The image of one of the Firstborn sitting on a braided rug playing with a cat was one they never thought to see and it was very disconcerting. Laurendil, for his part, ignored them, stroking the cat and whispering something in Quenya to it while Boromir explained to his sister what was going on. When he was finished, Margileth sighed and gave them a grimace.

"Bad business that," she said. "The ruckus it raised could be heard all the way out here. Rumor has it that Zigûr has finally convinced the king to burn the Tree. They plan to cut it down on next Valanya."

Laurendil frowned at that. "Appropriate, I suppose," he commented with a shrug. "Sauron will be amused by the irony of it even if Ar-Pharazôn does not understand."

The others stared at the Elf with varying degrees of uncertainty but then Margileth shook her head and got up. "Here, dear, let me see to the stew," she said to Vandiel. "Why don’t you pull out some bread from the bread box there and there’s a half wheel of cheese in the cold room, Boromir."

Vandiel went to cut the bread while Boromir walked to the right of the stove and lifted a ring in the middle of the floor revealing a small root cellar. A short flight of stairs led downward and in a few minutes he was returning with the cheese. At Margileth’s directions, Ercassë was setting out bowls and eating utensils while Valandil was pouring wine for them all. Laurendil rose to help as well but Margileth refused his offer. "Sit you there, my lord, and take your ease," she said, pointing to the rocking chair. "We’re fine."

Laurendil decided it wasn’t worth arguing about and sat in the chair with the cat, looking on with faint amusement. He decided to speak to the cat. "And what is your name, Little One?" he asked as the cat continued to purr.

"His name’s Bannoth," Margileth answered for her feline companion with a sly smile.

Laurendil gave her a surprised look and she nodded even as she continued stirring the stew. "Likes to make pronouncements of doom when I don’t feed him on time."

The Elf threw back his head and laughed, thinking of how amusing it would be to see Lord Námo’s expression when he told him. "And I thought it was because of his coloring."

The Mortals gave him quizzical looks and Laurendil chuckled. "Black...it’s Lord Námo’s favorite color, you see," he explained, "though Lady Vairë has managed to get him into other colors every once in a while." The Elf gave them a bright smile. "He looks rather nice in dark green."

"Y-you’ve seen the Lord of Mandos?" Vandiel asked in an awed whisper.

Laurendil gave her a sympathetic look. "Yes, child," he said, "I’ve not only seen Lord Námo, but I have also spoken with him and many of the other Valar. As a Lóriennildo I...."

"Sorry, what?" Vandiel interrupted, shaking her head.

"Ah, my apologies," Laurendil said. "The Lóriennildi are Elves who have taken service with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, caring for any who may suffer injury in hröa or fëa. We are also charged with caring for the recently Reborn."

"Reborn?" Valandil asked, looking confused. The others showed similar confusion on their faces.

"Hmm," Laurendil said, stroking Bannoth who had finally settled down to sleep. "You call us immortal, but the Firstborn are not, for when Arda comes to an end, so shall we, though what will follow from that, not even the Valar know, or so they say." He shook his head and was silent for a moment. No one made a move to speak. Finally, he looked up and gave them a wry grin. "At any rate, we are able to die as easily as any Mortal, but our fate is different from yours. When you die you leave the Circles of Arda forever, but when an Elf dies, he resides for a time in the Halls of Mandos, where he is healed of the hurts to his fëa before being re-embodied. As a Lóriennildo, it is my duty and my joy to welcome the newly Reborn and help them to reintegrate themselves into Elven society."

"So, when one of you dies," Valandil said, speaking slowly as if trying to marshal his thoughts together, "you know they will return... eventually."

Laurendil nodded, but said nothing, his expression carefully neutral, for he had a sense as to where the young Man might be going with his line of enquiry.

Valandil took a deep breath before continuing. "So... so you’re not... sad when...."

"Nay, child," Laurendil interrupted. "Death is death and the pain of separation, however brief the time, is as real for us as it is for you."

"But... how can it be?" Vandiel now asked. "If yo-your nana died and...."

Laurendil rose, gently placing the cat on the seat before turning to Vandiel, who was now quietly weeping, and took her into his embrace. The other Mortals stared at him in consternation, though Boromir’s gaze was blank. "Listen to me carefully, Vandiel," Laurendil whispered, though he spoke loudly enough for all the others to hear. "I had a friend who betimes came to this island and befriended one of the Lords of Andúnië. They shared many interests, for my friend was a Teler, and they love the sea." He paused for a moment, reliving the pain he had felt when he learned of Eärnur’s death. "There was a storm and the ship that my friend was on went down. All were drowned."

He felt the young Mortal’s breath hitch at that and he stroked her back, giving her the comfort he would not permit for himself. "My friend is lost to me, child, and though I know someday he will be returned to me, I do not know when Lord Námo will release him and... and he will not remember me or our friendship."

Vandiel pulled back from his embrace, her expression one of shock, shock that was mirrored on the faces of the others. "Not remember you?" she asked in disbelief, "but, how...."

Laurendil smiled wistfully. "A consequence of having died. When Eärnur is finally released, it will take some time for him to reclaim the memories of his previous life. Our relationship will necessarily be different from what it was before and it might never achieve the level of camaraderie that we knew before his death."

"Eärnur..." Ercassë muttered, looking thoughtful. "The Lord of Andúnië... his name was Eärnur also, wasn’t it?"

Laurendil nodded. "Yes. As I said my friend and the then Lord of Andúnië shared many things, including their names."

"And when we were talking about him...." Ercassë covered her mouth, her eyes going wide and brimming with tears. "I’m sorry... we didn’t know.... we didn’t."

"There’s nothing to apologize for, child," Laurendil said gently, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "You could not know, and for you, it was a long time ago."

"Yes, a long time," Margileth muttered, shaking her head. "Well, the stew is ready. We should eat."

That broke the maudlin mood among the Mortals, for which Laurendil was thankful. They gathered around the table, pausing for the Standing Silence before sitting. Laurendil had noticed that these Elendili all practiced this ritual, though he did not recall any of the Númenórëans of four hundred years ago doing so. When he asked about it, it was Boromir who explained.

"It’s a recent development, lord," the blind Man said. "I would say only in the last century has it become prevalent among us."

"Started with Lord Númendil," Margileth added, "he who was the father of Lord Amandil. It sort of spread from there. We do not do it in the presence of those whom we know are not Elendili, of course, for we are under suspicion enough from our neighbors, but in the privacy of our own homes and families it reminds us that it was from the West our salvation came when our ancestors fought in the War of Wrath."

"It’s a way of honoring the Valar," Valandil said, "and the One who rules over us all."

"Even more so, since we are forbidden from climbing the Meneltarma," Boromir said with a grimace. "It is our greatest grief, not being able to offer our worship there. So, in this small gesture do we show ourselves faithful to the Valar and the One."

"I see," Laurendil responded with a nod. "It is good to have a reminder of one’s ultimate source of being, even in so small a gesture."

"Do you have a similar ritual, lord?" Ercassë asked.

"Nay," Laurendil said with a smile, "for we converse with the Valar and their Maiar servants whenever we wish, so we have no need for such rituals to remember our place in Eä." He then gave them a wry chuckle. "And if we’re ever so stupid as to forget, I assure you the Valar have no compunction about reminding us... and rather forcibly, too, I might add. Lord Námo, especially, is quite fond of teaching us our manners when we become unruly."

The Mortals stared at the Elf in disbelief, then Margileth gave a rueful snort. "Glad I am then to be living in Númenórë. Bannoth’s attempts to teach me my manners is bad enough without some plaguey Vala getting into the act."

They all laughed at that. Bannoth, being a cat, ignored the insult and mewed, demanding his share of the stew as he sat under Laurendil’s feet. The rest of the meal passed in quiet conversation as Laurendil spoke to them of his own family and some of the mischief his three children had gotten themselves into when they were young.

Afterwards, when the dishes had been cleared away and the room made spotless again, Margileth insisted that the youngsters, as she insisted on calling them, rest. "You maidens may take my bed and get some rest. Lord Valandil can sleep on the floor beside the stove. We’ll make up a comfy pallet for you."

The young Mortals protested, of course, but both Boromir and Laurendil, looking equally grave, overrode their objections. Boromir even went so far as to threaten them. "I will not let you accompany Lord Laurendil and me unless you take your rest. I cannot risk any of you not being fully awake and well rested when we go to the Morimindon. You will need all your wits about you."

"Boromir is correct, Little Ones," Laurendil interjected. "Go and rest or I will be forced to take drastic measures." He gave them a hard stare.

"What measures?" Vandiel demanded, looking cross at being addressed as ‘Little One’ by this Elf-lord.

Laurendil merely smiled, though it was not a comforting one. "Pray you never find out, child."

All of the Mortals, even Boromir and Margileth, shivered at the Elf’s tone and the three younger Númenórëans capitulated and went to their rests, while the older Mortals and Laurendil spent the rest of the evening speaking softly. Laurendil sat on the braided rug again, keeping a pleased Bannoth company.

Two hours before dawn, they woke Valandil and the maidens and after a hasty breakfast, they made to leave, quietly thanking Margileth for her hospitality. The woman dismissed their thanks with a wave. "Just you go and succor that poor child," she said at the door, Bannoth in her arms. "That is all the thanks I need. No le govado iMelain."

Boromir kissed his sister good-bye and Laurendil gave Bannoth one more rub behind his ears and then they all made their way out of the village toward the Morimindon, each silently hoping that their mission would succeed, each fearing that they might not see the next sunrise should they fail.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Lonopelë: Village of the Deep Pool.

Culdalotsi: Plural of culdalotsë: Marigold, literally "golden-red flower". Marigold was originally known simply as golde in Old English.

Helilohti: Plural of helilohtë: Wisteria.

Helinyetilli: Plural of helinyetillë: Pansy, literally "eye of heartsease".

Mundulóci: Plural of mundulócë: Snapdragon. Literally, ‘dragon snout’.

Quiquilla: Lily-of-the-Valley.

Quinquenna: Solomon’s Seal.

Bannoth: (Sindarin): Mandos.

No le govado iMelain: (Sindarin) ‘May the Valar go with you’.

11: Inside the Morimindon

The Morimindon rose sinister and brooding, looming over the city wall like a threat. In the darkness of the predawn night it felt even more threatening, even evil, to the Elf. It was indeed a tower, square rather than round, and possibly the tallest edifice in all of Númenórë. Its walls were sheer and smooth, with small windows spaced evenly around it.

"There are three hundred and sixty-six steps to the top," Boromir said suddenly, startling them somewhat, for they had maintained silence up til then.

"And we need to know this, why?" Laurendil asked with an amused voice.

Boromir shrugged. "Sorry... I just felt I needed to say something," he replied. "I... I have little memory of my stay here, but...."

"You were imprisoned here?" Vandiel asked in shocked horror.

Boromir nodded. "Yes, though not for long thanks to Lady Eärwen and others. It was just long enough for me to... to lose my sight."

Laurendil gripped the Man by the arm to steady him, lending him silent support. He could see the younger Númenórëans staring at the old man with mingled expressions of pity and horror, though the darkness was too complete for the Mortals to see each other’s expressions. Then Valandil visibly gulped. "I hope we’re not to late for Fiondil," he whispered.

Ercassë moaned, swaying beside Vandiel in horror at the thought of what might be happening to her brother. Vandiel grabbed her and held her tight. "Hush," she admonished the other girl softly. "Don’t think about it. We’re going to rescue him. That’s all that matters."

Laurendil saw Ercassë nod and gather her courage. "Let’s go," she said stiffly. "My brother is waiting for us, though he knows not that we are coming for him."

"He knows, lady," Boromir said firmly. "He knows, just as I knew help would come for me, whether it be in rescue or in release."

"Release?" Valandil asked, not sure what the Man meant.

Boromir nodded though perhaps only Laurendil could see it. "Release from life, young lord," the old retainer said soberly. "It can indeed be a gift under such circumstances."

"We must go," Laurendil said then, speaking softly yet with authority. "We dare not linger."

The others nodded and they set off again, letting Boromir lead them to the western face of the tower. "The guards are all on the other side," the steward explained to them. "There are a few who walk the parapets above." He pointed upward and in the lightening dark they could see that the tower was not completely smooth. Starting perhaps twenty or so feet from the ground was a parapet that wrapped around the tower. Another one could be seen further up and Boromir told them that there were five such parapets which were patrolled by the guards. "They will have just finished their final round and will be waiting for their relief," he said. "This is the time to enter the tower, when all are busy with the changing of the guard."

"How do we get in, then?" Valandil asked. "I remember not my daeradar or adar mentioning a secret entrance into the tower."

"Ah, most likely because they would not have needed such knowledge," Boromir said. "When the tower was first constructed, Lord Númendil managed to have his own people infiltrate the workers and they constructed a secret entrance right under the noses of the Arandili." He sounded rather smug about it and Laurendil couldn’t help but smile.

"I take it, you were one of those workers?" he asked.

Boromir gave the Elf a surprised look. "Me? Nay, lord, but my own daeradar and his brothers were involved, which is how I know about it."

"Then let us go," Laurendil said.

Boromir led them to a copse of alder and fir trees that lay outside the actual perimeter of the tower. A stone wall encircled the tower complex. It was nearly twelve feet high and Boromir told them that the walls were easily four feet thick. The steward brought them within the copse. "There is a hidden gate where these woods meet the wall," he told them. "Look for a lone beech amongst the alder and pine."

"How?" Vandiel asked in frustration. "It’s still too dark to see anything clearly."

"Then I will find it," Laurendil said. "Stay here until I call for you." Without waiting for an answer, the Elf moved silently away, brushing his hands against the trunks of the trees he passed, greeting them silently. He could feel their sleepy responses as he made his way along the wall. Finally he stopped. "Here," he called out quietly. "Over here."

He heard the Mortals blunder along, wondering that they could make so much noise even when attempting stealth. It did not take them long to find him, for, though it was still dark for them, already the eastern sky was lightening with the coming dawn and there was a greyish cast to the night.

"Here," he said again, as they came closer. "Here is the beech."

"How can you tell?" Ercassë asked in puzzlement. "It looks like all the other trees here."

Laurendil gave her a brilliant smile that they could see even in the dark. "But child," he said, "can you not hear the different song this one sings? Its voice is much sweeter than the alder and pine that surround it."

He could see the disbelief on their faces; even Boromir looked nonplused. "Besides," he couldn’t help adding with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "the veins of the leaves on this tree are stiffer and more prominent and are not as broad as those of the alder, and the bark has a different texture."

Before anyone else could respond to that, Boromir cleared his throat. "If it is as you say, lord, you should find one stone that juts out from the others by only a hair’s breadth. It will be somewhat at eye level for a Númenórëan."

"Valandil, do you check on the north side of the tree and I will check the south," Laurendil ordered and Valandil moved around to the other side of the beech to run his hands over the stonework. Laurendil did the same, readjusting his reach to what would be considered eye level for the typical Adan. As it was, Valandil found what they were looking for.

"Here," he whispered. "I think I found it."

They gathered around him and Boromir spoke. "Press the stone inward," he told the younger Man. Valandil did as he was bid and at first there was nothing, but then part of the wall silently moved out and Ercassë gave a small gasp as a doorway was revealed.

"There are no torches," Boromir informed them as he made his way to the opening. "You will have to be very careful as you make your way. Let the two maidens follow directly behind me."

"I will bring up the rear," Laurendil said.

"The door will close on its own," Boromir said. "Quickly now, for we have little time."

The two women followed the old steward, almost immediately gagging at the fetid air that surrounded them. "What’s that foul stench?" Vandiel asked as she entered the hidden way, covering her nose with her cloak.

"Fear... and death," her brother answered grimly, walking right behind her. "Hush now. We do not want the guards to find us."

There was no stair, they discovered. Instead, the way was a sloping narrow path that twisted at odd points. Nor was it smooth and the walls were dank. The fetid smell was nearly overpowering and they learned to breathe through their mouths. But the worst of it, besides the absolute darkness in which they traveled, were the muted sounds of wailing and occasional screams. Both women shuddered and Ercassë moaned her brother’s name more than once. Boromir was the least affected by the total darkness and his footsteps were sure. Eventually, they reached the end where the path leveled off and they came to a blank wall.

"There is a door here," Boromir said when he heard them all gather around him. "It is at the end of one hallway. At this level there are only a few corridors and I was told that Lord Fiondil’s cell is somewhere along this hall. We will have to be quiet in our search, for there will be guards, but they will be few."

"Who told you?" Ercassë asked. "How do they know where my brother lies?"

"There are those who are eager for bribes, my lady," Boromir said, the grim amusement in his voice evident even in the stygian darkness. "That is how my lady was able to rescue me from this hellish place where few ever see the light of day."

"How do we open the door?" Laurendil asked.

"Like this," Boromir said and there was the sound of fumbling and then they all winced and shut their eyes as a door opened and a light shone through the crack. It was not really all that bright, only a single lamp at the far end of the hall, but they had gotten used to the dark and so the light was a shock, though they recovered quickly enough.

Laurendil recovered more quickly than the mortals and saw a short corridor. There appeared to be only six cells, three to a side. "I’ll check the cells," he whispered. "The rest of you stay here." Such was the authority of his voice that the Mortals did not question his right to give them orders.

The cells were closed by doors with a grate set at eye level. Laurendil’s eyes could see well enough in the near darkness to tell that the first two cells were empty. He went to the next pair and found them also empty... or almost. In the cell on the left he could see the remains of a prisoner, its dried bleached bones covered by rags a testament to the poor Man’s fate. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a soft sigh. It was not quite a prayer, for what prayers did this long dead Mortal need from one of the Firstborn now? He gave himself a mental shake and moved down to the next cell. It too was empty. Crossing over to the last cell he glanced in and saw movement, though he could not see the person’s face.

He did not bother to alert the one within to his presence, but went silently back to his friends. "I have found him," he whispered. "He’s in the last cell on the right."

Ercassë and Vandiel gave short gasps of relief and Valandil smiled. Boromir, however, looked dubious. "Did you see a way to open the cell door, lord?"

"Nay, good Boromir," the Elf-lord said, "and even if there were a key, it would not open. There is a dire enchantment on the door itself. It will take some time for me to... neutralize it. Come. There is no point staying here."

With that he led them back to the cell. Ercassë was about to call out her brother’s name but Valandil quickly covered her mouth with his hand. "Hush," he admonished her severely. "There are guards about."

Ercassë glared at the young Man but finally nodded her understanding. Valandil slowly released her. Laurendil, meanwhile, was standing before the cell, his hands held chest high upon the door. The Mortals felt something intangible stir around them and they involuntarily took a step back. Laurendil’s eyes were closed now and his head was bent in concentration. There was a gathering of power that made the Mortals cringe, holding each other tightly and then Laurendil uttered a single word. Suddenly the pressure they had been feeling lifted and their senses cleared. They looked up to see Laurendil opening the door. Ercassë pulled away from the others and ran inside before Laurendil had time to stop her. All heard her startled gasp. Laurendil was the next inside, followed by the others.

The Elf looked upon a naked Mortal lying in straw, either sleeping or unconscious, his features similar enough to Ercassë’s that there was no doubt in his mind that he was staring at Fiondil Ardamirion. The young Man was covered with bruises and welts and it was obvious to the Elf that he had suffered torture. Ercassë knelt before her brother, her expression one of deep dismay.

"Oh, Fiondil!" she exclaimed. "What have they done to you?"

The young Man stirred and blinked, staring blankly at them. "Er-ercassë?" he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wh-what are you doing here, sister? Have... have they taken you as well?"

Before she could answer, her brother swooned and she took his head into her lap, tears streaming down her face as she rocked him gently. Laurendil was about to kneel beside her and check the young Man’s condition when he felt, rather than saw, movement to his left where the corner of the cell lay in deeper darkness.

He turned to face whoever crouched in the corner. "L-laurendil?" came the sound of a disbelieving voice, paper thin and hoarse, but clearly audible to the Elf.

Laurendil felt his world tilt at an impossible angle. "No!" he whispered in denial even as he moved to kneel before the shadowed figure. "No! You’re dead."

"It’s good to see you too, meldonya," the person said with faint amusement.

"Eärnur?" Laurendil whispered, not daring to believe what his eyes were telling him.

Eärnur, one-time Master Healer of Lórien, presumed lost at sea, nodded and smiled. "Yes, Laurendil, it is I." Then he smiled, his eyes glowing with barely suppressed mischief. "Did you miss me?"

****

Meldonya: My (male) friend.

12: Escape

Laurendil could only stare in disbelief at the Elf crouched before him, his mind reeling. "They said you were missing," he whispered, "that the ship went down. I searched and searched but...."

Eärnur moved to take his friend into his arms as the older Elf succumbed to tears. "But they never said I was dead, did they?" he whispered.

That brought Laurendil up cold and he pulled back from Eärnur, his expression now one of anger. "They lied! Lord Námo lied! They... they made us believe you were dead!"

"Or they simply didn’t bother to correct your assumptions based on what you knew, or thought you knew," Eärnur replied calmly.

Laurendil just stared at him, unable to formulate an answer. "Why are you so calm about this?" he finally asked.

Eärnur smiled gently. "I’ve had four hundred years to think about it, meldonya," he answered. "Now, enough about me." His tone became more brisk and business-like. "That child needs tending and if you’re here to rescue him, you had best do it quickly. Breaking that doorspell the way you did will have alerted the wrong kind of people."

Laurendil wanted to argue with that for he had too many questions roiling within him, but realized that every second’s delay was just asking for trouble. He nodded. "Can you get up?" he asked, standing and giving the other Elf a hand. Eärnur nodded, grabbing the proffered hand and rising. He was as naked as Fiondil though he seemed not to be quite as filthy looking.

Eärnur eyed his friend critically, noticing the shorn locks and smiled. "You and Vorondil..." he shook his head in amusement but Laurendil paid him no mind, going instead to Fiondil’s side. The young Man was still unconscious.

By now everyone else was inside the cell with the three younger Mortals gazing in surprise at the nude Elf who stood there seemingly unembarrassed by his nakedness. Laurendil pulled out a small phial of cut crystal from a pouch hanging off his belt and undid the cork. At once the entire cell was filled with the mingled scents of losilli, helinyetilli, nieninqui, asëa aranion and yavannamírë. The air seemed brighter and their hearts lifted in solace.

"Lift him up," he commanded Ercassë, who still knelt with Fiondil’s head in her lap. She complied with his orders and the Elf pressed the phial to the Man’s mouth, letting only a drop or two touch his lips before recorking the phial and returning it to its pouch. Fiondil opened his eyes, staring uncomprehendingly about.

"Eärnur, he whispered. "Where..."

"Here, mellon nîn," Eärnur said as he sank to the floor next to Fiondil, brushing a hand through the young Man’s matted hair, giving him a smile. "And look you, did I not promise that help would come? Now we must away ere Sauron’s lackeys come looking for us."

Fiondil nodded mutely and started to rise, hissing in pain and it was only then that the others saw the signs of torture on his body. Both maidens cried out but Valandil hushed them as he pulled his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it around Fiondil. Laurendil did the same, giving his cloak to Eärnur, who gave his friend an amused smile along with a nod of thanks. Then Boromir, who had been standing by the door, spoke up.

"I hear guards approaching," he warned them. "Come, we must away ere we are all caught."

With that Laurendil motioned for the two maidens to lead the way while Eärnur and Valandil helped Fiondil. Laurendil brought up the rear. Surprisingly, instead of retracing their path, Boromir turned right, heading towards where their corridor met another.

"Boromir!" Ercassë exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Why do you lead us away from the door?"

Without breaking stride, the blind steward gave answer. "The way above is shut, my lady. One can enter, one cannot go out. We must find another road. There is a different door that leads to the outside, but we must go down, not up."

Before the others could protest, Laurendil spoke. "Lead us, Boromir. We will follow."

Boromir led them to the left when they reached the cross corridor. As Laurendil passed the lamp on the wall, he took it off its hook, hoping to confuse the guards which he could hear coming from some distance away. Laurendil noted how the steward did not hesitate, but walked as one who could see his path clearly and guessed that the Man had been held in captivity on this very level. They came to a second hall that ended abruptly and they found themselves facing a blank brick wall. Boromir ran his hands across its surface and they could hear him counting under his breath. Finally, he stopped at one brick and pushed it in, then moved his hands up and to the left to another brick and pushed that one in.

At first, nothing seemed to happen and then, slowly, a plain wooden door began to emerge even as the brickwork faded from sight.

"A glamour," Eärnur whispered, his eyes wide in astonishment, obviously impressed.

"Sauron’s doing I imagine," Laurendil leaned forward to whisper in his friend’s ear so that the others could not hear.

Eärnur merely nodded, watching along with the others as Boromir turned the knob and opened the door. "This leads to a cavern," he said. "The way is narrow and very treacherous. When you reach the end you will be looking east. It is necessary for you to make your way southward. Follow the blue stones."

"But why do you tell us this, Boromir?" Vandiel asked. "Will you not lead us?"

"I have never walked this path with my eyes," Boromir replied with equanimity. "Someone walked it with me. I only know the path from his telling."

The two maidens appeared hesitant, but Eärnur pushed Fiondil forward. "We cannot linger, my children," he said with great urgency. "The guards are near."

"Vandiel, take Boromir’s hand and guide him," Laurendil commanded. "Ercassë, help Eärnur with your brother while Valandil leads the way with the lamp. I’ll take the rearguard." The tone of his voice was enough to still any protests from the young Mortals and soon they were on their way again with Valandil now in the lead, followed by his sister and Boromir. The way proved narrow enough that Ercassë could not help Eärnur with Fiondil and had to walk behind them. Laurendil shut the door, wondering if the glamour would reinstate itself.

Almost immediately the path sloped down at a steep angle and they were assailed by an evil smell that had them all gagging. The floor was not smooth and they had to step carefully lest they trip. Only the two Elves walked with any semblance of ease. There was no way to tell how long they walked, but at one point Fiondil stumbled in spite of Eärnur’s steady hand and he fell in an exhausted heap upon the ground. Eärnur and Ercassë knelt to aid him and Laurendil bent over them, handing the cut-crystal phial to his friend. "No more than two drops," he cautioned the other Elf and Eärnur nodded. As soon as the phial was uncorked the scent of the cordial filled the putrid air, banishing the evil mood from their minds. Hearts were lightened and hope renewed. Fiondil came out of his faint.

"I’m sorry," he started to apologize but Eärnur forestalled him.

"No need for apologies, my friend," he said with a smile. "Come, we still have a way to go."

Fiondil nodded and with a little help from his sister and Eärnur he rose and they continued. After a few moments he spoke. "I think I hear water."

"Aye, young sir," Boromir said. "We are nearly there. There is a spring that issues from the cavern and meets with the Siril below the Noirinan."

Shortly thereafter they came to the cavern. It was large enough that Valandil’s lamp did little to illuminate it and none could say what its dimensions might be. Valandil hesitated for a moment until all were with him and then he moved to the right, heading south. Almost at once they found themselves facing a series of stone pillars, some white, some black and some....

"Blue!" Vandiel cried out. "Look! There are blue stones leading that way." She pointed towards the southeast.

By mutual agreement they stopped and stared. The stones were tall, at least twice the height of the two Elves and they stood scattered about in no seeming pattern, although most of the blue stones appeared to stand more to the east of south while the white stones were more directly east. The black stones appeared to head almost due west. Occasionally, though, they could see the various colored stones intersecting one another’s paths. The first of the blue stones stood to their left.

"I wonder where the other stones lead?" Vandiel asked no one in particular.

Boromir shook his head. "Who can say?" he answered. "I do not know anyone who has walked the other paths. I only know about the blue stones."

"Then let us go," Eärnur said. "The sooner we are out of here the better."

They all agreed and Valandil again took the lead, holding up his lamp for all to see. They had gone but a few hundred feet when Laurendil called a halt. "Silence!" he commanded and all stood stock still, straining to discover for themselves whatever the Elf-lord had heard. It was Eärnur, however, who gave them their answer.

"They come not only from behind but by another way that is meant to cut us off." He pointed towards the south.

"Is following the blue stones the only way out?" Vandiel asked.

"To the best of my knowledge," Boromir said. "Where the other stones lead, I cannot say, nor would I venture to guess."

"If they mean to cut off both our advance and retreat, we will need to stand and fight," Valandil said.

"Are you insane?" Fiondil asked from Eärnur’s embrace, his expression a mingling of pain and disbelief. "Two maidens, a blind man and us two, naked as the day we were born. What weapons did you think us to use against armed guards?"

Before Valandil could offer a retort, Laurendil intervened. "It behooves us then to take another path. Come, we cannot linger. White or black?" He pointed to the two other colored stones. So far the three sets of stones were following parallel paths but just beyond where they stood they branched off into the darkness. For a long moment no one spoke. Finally, Ercassë pointed to one of the white pillars.

"When I look upon the white pillars my heart quails," she said quietly. The other Mortals, even blind Boromir, gave her disbelieving looks and Fiondil appeared ready to ridicule his sister but Laurendil forestalled him.

"And the black ones?" he asked in all seriousness.

Ercassë cast her gaze upon the nearest black stone, nearly lost in the stygian gloom that their lamp could not alleviate. She shook her head. "No. My heart remains calm and my spirit does not... recoil in fear." Her expression was one of deep uncertainty and embarrassment, as if she knew that what she said was utter nonsense.

Laurendil, however, seemed to take her words at their face value. He turned to the other Mortals. "Are your hearts also fearful when you look upon these white stones?"

The twins and Fiondil all shook their heads. "My heart does not warn me," Vandiel said and the two young Men nodded in agreement. Boromir, unable to see the stones about which they were speaking, remained silent, waiting.

Ercassë cast a troubled look at Laurendil. "I do not lie, lord," she said.

Laurendil turned his attention to Eärnur, who merely raised an eyebrow at his friend, then he turned to Ercassë. "No, child, you do not, for these white stones bespeak to me of much evil, but I feel no such darkness when I gaze upon the ebon pillars."

"Nor do I," Eärnur stated.

"Then let us take the black road and may the Valar protect us," Laurendil decided and with a gesture they moved on, now heading, not southeast, but west.

However, they had lingered longer than was wise and within minutes the guards that had been following them came in view and with a shout they began to run towards the escapees. Nearly at the same time, another troop could be seen advancing from the south. At the sound of their fellow guards shouting, this troop started forward at a run, leaving the path of the blue stones and heading right towards them. Laurendil, still acting as rearguard shouted, "Valandil, lead them! I will stop these from following. Do not look back."

Valandil, however, had other ideas. Pushing the lamp into his sister’s hand, he went to stand beside the Elf-lord. "I can fight," he declared, drawing out the short sword that was his only weapon.

Laurendil scowled and grabbed the young Man by the shoulders. "Swords are no use here," he exclaimed. His eyes glowed with a supernal light that Valandil could not endure and he found himself flinching. "Go! Take the lamp and lead them hence. I will deal with this. Run as you value your lives," he shouted to them all, "and don’t look back!"

Valandil gasped at the force of the Elf-lord’s command and stumbled back towards the vanguard, taking the lamp out of Vandiel’s hand. Eärnur handed Fiondil to his sister. "Take your brother, Ercassë, and go with the others. I will stay with Laurendil."

"But...."

"Do as I’ve commanded, child," the Master Healer said, his tone going cold and brooking no arguments. Ercassë and Fiondil gave him a fearful look but without another word they followed the other three, all of them running as best they could in the near darkness with Vandiel holding onto Boromir’s arm and leading him.

Laurendil looked at Eärnur for a second. "Do you know what I intend?"

Eärnur nodded. "Songs of Power," he answered. "I know little about them, for they are not something about which the Teleri bother."

Laurendil nodded. "Then lend me your strength and I shall do the rest."

For answer, Eärnur moved to stand at Laurendil’s back and placed his hands lightly on the other ellon’s shoulders. The two Elves faced the oncoming guards who were now coming at them from both the north and the east. Laurendil waited two breaths more and then he quietly began to Sing....

****

The five Mortals ran, only stopping when Boromir inadvertently tripped over the uneven ground and Vandiel gave a cry of alarm as she attempted to save him from falling. At once, Ercassë and Fiondil were by them giving them their support. Valandil stopped and returned to see that all was well with them.

"We cannot linger," he said urgently.

"What about the Elves?" Vandiel asked plaintively. "Surely they cannot hope to win against so many armed guards."

Fiondil shrugged. "They are Elves, after all and Eärnur...."

But what he meant to say went unspoken for, suddenly, a bright white light flared as if Anor herself were rising from the chthonic dark and the ground heaved, throwing them all to the earth. There were screams and yells of surprise and fright amongst them as they all tried to keep their footing and failed.

"Don’t look back!" Valandil reminded them as he huddled over his sister, holding her tight against him, with the lamp between them. "Close your eyes!"

All but Boromir complied with that order though the old man instinctively kept his face averted, continuing to face west even as he knelt beside the others. The light’s incandescence increased to the point that even with eyes shut and covered by their hands, the pain was intense. The quaking of the earth caused many of the pillars to come crashing down and the nearest black stone only just missed them as it fell. Then, there was a tearing and the sound of something crumbling and a rush of air as part of the cavern ceiling crashed somewhere behind them. They could hear the sounds of screams above the earth tremors and then, nothing.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The light dimmed to nothingness, leaving them feeling even more blinded than before, and the tremors ceased. Silence reigned. Slowly, the four younger Mortals opened their eyes and they all stood up. Somehow the lamp had managed to remain lit in spite of everything. Valandil raised it carefully so that they might see. It was a scene of great destruction as pillars lay haphazardly about and mounds of earth and rocks blocked the way back.

"Lord Laurendil?" Ercassë suddenly shouted, her voice tight with fear and shock. She looked back along their trail, straining to see through the settling dust. "Lord Eärnur?" They waited for the echoes to die, hoping to hear a response, but there was none.

The four younger Mortals stared at one another apprehensively but it was Boromir who voiced their deepest dread. "We’re alone then," he whispered sorrowfully, staring blankly into the darkness. Then, the only sound was that of Ercassë and Vandiel weeping.

****

Note on Laurendil’s cordial: The selection of which plants would comprise the distillation of Laurendil’s cordial was necessarily limited by what Tolkien provided in the way of translation, but it was also deliberate. The plants used were chosen based primarily on their associative meanings and properties (or imagined meanings and properties for those plants with no real-world counterparts). Thus losilli (roses) are a symbol of ‘love’ and nieninqui (snowdrops) symbolize ‘hope’. Hellinyetilli (pansies) here have the meaning of ‘heartsease’ as Tolkien translates the word. The yavannamírë (‘Jewel of Yavanna’) is an evergreen with scarlet fruit, so I have given it the meaning associated with fir trees, ‘time’. Asëa aranion, otherwise known as Athelas or kingsfoil, has no real-world counterpart, but because of its healing properties, it is possible Tolkien modeled this plant on the ubiquitous milfoil (Achillea millefolium). This plant is also known as yarrow, which in many cultures throughout the world has been used as a general healing plant. Thus, the subliminal message of the mingled scents of this cordial might well be something like: The healing power of love brings hope and heart's ease in the fullness of time — an appropriate sentiment in any Age. [The Illuminated Language of Flowers, Jean Marsh & Kate Greenway, eds., 1978.]

Geographic Notes: The Siril river is the main river in Númenor that runs from the Meneltarma south to the marshlands.

The Noirinan (Valley of Tombs) was where the kings and queens of Númenor were buried. It lies between the southeast and southwest ridges of the Tarmasundar (Roots of the Pillar), which are the five slopes that form the base of the Meneltarma. The one road leading to the top of the holy mountain lies along the southeast ridge.

13: In the Valley of Tombs

It was Boromir who got them going again. "We cannot linger," he said to them. "The Elves have bought us time, but we are not free yet."

"But, all the stones have fallen," Vandiel objected. "How will we find our way out?"

Her twin shook his head, raising the lantern so they could see better. "Not all the stones are fallen. Look, you," he pointed to their right. "Those stones over there are still standing. We can still see our path."

"Shouldn’t we look for the blue stones, though?" Ercassë asked. "That should be our original path."

"I think it would be safer to continue as we have," Valandil said. "What do you say, Fiondil?"

Fiondil, however, did not respond. The torture and the effort of escaping had taken its toll and Valandil was just in time to catch him before he collapsed completely. The three younger Mortals huddled around their injured friend and brother. Vandiel felt his forehead.  "He’s burning up with fever," she said. "We need to get him out of here."

Valandil was struggling to raise Fiondil into his arms when someone took the unconscious Man out of his embrace. Valandil looked up in shock to see Laurendil there with Eärnur. The two Elves were covered with dust but otherwise appeared well. Vandiel and Ercassë both gave squeaks of alarm when they found the Elves suddenly and silently in their midst.

"Come, let us go," was all Laurendil said and he and Eärnur started away with the Mortals trailing them in silence, too shocked yet to voice the questions they had. Valandil had enough presence of mind to join the two Elves and offer the lantern to Eärnur, who shook his head and smiled at the Man.

"Go you ahead of us, Valandil," the Elf said. "Scout out our path. Laurendil and I can see well enough to lead the others."

The Mortal nodded and moved forward, though not so far that the Elves could not see the light of the lantern. They continued on in silence, though Fiondil started moaning as if in pain. Eärnur grimaced at the sound.

"His dreams have been dark and I fear his fëa may have been damaged by what they did to him," the Elf said softly, though in the absolute silence of the cavern, they all heard him.

"What did they do to him?" Laurendil asked in a clinical manner.

Eärnur shook his head. "He would not tell me, though I can guess. Let’s wait until we get out of here and we can give him a proper examination. I did what I could to alleviate his pain, but in his delirium he often fought me, fearing I might be trying to torture him."

Laurendil nodded. "Well, if we ever get out of here we...."

"Hey!" Valandil shouted, stopping so the others could catch up to him. "I think I can see daylight, and I can feel air moving."

"You’re correct, Valandil," Laurendil said with a smile. "Why don’t you scout ahead and see if the way is safe. Leave the lamp here so you do not give away your position. Go carefully."

Valandil nodded and handed the lantern to Eärnur, who turned to Laurendil with a puzzled look. "Should I not go instead?" he asked the other ellon in the Telerin dialect of Quenya.

Laurendil shook his head and answered in the same language. "Let these Children do what they can, meldonya. They need to feel they are as capable as we."

Eärnur shrugged in acquiescence and they all waited in silence for Valandil to return. They did not have to wait long. Valandil came back, breathless with excitement. "The way is open and there is no one about. Come and see where we are."

They followed him and soon they saw a small opening where diffused light greeted them. Only Boromir did not flinch at what seemed like sudden brightness to them after being so long in darkness. The path leading to the opening sloped upward slightly and Eärnur gave Laurendil a hand climbing the slope with Fiondil in his arms. Then they were standing outside, taking deep breaths of clean air and marveling at what they saw before them.

They appeared to have come into a deep valley, now covered in dense fog. From the strength of the light about them, it was perhaps only an hour since the sun had risen. In the far distance they could hear the sound of a river and towering above them were the slopes of a high mountain. Grey shapes loomed out of the mist in no discernable pattern and it was hard to see what they might be.

"Where do you suppose we are?" Vandiel whispered, looking around with some trepidation.

As if in answer, some of the fog parted before them and they could see a large marble plinth upon which was carved an effigy. The Elves noticed how pale the three younger Mortals went at the sight.

"What is it?" Laurendil asked. "Do you know where we are?"

Valandil nodded as he turned to look at the two Elves. "This is the Valley of Tombs where the kings and queens of Númenórë are laid to rest in the shadow of the Meneltarma."

The other Mortals gasped. "We have traveled far from the Black Tower and Armenelos, then," Laurendil said, ignoring the looks of dismay on the faces of the Mortals, not understanding their significance.

"We cannot linger here, lord," Boromir said stiffly. "This valley is forbidden to all upon pain of death. There is a curse on all who come to this place."

Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged looks of surprise then Laurendil shrugged, giving the Númenórëans a faint smile. "Well, if we are cursed, there is little we can do about it now. Fiondil needs healing and we cannot go any further until we get this fever down. Come, there is a stand of elms over to the left. Let us lay him there and then perhaps I can find some healing plants. There’s bound to be some about."

"How is he, lord?" Boromir asked as they headed for the elm trees.

Laurendil looked down upon the unconscious Man and sighed. "He was badly tortured and I fear his spirit may have been hurt even more than his body. He may well die if we do not find that which will heal him."

"Perhaps we can find some athelas," Vandiel ventured.

"This is a place of death, not life," Ercassë protested, her expression fearful. "I doubt we’ll find anything that will save my brother in this awful place." She shivered and Valandil wrapped an arm around her.

"Do not abandon hope, daughter," Laurendil said. "Even in a place of death there is life and in life there is hope."

They reached the trees, still in leaf though the leaves were all turned and beginning to fall. Boromir removed his cloak and placed it on the ground and Laurendil laid Fiondil on it, then both women removed their cloaks and placed them on top of him. Eärnur knelt beside the Man and felt his forehead, closing his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and looked up at Laurendil with a shake of his head. "It is as I feared, he is lost in darkness. There is little time."

"Do what you can," Laurendil said. "The rest of us will search for anything that might save him. Vandiel, why don’t you and Valandil search along the riverbank while Ercassë and I search amongst the tombs."

The twins nodded and headed off. Boromir indicated he would remain with Eärnur. "For in truth," he said, "I am of very little help in this."

Laurendil placed a hand on the Man’s arm. "You showed us the way into the prison and the way out again. You have done more than your share. Rest now for our trials are not over."

With that, Laurendil stood and with a nod to Eärnur took Ercassë by the hand and led her towards the nearest of the tombs.

****

By now the fog was beginning to lift as the sun burned it away and their view was less obstructed. Laurendil and Ercassë wandered from grave to grave hoping to find some wild plants that could be used for healing.

"Even if we find no athelas," Laurendil told her, "we might find some comfrey."

"All I see is vorenyalië," Ercassë stated mournfully. "Ever does it cover the graves of our people." She wandered a bit from Laurendil’s side, looking at the tombs. Most were carved in the likeness of the person who lay beneath the stone, but there was one that did not have an effigy. Ercassë turned to Laurendil, her eyes excited, as she called out to him. "Lord Laurendil, look! Here is the tomb of Tar-Aldarion. Do you see?"

Laurendil walked over from where he had been examining one of the other graves to see what Ercassë was so excited about. Before him was a tomb carved in the likeness of a ship.

"This might be the Palarran," Ercassë said. "Tar-Aldarion was a friend of Tar-Elenalcar of Lindon and Lord Círdan of Mithlond. He was also a remote kinsman."

Laurendil looked at the young Woman in surprise. "You are an heir of Aldarion?" Ercassë nodded. "Then you and Fiondil are also of the House of Elros Tar-Minyatur."

Ercassë shook her head. "We’re not of royal descent though, unlike Vandiel and Valandil," she said. "We are descended from the House of Almiel, Tar-Aldarion’s youngest sister, through our father."

"It is still a noble lineage," Laurendil said with a smile.

Ercassë shrugged, looking apologetic. "Our House has little wealth or power these days, but we remember whence we came. We still remember our oaths to the Valar."

Laurendil put an arm around the maiden’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "Wealth and power are not everything, child," he said gently. "To remain faithful to your oaths when others do not is better than all the gold in the world. Recall the fathers of your people and their deeds — Bëor, Húrin and Beren."

Ercassë gave him a jaundiced look. "And the mothers of my people — Morwen, Haleth and Lúthien."

Laurendil smiled warmly and nodded. "And the mothers."

They stood there for a moment examining the ship. Ercassë pointed to something that sat on the foredeck. "What’s that copper bowl doing up there?"

Laurendil reached up and brought it down so they could examine it. Inside was a branch of yew that was still green. Ercassë gave the Elf a perplexed look. It was obvious that she did not recognize the significance of either the bowl or its contents. "It’s a bowl of remembrance," he said, drawing on memories of an earlier time. "It was a common custom to place sprigs of tamuril and other plants, such as mîdhaear, in these copper bowls and place them on the graves." He picked up the branch. "Look, you. This branch is relatively fresh. Someone still follows the ancient customs of your people, curse or no curse."

Ercassë nodded, looking thoughtful as Laurendil reverently replaced the yew in the bowl and returned the bowl to its resting place. "Come, there is no athelas or anything else useful to be found here amongst the dead. Let us hope Valandil and Vandiel were more successful."

Ercassë’s eyes started to glimmer with unshed tears. "Wh-what if nothing is found? What if... what if Fiondil...." she couldn’t finish her thought and Laurendil gathered her into his arms and held her.

"Fear not, daughter," he said. "Eärnur and I are Master Healers under the aegis of Lord Irmo himself. We have ways of healing unknown to the Secondborn but it is often best to use what Arda has given us in the way of healing herbs and such before resorting to other methods. Now, dry these tears and tell me about this curse. Why is there a curse on this valley and who put it there?"

As they started back towards the elm trees, Ercassë explained. "I think the curse was placed on this valley by the king himself, or... or perhaps Zigûr." She faltered a bit and Laurendil took her arm to lend her support. After a moment she continued speaking, her voice low, her expression troubled. "My heart tells me that the king wishes not for us to recall our mortality. Ar-Pharazôn fears the memory of the ancient kings who returned their lives to Eru of their own free wills. He does not wish to die, you see, and so he fears death and the reminder of it. I think if he could, he would destroy this valley and what it holds, but as he cannot, he merely forbids others to enter it."

"All Men must die, child," Laurendil said quietly, "will they or nill they. It is the Will of Ilúvatar and his gift to you. I think a time may come when even the Valar will lament their immortality before the long ages of Arda come to an end."

"And the Elves?" Ercassë asked softly.

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, we Elves also."

Ercassë remained thoughtful as they reached the trees. Fiondil, they could see, was still unconscious, but restless, muttering incomprehensibly. Eärnur was sitting by his side, stroking his hair and singing softly. He looked up as Laurendil and Ercassë approached. Laurendil shook his head and Eärnur’s expression became sad but he did not cease his soft singing. Boromir made room for Ercassë to sit on Fiondil’s other side, holding his hand to give her brother the only comfort she could give, the comfort of her presence. A few minutes later, the twins returned from the river laden with wet plants.

"Did you find any athelas?" Vandiel asked.

Laurendil shook his head. "Only vorenyalië and the tomb of Tar-Aldarion."

The twins raised identical eyebrows at that news, then Vandiel shook her head. "Well, we were more fortunate." She knelt and laid her burden on the ground. Valandil did the same. "There’s a pool of nénur and look, lórefen. These plants combined to make a tonic may give Fiondil healing sleep. They are not as efficacious as athelas, but they will help. All we need is a fire."

"A fire is easy enough," her brother said, "but we have nothing in which to make the tonic."

Laurendil turned to Ercassë with a smile. "The bowl," he said. Ercassë looked at him in confusion for a moment and then her expression cleared as she realized what the Elf meant.

She stood up, smiling for the first time since their venture began. "I’ll be right back," she said, lifting her skirts to run between the graves.

Valandil set about building a fire while Vandiel sorted through the various plants. Laurendil and Eärnur looked on with curiosity. "Why the water-lilies?" Laurendil asked.

Vandiel looked up, not sure if the Elf was serious with his question, but seeing the sincere interest in Laurendil’s eyes, she answered him readily enough. "The water-lily is a plant that makes strong the spirit. We also call it poicahondalótë, for one who is pure-hearted is able to endure all evils, both of the body and the spirit, or so we believe."

Laurendil nodded his understanding. "And this?" he picked up one of the slender reeds of lórefen. "I have never seen this species of plant before."

"It’s similar to the fúmella plant," Eärnur said, much to Laurendil’s surprise, "but not as dangerous to the body. It apparently grows only near water and is rather rare. I don’t recall ever seeing it in Lórien either."

Laurendil examined the plant closely, memorizing its structure. He silently vowed to speak to Lord Irmo about the plant when he and Eärnur returned to Aman.

Vandiel looked surprised at the extent of Eärnur’s knowledge. "What you say about the plant is true, but how....?"

Eärnur gave her a quick smile. "I spent many years among the fisherfolk who live among the watermeads way to the south," he answered her. "This plant is quite abundant there and I learned of its properties from a healer who lived in Nindamos. That’s the largest fishing village at the mouth of the Siril." This last he directed at Laurendil, who nodded.

"I am familiar with the area," he said softly. "I spent nearly a month combing the southern shore in search of your body." His mouth quirked in a wry grin. "Obviously, I didn’t find it."

Eärnur nodded, returning Laurendil’s smile with one of his own. "Obviously."

"Well, at any rate," Vandiel said, "these two plants when combined have usually proven effective as a sedative so the body may find rest and as a restorative so the spirit may find hope."

"You are wise in the ways of healing, daughter," Laurendil said with a bow of acknowledgment. "Your wisdom may well be the saving of Fiondil."

Just then, Ercassë returned, carrying the bowl, now empty of the yew but filled with water from the river. Valandil had the fire going nicely by then and had even constructed a kind of tripod from rocks, allowing the bowl to sit above the fire without actually being placed within it. Valandil directed Ercassë to place the bowl on the rocks and began putting some of the plants in the water. "It needs to boil," she told them. "When the plants have steeped long enough we’ll remove them and let the water cool enough for drinking. It’s rather crude, but it should work."

"The fog is disappearing," Valandil said to no one in particular. "The sun is now high enough to give us some warmth."

"Good," Vandiel said, as she used a knife that Laurendil gave her to stir the plants. "The sun will help keep Fiondil warm. I wish we could clean his wounds. I don’t want them to fester."

"All in good time, my dear," Eärnur said. "Let’s first bring this fever down, then we can take your brother down to the river and clean him up."

"How long will it be before we can give him this tonic?" Ercassë asked, looking doubtfully at the yellowish-green color of the boiling water.

"Not long," Vandiel assured her with a smile. "Perhaps another hour or so. I want the tonic to be as strong as possible, though it will taste terrible. We need to bring that fever down and lighten his spirit."

"In the meantime," Laurendil said, looking directly at Eärnur, "perhaps you could tell us how it is you are not dead."

Eärnur nodded. "Fiondil already knows my tale, for, in the darkness of the cell, we had little else to do but tell each other our stories. There is little enough to tell of mine, but such as it is...."

The others settled back, ready to hear what the Elf had to say. Laurendil, especially, was full of curiosity to learn what Eärnur would tell them, wondering all the while why the Valar lied to them about his friend’s fate.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Vorenyalië: Evermind, what the Rohirrim will call simbelmynë.

Palarran: Far-wanderer; the name of one of Tar-Aldarion’s ships.

Tar-Elenalcar: Gil-galad’s name rendered in Quenya as all royal names in Númenor were.

Tamuril: Yew. In the Language of Flowers, the yew is a symbol of sorrow or repentence.

Mîdhaear: (Sindarin) Rosemary, literally, ‘dew of the sea’; traditionally a symbol of remembrance.

Nénur: Yellow water-lilies. In the Language of Flowers, water-lilies symbolize ‘purity of heart’.

Poicahondalótë: Pure-hearted flower.

Lórefen: Sleep-reed; an (invented) herb which grows near water and, when distilled and taken internally, acts as a sedative, bringing healing sleep to one who has been sick or wounded.

Fúmella: Poppy.

14: Eärnur’s Tale

"It was a year after Ar-Adûnakhôr came to the throne that I arrived in Númenórë," Eärnur explained to the Mortals. "At that time ships from Tol Eressëa were seldom seen here and when we came, we came in secret. I was sent to Andúnië to speak with its lord...."

"Wait!," Laurendil interrupted. "You were sent? By whom? I thought you went because of your friendship with Eärnur Ciryatano."

Eärnur gave his fellow Elf a wry look. "Which is probably why the Valar sent me when anyone else would have done."

"That sounds oddly familiar," Laurendil said darkly.

The Mortals looked on in bemusement, not sure what was being said. Eärnur noticed and gave them a warm smile. "You must forgive us, my children," he said. "Laurendil and I have a... history with the Valar that is not always congenial."

"How did you and Lord Eärnur meet?" Vandiel asked shyly.

"Ah, well, it was during the reign of Adûnakhôr’s grandfather, Tar-Calmacil." They all nodded, knowing well their history. "Eärnur was a young Man, not even the Lord of Andúnië then. In fact, he wasn’t much older than you children, perhaps only forty."

"A mere elfling," Laurendil said with a smile and Eärnur smiled back, though the Mortals, at least the younger ones, did not look at all amused.

"Yes, well, anyway, there was a plague that hit the island around that time, brought, we suspect, from Middle-earth courtesy of Sauron when he was forced to withdraw eastward after Calmacil began to colonize the coasts of Middle-earth."

"I remember reading about that," Valandil said. "Many of the Faithful died, more so it seems than those who called themselves Arandili."

Eärnur nodded. "Young Eärnur was a victim of the plague that killed his mother and two older brothers. The Lord of Andúnië appealed to the Valar for aid, and as a healer I volunteered to go when Lord Irmo gave his permission." He gave the Mortals a shy smile. "I’d never met any of the Edain, you see, and I was curious about you."

Valandil turned to Laurendil. "You said you were a healer, too. Did you come then, as well?"

"Nay, I did not," he replied. "I remember well the day King Finrod brought Bëor the Old unto Nargothrond." He grimaced and looked chagrined. "I was not very welcoming to Bëor or his people at first, though I will admit your ancestors did grow on me after awhile. Once I returned to Aman, though, I decided not to travel any further east than Tol Eressëa."

They all stared at Laurendil in surprise and not a little awe. Eärnur merely shrugged, well aware of his friend’s history.

"At any rate, I came here with a few other healers. Tar-Calmacil wasn’t too pleased by our presence but even those who had no love for the Firstborn did not deny our aid. When one’s child or spouse lies at death’s door, one tends to leave behind such prejudices, at least until the threat of death has passed. So it was that I came unto the Lord of Andúnië and saved his last remaining child." The Elf smiled wistfully at the memory. "Young Eärnur, when he learned my name, said it was a good omen, but in the end...." He sighed and Laurendil put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him.

"You and he had eighty years of friendship," he said gently. "Even if he had not drowned when his ship went down, he would still be dead today. Be grateful for the time you were given, however brief and however deep the pain."

Eärnur gave Laurendil a shrewd look. "Is that why you refused to join me in succoring the plague victims when I asked you to?"

"Partly," Laurendil answered. "I have had my own share of heartache where the Secondborn are concerned and when Findaráto openly declared he would never travel any further east than Tol Eressëa, how could I, who am and always will be his liegeman, do elsewise than he?"

"How did you survive the storm when all others drowned?" Ercassë asked.

"Well, now we’re getting to it," Eärnur said with a nod. "I will admit that when I was summoned to Valmar to speak to Lord Manwë I was rather shocked...."

****

Eärnur tried not to look or act nervous as he made his way up the steps to the front portico of Manwë’s mansion but knew it was a lost cause. The Maia who was escorting him, not one he knew, smiled gently at him as he was led down the main hall to an audience chamber.

"There is naught to be nervous about, child," the Maia said. "You’ve dealt with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë for many yéni. Speaking with the Elder King is no different."

"That’s just it," Eärnur said with a slight squeak in his voice. "He’s the Elder King."

The Maia stopped and gave him an amused look. "Yes, he is, and he is no less in love with you than Lord Irmo or Lady Estë."

Eärnur blinked at that, never having thought of any of the Valar as being ‘in love’ with him and it made him feel rather uneasy, though he couldn’t quite say why. The Maia merely smiled and continued down the hall, forcing Eärnur to follow. They came to a plain wooden door with mithril worked into it in a filigree design. The Maia opened the door and ushered Eärnur inside where he found himself in a small, brightly lit room furnished with several low couches and chairs. In one chair sat Manwë, in another....

Eärnur felt himself become faint and the room did a slow spin as his heart started racing and he was barely aware of the Maia taking him by the arm and leading him to one of the couches where he was made to lie down. A cool cloth was placed on his forehead and he sighed in blessed relief when a hand was placed over his heart and he could feel his pulse slowing almost to the point of falling asleep. Then his head was lifted up and a goblet of sweet water was offered him and that woke him up again, his mind clearing. He looked up to see concerned looks on the faces of the two Valar and the Maia.

"Are you feeling better, child?" Manwë asked solicitously.

"I... I think so," he whispered, feeling himself reddening in embarrassment at nearly fainting in front of them.

"Fionwë," Manwë said, looking up at the Maia, "thank you. You may go now. I think we have everything under control."

Fionwë nodded and gave his lord and the Lord of Mandos his obeisance before exiting from the room. Manwë reached down and gave Eärnur a hand up while Námo gave him a sardonic smile. Eärnur cursed himself mentally for acting like a bloody fool. It wasn’t as if he had never seen the Lord of Mandos before. He and Lord Irmo were often seen speaking to one another about the Reborn who were under both their care. It was just that his presence was unexpected.

"And I apologize for causing you any upset, Eärnur," Námo said. "Now, why don’t you just sit here for a moment and gather your wits. There’s no rush. Take all the time you need."

Eärnur nodded and accepted a second goblet of water that Manwë handed him as he sat in one of the chairs. The two Valar took their own seats. The elf drank half the contents in nearly a single swallow and that seemed to steady him even more. Only when he put the goblet down on a nearby table did Manwë speak.

"I, too, apologize for your... shock," he said. "I did not think seeing my brother Vala here would upset you so."

"It is I who should be apologizing, lord," Eärnur replied softly. "It’s not as if I’ve never seen Lord Námo before or even talked with him. It’s just...." but he couldn’t quite put into words what he had felt when he saw the Lord of Mandos sitting beside Lord Manwë, staring at him with those unsettling and all too knowing eyes.

"There is no need to say anything further," Manwë told him with a smile. "Why don’t we move on to the purpose of this meeting."

Eärnur nodded, grateful to the Valar for not pressing the matter. He remained silent, waiting for the Elder King to explain his summons. However, it was not Manwë who spoke, but Námo and he began by asking a question.

"When was the last time you saw the Lord of Andúnië?"

Eärnur gave him a surprised look. "I think it’s been over forty years. I visited him at the birth of his first child, a son." He paused and gave them a shy smile. "They let me hold him." The two Valar smiled warmly at that.

"And you’ve not been back since," Manwë said.

Eärnur shook his head, now feeling alarmed. "Has something happened?" he asked, wondering about his Mortal friend.

"There have been some disturbing rumors coming from the Star Island," Námo answered him. "We would like you to go there to confirm these rumors."

"Me? Why Me?"

"Because of your friendship with Eärnur Ciryatano," Manwë replied. "The Eldar are not being welcomed as openly as before, but there is still friendship between the Lords of Andúnië and the Valar and Eärnur is known to you and you to him."

Eärnur nodded. That made sense, as far as it went, but...

"There are others who are equally known to the Lord of Andúnië," he said, giving them a shrewd look.

"Indeed, there are," Námo said, looking even more cryptic than usual. "But none of them are named Eärnur."

The elf just stared at the two Valar, wondering what game they were playing with him....

****

"Game is right!" Laurendil exclaimed suddenly, rising gracefully to his feet, his expression stern and unforgiving. The younger Mortals gasped slightly at the sight of his inner light shining through, though he was unaware of the effect he was having on them.

Eärnur rose to his feet as well, putting his hands on his friend’s shoulders. "You think so?"

"Do you not?" Laurendil retorted angrily.

"Perhaps at one point I did," Eärnur replied in a reasonable tone, "but no longer. Now I understand the look of grief that I saw in Lord Námo’s eyes when I took my leave of him and Lord Manwë after I accepted their charge."

Laurendil gave him an uncomprehending look. "Grief?"

The Teler nodded, giving him a brief smile that held its own sorrows in it. "I think he and Lord Manwe knew well what they were asking of me, though I knew it not and came here in all innocence of their true motives for sending me."

"And what possible justification could they have for what they did to you, to us?" Laurendil snarled, his anger unabated.

Eärnur did not answer immediately, but knelt beside the still sleeping Fiondil, brushing a gentle hand through the young Man’s locks and bending down to give him a kiss on his brow. Then he looked up at Laurendil still standing there, his expression dark with barely suppressed fury but also a look of confusion and uncertainty in his eyes, as if unsure what his friend was doing.

"He is their justification," Eärnur finally said in a soft voice. "If not for me, Fiondil would be dead and quite possibly many others of the Elendili." With those words he looked pointedly at the other Mortals, his expression almost as stern as Laurendil’s had been, and the younger Númenórëans finally saw his own light shining through and gazed upon both the Elves with awe and dismay.

"I... I don’t understand," Laurendil said then, looking perplexed.

Eärnur nodded. "And for a long time, neither did I, but always, even in my darkest moments, I saw before me the expression of grief in Lord Námo’s eyes as I took my leave of the Valar. That look has haunted me these four hundred years and oddly enough the memory of it has kept my own hope alive."

"How?" Laurendil sat back down beside his friend.

The Teler sighed as he settled himself again as well. The Mortals seemed almost forgotten as the two Elves spoke, slipping unconsciously into Quenya. It was Boromir who reminded them that they were not alone when he cleared his throat meaningfully and the ellyn glanced up with almost identical looks of surprise on their faces, which caused Ercassë to cover her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress her giggles. Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged rueful smiles and they both apologized to the Númenórëans for their rudeness.

"We’re just as interested in hearing your tale as Lord Laurendil is," Valandil said with a grin.

Eärnur nodded. "I will not bore you with details of my time here," he told them. "I accepted Lord Manwë’s commission and came to Númenórë and met with Lord Eärnur. There was indeed some disturbing news that the new king had taken the scepter with a name that many of the Faithful of that time considered blasphemous. Still, I wondered why it was necessary for me to come here when others could have gotten the information just as easily." He paused for a moment, his eyes nearly blank with remembered pain and sorrow. "It was years, even centuries, before I truly understood."

"What happened?" Laurendil asked gently.

"Eärnur decided to travel to Rómenna and asked me to join him on his ship for it would be easier, he said, to go by sea than overland. I agreed and so we went, sailing south. Somewhere along the way we ran into severe weather and got caught in one of Lord Ossë’s more spectacular storms." He grinned somewhat mirthlessly at that then shook his head, as if to clear it of the memory. "I remember little of what happened. I think I saw Eärnur get swept overboard at one point and then one of the spars broke apart and hit me and I knew nothing more until I awoke on shore, half drowned. I later learned that I had been washed up near Nindamos and it was the fisherfolk who found me and gave me succor."

"Why did you not return to Aman then?" Laurendil asked. "Were you held prisoner by these Mortals all this time?"

"In a manner of speaking," Eärnur said. "They gave me what aid they could and when I was sufficiently recovered I did indeed attempt to return home." He grimaced then and his eyes darkened. "The fisherfolk were in awe of me, and yet at the same time, treated me more as a slave than anything else. They knew that the Eldar were no longer welcomed on the island and were afraid that my presence might harm them, so they kept me hidden or at least tried to. I managed to escape my bonds several times, and to steal a boat with the intention of sailing at least to Andúnië where I knew I could secure passage back to Tol Eressëa, but each time I set out to sea a storm would come up, driving me back to shore and into the not so loving arms of the people of Nindamos."

Laurendil was not the only one to gasp in shock at those words. Vandiel gave Eärnur a sympathetic look. "Did... did they mistreat you, lord?" she asked shyly, almost fearfully.

Eärnur gave her a gentle smile. "Not really, child. They were frightened, for me and for themselves, and had a healthy respect for Lord Ossë’s temper. My attempts to leave and being driven back to Nindamos was a sign to them that I was to be kept safe and so I was. At first I raged against them and the Valar for what was happening and I was not kind to them." He paused, looking sorrowful. "In the blindness of my own anger and hurt I did not see, or refused to see, how I was hurting them as well. It was only when one of the children became deathly ill with swamp fever that I woke up to the fact that these were people in need. It took me some time to convince them to let me help but eventually they let me heal the child and when I began to offer my services as a healer we began to treat one another more kindly."

"But they refused to let you go," Boromir said, looking troubled at the thought of this Firstborn being kept a virtual slave to the fisherfolk.

"They were convinced that it was not Lord Ulmo’s wish that I be allowed to leave, and so they made sure I could not by the expedient of putting a guard on me during the day and chaining me every night."

"They chained you? Like a dog?" Laurendil leaped up again, disbelief and fury written all over him.

"Well, I admit, at first I was rather resentful," Eärnur replied blandly. "After a time, though, I merely accepted it as what it was. I became the property of the village elder and was passed down from one generation to the next." The ellon actually smiled. "They developed a very elaborate ceremony of transference from father to son which was rather amusing to see develop."

"I can’t believe I’m hearing this," Laurendil muttered in shocked disbelief. "And the fisherfolk! They denied ever seeing you." He stared at Eärnur pointedly but the Teler merely shrugged, for he had no answer to that. Laurendil grimaced, his expression going cold. "The Valar have much to answer for."

"Perhaps," Eärnur responded softly, giving another shrug, "but they will answer to me, not you."

The two Elves stared at one another, the Mortals again forgotten, until Valandil, who had remained quiet all this time, spoke. "How did you end up in the Morimindon?" he asked quietly.

Eärnur turned to him. "Is that what it’s called? Fiondil didn’t know."

"Few outside of Armenelos know of the Black Tower or what goes on behind its walls," Boromir said. "Young Fiondil, I understand, had never been to Armenelos before he went with Lord Elendil’s eldest son to steal the seed of Nimloth."

"Yes, he told me about that," Eärnur said with a nod. "A rather foolish venture, but it was only when he was thrown into the same cell as I that I began to understand fully the... um... deviousness of the Valar."

Laurendil snorted at that but did not otherwise comment.

"So how did you end up there?" Vandiel asked.

"I lived among the fisherfolk for several centuries," Eärnur replied, picking up the thread of his tale. "After a time, when they saw that I had accepted my lot, my freedom was restored to me and I was permitted to join in their daily lives, though I was never allowed near a boat. They feared Lord Ossë’s wrath too much to let me go fishing with them, as much as I would have enjoyed doing so." He smiled at the Mortals who gave him puzzled looks. "I am a Teler," he explained, "and we live for the sea. Thus, when I demonstrated that I knew how to repair nets, make sails, gut fish and such, they gave me these tasks to do in addition to being their healer. I even was asked to teach some of the younger women the healing arts, for, before I came, they had only a rudimentary knowledge of healing, enough to set broken bones and ward off certain illnesses, but that was about it. So I had several apprentices down the years and joined in the daily life of the community. In truth, it was little different from what I remember from my own youth before I went to Lórien to apprentice to Lord Irmo."

"Did they betray you?" Laurendil asked softly.

Eärnur leaned over and planted a kiss on the ellon’s brow. "Nay, meldonya, they did not. It was agents of Sauron who found me one day as I was wandering through the watermeads collecting healing plants. I was alone, for by now I was a trusted member of the community and was no longer chained at night or guarded during the day. I had, in fact, made my peace with my lot, trusting in Eru’s love and that of the Valar. They were apparently on their way to Nindamos for reasons I never learned. They subdued me before I had a chance to elude them and most of the time I was unconscious. I do not know what happened to the fisherfolk and can only pray that they did not suffer unduly under Sauron’s lash."

"How long ago was that?" Ercassë asked.

Eärnur shrugged. "I am not sure, for time holds little meaning for the Firstborn. I think at least a year or two ago. At any rate, I was brought to the Morimindon, thrust into the cell in which you found me and pretty much left to myself."

"I find that hard to believe," Laurendil said with raised eyebrows. "Do you mean you were not tortured or...."

"I never said that," Eärnur retorted, "I said I was left pretty much to myself. Of course I was tortured and questioned but they learned nothing from me."

"Surely you were questioned by Sauron," Laurendil rejoined. "How..."

"Laurendil," Eärnur admonished gently, "you forget whose apprentice I was even before you joined us in Lórien."

Laurendil looked abashed. "Sorry. I forgot. I guess I just assumed that after all that time surrounded by... by the Secondborn you would have let your guard down."

"Never!" Eärnur assured him. "I never ceased being the Master Healer, though my patients were no longer Reborn Elves. Sauron did indeed question me, but it availed him nothing, for in truth I had no information of any worth to him. I’d been among the fisherfolk for so long I knew nothing of the politics that raged across this island or what the Valar might do. So, in the end, he left me to myself, placing that doorspell so I could not escape. The guards had a special key that apparently neutralized the spell long enough for them to bring me food and water once a day."

He stopped momentarily and checked on Fiondil who had begun to stir restlessly, lost in dark dreams, while the others pondered his words. Vandiel checked the tea and, satisfied that it had steeped long enough, carefully removed the bowl from the fire, using Laurendil's knife to dish out the plant matter. "Now we will let it cool before we give him some," she said.

Laurendil, meanwhile had moved to Fiondil’s other side and was monitoring the young Man’s vitals. Almost by mutual consent the two Elves began singing a low invocation to Estë and Irmo with Eärnur placing a hand on Fiondil’s brow while Laurendil placed one over the Mortal’s heart. The words were sung in Quenya, though seemingly in a dialect different from what the Númenórëans knew so some of the words were unfamiliar to them. The efficacy of the invocation, however, was evident when, not only Fiondil, but also the other Mortals began to relax. The Elves kept up their singing until the tea was cool enough and then Laurendil held Fiondil upright while Eärnur softly called him to consciousness enough so that he could safely take the liquid without choking. Even in his sleep the young Man grimaced at the taste, which made his sister smile. When they had gotten as much of the tea down him as they could, Laurendil laid him back down and readjusted the cloaks covering the Man’s body.

He glanced up at Eärnur who had remained kneeling on the other side of the Mortal. "You said without you, this child would have died, and many others as well."

Eärnur nodded. "They threw him into my cell shortly after he was captured. He had not yet been tortured for information and he was naturally frightened. Once he calmed down enough to heed me, I began to teach him ways of blocking his thoughts so that not even Sauron could force himself into his inner most mind." The ellon shook his head, his expression painful. "He screamed when they came for him the first time. I could do nothing to help him except pray to the Valar that his fëa be guarded even if his hröa could not be. When they returned him to the cell he was more dead than alive, but I was able to alleviate much of the hurt. The second time they came for him he merely whimpered, knowing what was to come, knowing he could do nothing to stop it, but I had given him as much aid as I could, given my limited resources. They only just returned him a few hours earlier when you all showed up."

The Mortals looked upon the sleeping Man with expressions of horror and Ercassë was weeping softly in Vandiel’s arms at what was done to her brother. Eärnur rose and went to her, lifting her up into his embrace. "Be at peace, child," he whispered to her, though they all heard his words. "Your brother lives and so do you. Rejoice that it is so."

"He lives indeed," Boromir said with a nod, "as do we all, but that does not mean we are free and we may yet all die."

"That is true, Boromir," Laurendil said, "but for the moment let us indeed rejoice that we have all won free from that evil place and remember that while there is life, there is hope."

Eärnur, still standing with Ercassë in his arms, looked down at his fellow Elf, now sitting cross-legged next to the sleeping Fiondil. "And that thought was what kept me alive for all those centuries, meldonya," he said. "Lady Nienna once told me that hope is what sustains Eä. Hope is what sustained me." He turned back to Ercassë, giving her a warm smile. "Hope is what kept your brother alive long enough for you to rescue him."

"And you were there to give him that hope, weren’t you, lord?" she asked shyly.

Eärnur nodded, leaning down to give her a kiss on the top of her head. "Indeed," he said. "It was for that reason the Valar sent me here, to assure that your brother would not lose hope in his darkest hour, and I thank them for the privilege of being an instrument of hope, even at the expense of my own freedom."

****

Historical Notes: from Unfinished Tales, "The Line of Elros: Kings of Númenor":

XVIII: Tar-Calmacil: He was born in the year 2516, and he ruled for 88 years until his death in 2825. This name he took, for in his youth he was a great captain, and won wide lands along the coasts of Middle-earth. Thus he kindled the hate of Sauron, who nonetheless withdrew, and built his power in the East, far from the shores, biding his time. In the days of Tar-Calmacil the name of the King was first spoken in Adûnaic; and by the King's Men he was called Ar-Belzagar.

XIX: Tar-Ardamir: He was born in the year 2618, and he ruled for 74 years until his death in 2899. His name in Adûnaic was Ar-Abattârik.

XX: Ar-Adûnakhôr (Tar-Herunúmen): He was born in the year 2709, and he ruled for 63 years until his death in 2962. He was the first King to take the sceptre with a title in the Adûnaic tongue; though out of fear (as aforesaid) a name in Quenya was inscribed in the Scrolls. But these titles were held by the Faithful to be blasphemous, for they signified ‘Lord of the West,’ by which title they had been wont to name one of the great Valar only, Manwë in especial. In this reign the Elven-tongues were no longer used, nor permitted to be taught; were maintained in secret by the Faithful; and the ships from Eressëa came seldom and secretly to the west shores of Númenor thereafter.

The plague that Eärnur mentions is non-canonical, but given the history of Sauron sending plagues in an attempt to destroy the Dúnedain during the Third Age, it is not inconceivable that Sauron’s hatred for the Númenórëans, kindled by Tar-Calmacil’s conquest of the coasts of Middle-earth, would lead him to attempt something similar aimed at Tar-Calmacil and the Númenórëans. At any rate, Eärnur is referring to events that occurred in the year 2820, 475 years earlier. Thus Eärnur Ciryatano, Lord of Andúnië, was 120 years old when he drowned in 2900.

15: Leaving the Valley

"How can you say that?" Laurendil demanded hotly. "How can you thank the Valar for anything? They condemned you to four hundred years of exile and slavery."

Eärnur gave him a cool look. "I prefer to think of it as another facet of my apprenticeship as a Lóriennildi for all that I have been a Master Healer for over two thousand years. Lord Námo was correct. I was the only one whose name was Eärnur. I always thought he meant I was the only Firstborn known to the Lord of Andúnië who shared his name, but now I suspect he really meant that I was the only Master Healer so named. I was not sent for my friend Eärnur’s sake, but for Fiondil’s and ultimately for the other Elendili. If I had not been there to teach Fiondil what he needed to keep his mind inviolate, his secrets would have been known to Sauron and Ar-Pharazôn and they would have learnt who had stolen the seed of Nimloth. If that had happened, the present Lord of Andúnië and his family would now be dead and I suspect these children as well," nodding towards Valandil and the two maidens.

The Mortals all gasped at that and Laurendil looked uncertain. He was about to comment when Ercassë let out a yawn, looking embarrassed when everyone stared at her. The two Elves merely smiled.

"You are all weary," Eärnur said. "Rest now, for we cannot leave until Fiondil awakens, so you might as well sleep."

"And you?" Vandiel asked, her eyebrows narrowing in suspicion. "What will you do while we sleep?"

Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged meaningful glances. "Will you guard them?" Laurendil asked his friend. "I... I have much I needs must think on. I will return later and relieve you."

Eärnur nodded. "That is well, meldonya. You need to come to terms with what I have told you. I will watch over these little ones until you are ready to return." He then gave the other ellon a sly look. "Just don’t be all day about it. I too would wander through this valley and rejoice in feeling clean earth and fresh air about me once again."

Laurendil nodded and without another word walked away, heading towards the river. Eärnur stared after him for a few moments, then sighed, turning his attention back to the Mortals. He gave them a slight smile. "Rest now. I will watch over you."

Boromir nodded and without another word stretched out and was soon asleep. The three younger Mortals were more reluctant to sleep but Ercassë found herself yawning again and soon the other two were copying her. Eärnur smiled knowingly and began singing softly an ancient lullaby. Soon, only he was awake, sitting among the sleeping Edain under the elm trees while somewhere in the valley Laurendil wrestled with his thoughts and feelings, trying to come to terms with what Eärnur had told them.

****

Fiondil woke in mid-afternoon, the sun having passed its zenith a couple of hours earlier. He lay there staring through the leaves of the elm tree up into blue skies, blinking in confusion. It took a minute or two for memory to catch up with him and he sat up suddenly, looking distraught. "Eärnur!" he cried.

Laurendil, who had been sitting in the branches of the elm under which the Mortals all slept jumped lightly down and went to him. "Hush now," he said soothingly. "Eärnur has gone down to the river to wash. He is quite safe."

"You’re not Eärnur," the young Man said in a hoarse whisper, confusion still in his expression.

Laurendil gave him a smile. "I am Laurendil Rialcarion. I am a friend of Eärnur."

"I thought it was a dream," Fiondil said faintly, "but it wasn’t, was it?"

"It was not," Laurendil replied, understanding what the Mortal meant. "But evil dreams have flown with the darkness and the Sun is shining. Breathe the pure air and be joyful, for those dear to you have brought you out of prison and now you are free."

"Free, perhaps, but not safe, I wager," Fiondil replied. He stared about him, his expression still uncertain. "Where are we?"

"In the Valley of Tombs," Laurendil answered. "We have lingered here in order to rest and heal. How are you feeling?"

Fiondil gazed into the Elf’s eyes and seeing the assurance in them relaxed, allowing Laurendil to feel his forehead. "Hungry," he replied.

"Your fever is gone," Laurendil said with a smile. "I’m afraid there is very little in the way of food, though. You’ll have to tighten your belt." He said this last with a sly smile as he looked down.

Fiondil followed his gaze and gasped, clutching the edges of the cloak that covered him. "I-I’m naked!"

Laurendil smiled. "The ladies didn’t seem to notice, or to mind."

Now Fiondil took in the sleeping forms around him and his eyes grew wide as he recognized his gwador’s sister. "V-vandiel!" he said with a squeak, holding the cloak to him even tighter in dismay.

"And Ercassë," Laurendil said with a light laugh, pointing to where Fiondil’s sister lay near Boromir.

Fiondil groaned and closed his eyes. "A fate worse than death," he whispered, shaking his head and drawing his legs up in order to cover as much of himself beneath the cloak as he could, looking absolutely mortified.

Ercassë, having woken at the sound of her brother and Laurendil speaking, now sat up, giving Fiondil a wicked grin. "On the contrary, Fiondil, I think you look rather fetching in naught but a cloak."

"Not as fetching as Eärnur, though," Vandiel said as she, too, came awake, having heard the last exchange.

"I’ll be sure to tell him you think so when he returns from his ablutions," Laurendil retorted with a teasing grin and then laughed at the looks of chagrin on the two maidens’ faces.

"Well, I cannot walk about in naught but this cloak!" Fiondil protested.

Ercassë gave her brother a smug look before addressing Vandiel. "Honestly, men are such babies, aren’t they?"

By now, Valandil and Boromir were awake. Valandil stuck his tongue out at his sister. "I’d like to see how you’d act if the roles were reversed," he said with a sly grin.

"Hmph!" Vandiel retorted with a sniff "Unlike you men, we women have more sense than to go gallivanting about in such a way as to lose our clothes." She gave Fiondil a meaningful stare and smirked when the young man ducked his head at the reprimand.

Just about then Eärnur returned, his hair gleaming wet in the westering sun. Fiondil noticed that the Elf had fashioned the cloak he was wearing into a makeshift robe by cutting slits along its sides in such a way that he could thrust his arms through them, tying the cloak closed with a bit of rope. It fell to just below his knees, so his modesty was preserved, if somewhat precariously. Fiondil gave Laurendil a hopeful glance and the Elf smiled.

"While you’re washing in the river, we’ll make you a robe as well," Laurendil said. "I’m afraid we have nothing with which to cover your feet so you’ll have to walk barefooted."

"Just so long as I don’t have to walk bare-assed," the young Man said fervently and both maidens covered their mouths, giggling.

"How do you fare, meldonya?" Eärnur said as he knelt beside the Mortal who had shared his cell, however briefly.

"I feel well," Fiondil replied, "but I am starving."

"Well, I found some watercress and some edible tubers down by the river," Eärnur said. "You’ll have to make do with that. Why don’t we take you there so we can clean you up? I don’t wish for your... injuries to fester."

Fiondil grimaced at that and nodded, allowing the Elves to help him stand. He swayed and they grabbed hold of his arms to steady him. "We’ll take it as slowly as we need to," Laurendil told him and the two Elves led him away towards the river with Eärnur describing their escape, for Fiondil confessed that much of his memory following the last bout of torture was hazy and unsure. The others remained at their camp, talking quietly as they waited for Fiondil and the Elves to return. Decisions had to be made as to what to do next.

About a half an hour later Fiondil and the two Elves returned. Fiondil, they noticed now wore his cloak much the same way as Eärnur did his. He was still gaunt looking and he walked as if he was experiencing pain, but his eyes were bright and he laughed at something Laurendil said. All three came bearing gifts of watercress and tubers for the others to eat. It wasn’t much, but they ate their fill, knowing they weren’t likely to find anything else edible for some time. While they chewed on the plants they discussed their options.

"If I remember correctly," Valandil told them, "just south of here there is a village where the road to Armenelos meets the road to the Meneltarma. It’s possible we can find or steal some clothes for Fiondil and Eärnur."

"Then where?" Boromir asked.

"Back to Rómenna," Ercassë said as if it were obvious.

Her brother, however, shook his head. "We cannot take the east road to reach Rómenna for we would have to get past Armenelos."

"Can we skirt around the city?" Vandiel asked. "Stay off the road and..."

"Nay," Valandil replied. "There is little in the way of cover along the way. Any patrols looking for us would find us."

"What if we traveled by night?" Fiondil ventured.

Valandil looked thoughtful at that suggestion but then shook his head. "They know we’ve escaped," he finally said. "They’ll be looking for us night and day."

"I suspect Valandil has the right of it," Laurendil said then. "We must go another way."

"Westward to Andúnië?" Vandiel offered.

Laurendil shook his head. "Nay! That road is dangerous for you and Andúnië too obvious a destination. We must go another way. We must go south."

The Mortals all looked surprised at that. Valandil noticed, though, that Eärnur did not react to Laurendil’s suggestion and assumed the two Elves had already discussed their options earlier while the rest of them were sleeping.

"South!" Fiondil exclaimed. "Why south?"

It was Eärnur who answered. "Nindamos. To the south are the fisherfolk and from them we may find aid to reach Rómenna and we can use the river, both as a guide and to speed us on our way."

Valandil gave Eärnur an odd look. "But Laurendil doesn’t know how to swim."

Now it was Eärnur’s turn to give Laurendil an odd look. "Meldonya, since when have you forgotten what I taught you?"

Laurendil gave him a slight smile. "I was just curious to see how they would react to my telling them I could not swim as we sailed to Khibîlhazid."

For a long moment no one spoke. Valandil, Vandiel and Ercassë stared at Laurendil in disbelief. Boromir and Fiondil, not understanding what was being said, looked on with interest. Eärnur finally broke the silence with a snort. "You Noldor have strange tastes in entertainment."

This set Laurendil laughing as he grabbed his long-lost friend and hugged him, giving him a kiss on his brow. "You know me," he said. "After spending centuries fighting against Morgoth and his minions I’ve learned to take my amusement where I can find it."

"Well, Lord Laurendil may indeed know how to swim," Boromir said then, "but I do not."

"It does not matter, friend Boromir," Eärnur said. "I do not propose for us to swim all the way to Nindamos. I hope to find fallen limbs on which we can float downstream, though I think it would be a good idea to check out this village Valandil mentioned. not just clothes for Fiondil and myself would be welcomed, but we could do with food and other supplies as well. I do not like the idea of stealing these items, but I doubt we’ll have any choice."

Laurendil and Boromir both nodded at that.

"So, the next question is, do we leave now while the sun still shines, though it will set soon, or do we remain here until morning?" Valandil asked.

Laurendil shook his head. "My heart warns me that to remain here is dangerous. We should leave now."

"Then let us leave this valley to the dead," Eärnur said, rising to put out the fire while the others got themselves together.

"The entrance into this valley lies through that stand of woods," Valandil said, pointing to a copse that lay further south of their position. "The path is somewhat overgrown, but still visible."

They wandered past somber monuments of the past, the younger Mortals pointing to one tomb or another when a particular name caught their attention, but otherwise they did not stop. As before, Vandiel led Boromir while Eärnur kept a steadying hand on Fiondil’s arm with Ercassë walking on her brother’s other side. Valandil was again at the head of the column while Laurendil took the rear.

"So how far is Nindamos?" Ercassë asked no one in particular.

"Fifty leagues," Boromir supplied the answer. "Perhaps six days if our luck holds."

"I will slow you all down," Fiondil said even as he stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, his unshod feet already bruised.

"Then Nindamos will be seven or eight days," Valandil said reasonably.

"If anyone slows us down, it will be I," Boromir said with a deprecating laugh. "At least you can see where you are going, young sir."

"We will travel as swiftly as the slowest and we will arrive when we arrive and not an hour before," intoned Vandiel in a no-nonsense voice.

Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged grins. "Spoken like a true daughter of Men," the Teler said.

"Indeed," the Noldo agreed.

By now they were in the midst of the woods, the path, while overgrown, still visible. They walked under a canopy of color as the green of summer made way for the gold, russet and ochre of autumn. A wind came up and scattered the fallen leaves about them as they walked under oak, maple, elm and beech. Soon they came upon a high brick wall that was pierced by an iron-wrought gate, which they found to be not only closed but locked. The wall extended to the east and west. Beyond the gate they saw the road leading southward towards a walled village.

"Well, I didn’t think about there being a gate," Valandil said in disgust. "How do we get out?"

"Can we climb the gate do you think, or the wall?" Fiondil asked, eyeing the obstacle doubtfully.

"Elves maybe, but not the rest of us," Valandil replied with a shake of his head.

"Let us head for the river," Laurendil suggested. "If the river has breached the wall...."

"Hsst!" Valandil warned them suddenly and pulled Vandiel and Boromir away from the gate and against the wall. The others followed suit. Laurendil, standing on the other side of the gate from where Valandil was, ventured a peek and grimaced.

Coming along the road from the village was a contingent of soldiers and they were heading straight for the gate.

Fiondil also stole a quick look before flattening himself against the wall. "This is not good."

Valandil flashed him a sour look. "I am so glad you’re here to tell us these things, my brother," he said sarcastically. "I don’t think we would have guessed otherwise."

Fiondil merely grinned. "So rescuing me was a good thing, right?"

Valandil rolled his eyes and refused to dignify that question with an answer. Ercassë punched her brother in the arm and Vandiel giggled, though softly.

"They know we must come out this way," Laurendil said, ignoring the byplay between the children.

"So what do we do now?" Vandiel asked.

"Our route lies through the village," Fiondil said. "We must find a way around these soldiers."

"Our path lies past the village," Eärnur corrected him. "Let us make our way to the river and see if we can get out of this valley that way."

"Why do they stop?" Ercassë asked as she peeked around Fiondil to get a look at their adversaries.

"Perhaps they fear the curse," Valandil suggested, "or perhaps they are merely there to prevent us from escaping while others come at us from the cavern."

"Then we must away and quickly," Laurendil said, "for now I understand the warning of my heart."

He nodded in approval when Valandil motioned Vandiel to take Boromir back through the woods until they reached a bend in the path so they were hidden from view before crossing to the other side to join the others. When they were all together again, Laurendil led them along the wall westward towards the river.

By now it was growing dark as the sun slipped behind the bulk of the Meneltarma and their steps were slow and careful, but soon they heard the rushing of water and came to the river where they found an unexpected obstacle.

"Damn!" Fiondil whispered in frustration as they pulled themselves back into the woods, hiding behind a couple of large oaks. "Now what do we do?"

Laurendil sighed. So close and yet so far. Where the wall met the river it spanned it as an arch to continue on the other side, its end lost in the gloom as it marched relentlessly towards the southwestern ridge of the Meneltarma. A series of stone stairs hugged the wall leading up to the parapet. Presumably there were stairs on the other side because standing athwart the river at the apex of the arch was a guard, but he was not alone. Several men were stationed along the river bank near the stairs and they could also see other guards on the other side of the river, so there must be stairs on that side as well. Some of the soldiers were carrying torches against the encroaching night. They were all on guard, facing both north and east, obviously waiting.

"We’re trapped," Ercassë said forlornly as she huddled in her brothers arms. "There is no way out of this valley. We are indeed cursed."

16: Sacrifice

"No, we are not cursed," Eärnur whispered in answer to Ercassë’s words of hopelessness, "just very unlucky."

Laurendil gave his fellow Elf a wry look, then motioned with his head back towards the woods. "Come, let’s move further upstream where we can be neither seen nor heard and discuss our options."

"What options?" Valandil hissed.

"That is what we must discuss," Laurendil replied in a reasonable tone and without another word he set off through the woods. The Mortals were forced to follow him with Eärnur taking up the rear. The going was slow for the woods here were pathless and they dared not walk along the riverbank where they would be exposed to sight. Eventually though they left the wall well behind them and came out to where they had discovered the nénuvar and lórefen used to bring down Fiondil’s fever. There they all took their ease; Eärnur sat on the bank and dipped his feet into the clear cold water. Fiondil did the same with obvious relief. The Elf gave the young Man a rueful look.

"I spent nearly four hundred years among the fisherfolk and often went barefoot so my feet are more used to being unshod. I fear, though, that your feet will suffer greatly."

Fiondil shrugged. "Can’t be helped," he said in a low tone. "If we can reach that village Valandil mentioned mayhap we can find boots or something for our feet, otherwise...."

The Elf nodded then turned his attention to Laurendil who was speaking. "We cannot remain in this valley or we’re courting death," he said. "There are only two ways out that I can see. One is to climb the southwestern ridge over to the next valley. Unfortunately we would have to wait until daylight to attempt it and most likely we would be discovered before we were halfway up the slope."

"I don’t know if one can even climb these ridges," Valandil said musingly. "Leastwise, I’ve never heard tell of it, though I doubt anyone has had the need to test that theory until now." He flashed them all a wry grin.

"What’s our other option?" Fiondil asked.

Laurendil pointed. "You’re soaking your feet in it."

"Huh?"

Laurendil nodded. "While the river is not very deep so close to its source it is deep enough that we can float downstream. We’ll need to find large enough tree limbs to do so, but I’m sure we’ll have no problem with that."

"Float down... past the guards?" Ercassë asked in a tight voice.

"Yes," Laurendil answered. "The trickiest part will be at the bridge, but if we can pass them unnoticed we should do well."

"I would think that seeing several logs suddenly come down the river might arouse some suspicion on the part of these guards," Boromir stated dubiously.

"That’s the real weakness to the plan," Laurendil allowed with a rueful smile, "but those are, as I see it, the only two options open to us. So, my friends, which route shall we take?"

"Why this ridge and not the other?" Vandiel asked.

"We would have to climb about where the cave entrance is," her brother explained. "It’s the only place I noticed that wasn’t a sheer cliff."

"And there is the danger that Sauron’s guards are making their way through the cavern even as we speak," Eärnur added.

Fiondil gave the Elf a strange look. "You always speak of Zigûr, never of Ar-Pharazôn. Do you truly believe that Zigûr holds power over the king?"

Eärnur nodded. "Yes, I do. Ar-Pharazôn erred in bringing Sauron to this island. His presence has hastened the rate of corruption in the hearts of most of your people which has grown over these last four hundred years. I fear that a great disaster may well befall this island, one that will spell the doom for your people."

The Teler’s words left the Mortals feeling even more glum than before. Laurendil cast his fellow Elf a measuring look but Eärnur merely shrugged and shook his head.

"So what do we do?" Ercassë asked with a sigh.

"Climbing the ridge presents its own problems," Laurendil said. "It would be treacherous enough during the day but at night, even Eärnur and I would find the way difficult. I think our best option is the river. If we wait until the middle of the night when the guards are less vigilant we might have a better chance of slipping by them."

"That’s assuming that they don’t come looking for us," Fiondil pointed out.

"I doubt they will," Eärnur said, "else they would have moved into the valley rather than stationing themselves at the wall. Besides, with the night coming, they would not be able to hunt us. That will have to wait until morning."

Laurendil nodded. "At the moment they are merely blocking all the known ways into the valley, confident that we are trapped. I plan to disabuse them of that notion if at all possible."

The others nodded, knowing the Elf was correct. "I think we need a diversion though," Boromir said and they all looked at the older Man in surprise.

"What sort of diversion, Boromir?" Vandiel asked.

"From what you’ve described," Boromir began, "it seems to me that the only way for you to pass the guards at the bridge is if they are not there, or at least not paying attention to the river because they are too busy with something or someone else."

There was a moment or two when no one moved or spoke, trying to grasp the implications of the old steward’s words. "No," Ercassë whispered in denial, shaking her head. Vandiel was doing the same, her expression as stricken as the other maiden’s. Valandil and Fiondil looked, not so much stricken, as resigned.

"Explain," was all Laurendil said softly.

Boromir nodded, turning his face towards the Elf, recognizing perhaps that this was the one he had to convince of his plan. "My blindness is only a hindrance to you and I can only slow you down," he said calmly. "I am also old, even by the standards of our people. The years of my youth are past and soon I will die, as all Men must. My heart speaks to me of this, therefore, I will choose the manner of my own death." He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I think I knew that I would not be returning from this venture," he said in a voice barely audible to the other Mortals, as if speaking to himself, "therefore I will create a diversion for you that will hopefully draw the guards away from the bridge or at least cause them not to pay attention to the river."

"How do you propose to do this?" Eärnur asked and it seemed to the younger Númenórëans that the two Elves had accepted Boromir’s proposal.

"Lead me to the edge of the woodlands and tell me how to walk. When the guards are speaking to me then you must leave."

"Are you sure of this, mellon nîn?" Laurendil asked, his expression unreadable to the younger Mortals. The eyes of both Elves were dark with memories of other sacrifices and bespoke of unfathomable pain. Eärnur’s memory was more recent, centering upon a vicious storm that had swept the coast some thirty years earlier and the Men of two sailing ships struggling to save one another, while Laurendil’s memory took him further back to the figure of a lone Mortal battling an army of orcs while the Elven armies made good their escape from the debacle that was ever afterwards known as the Nirnaeth.

Boromir nodded. "Yes, I am sure." Then he turned his sightless eyes towards Vandiel and Ercassë who were quietly weeping. "Nay, daughters," he admonished them "do not weep. Keep your tears for Númenórë when she falls."

Even the Elves looked nonplused at the steward’s words. "F-falls?" Ercassë whispered.

"Yes," Boromir replied. "I have seen it in the foresight that may come to those who are near death."

"Night is coming," Laurendil said, cutting off any further questions about Boromir’s supposed foreseeing. He did not doubt the Mortal, for he had seen that particular gift manifest itself even among the Edain, but he did not think it necessary to ask for details, if any details could be garnered. Most foreseeings, he knew, were vague and open to interpretation at best, downright misleading at worst. Better to concentrate on the here and now and worry about the future later.

Eärnur nodded. "If we are to do this, now is the time." He turned to Fiondil. "Let’s see if we can’t find some suitable material on which to float down the river."

Fiondil nodded and rose with a little help from Eärnur and together they set off to find some tree limbs. Valandil, in the meantime, searched the nearby woods for a suitable walking stick. He finally found one that was the right length and relatively straight. He handed it to Boromir.

"It would be easier for you to make your way along the bank of the river," the younger Man suggested. "That way you can walk towards the bridge on your own while the rest of us are in the river. I think if we stay close to the bank we’ll be able to keep our own pace rather than letting the river take us. We don’t want to reach the bridge before you."

Boromir nodded and quietly thanked the younger Man. Valandil gave the old steward a brief hug before turning away. The two maidens also hugged Boromir as well as kissing him, weeping all the while. Fiondil and Eärnur approached, dragging a couple of large willow limbs, dropping them on the bank. Fiondil then made his own farewell to Boromir, quietly thanking him for helping to rescue him. Finally, the two Elves approached the old Man. Eärnur just bent down and gave Boromir a brief kiss on his forehead. Laurendil did the same, then spoke a blessing in Quenya: "Nai Eru tye mánata, meldonya," before releasing the Mortal and stepping away.

"Namárië. Tell my sister and the Lady that it was my own choice," Boromir said, then allowed Valandil to lead him to the bank of the river. The younger Man spoke softly to him, giving him directions and warnings before releasing him and allowing him to make his own way. Boromir used the stick to good effect and was soon walking confidently towards the bridge. Only when a stand of trees blocked their view of him did the others stir.

"Come," Laurendil said softly. "We must finish making our own preparations."

Reluctantly, the younger Mortals helped to drag the two large and awkward limbs into the river. Laurendil agreed to take one while Eärnur took the other. "Let the maidens float with me," the older Elf said, "while you take Valandil and Fiondil."

At Eärnur’s suggestion, the two Men hung on to the limb so that they were facing upstream, their bodies floating underneath the limb, while Eärnur faced the bridge. "When we get near the bridge, duck your heads under so that you are mostly underwater and therefore invisible to the guards in the dark. I will maneuver the limb as best I can to avoid any rocks."

Laurendil decided to follow Eärnur’s example and had Vandiel and Ercassë copy their brothers. Before wading into the river the two maidens held a rapid conversation between them and then much to the surprise, and amusement, of the onlooking males, they stripped out of their dresses. Then, borrowing Laurendil’s knife, they ripped the lower half of their chemises from the hem to just above the knee. Then they tore strips from their dresses to tie around their legs, thus binding the ends of the chemises together into makeshift breeches.

"This way our shifts won’t float and be visible to the guards," Vandiel said as she returned the knife to Laurendil and adjusted her cloak around her before stepping into the water. "Also, we shouldn’t be weighed down by our heavy dresses."

Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged amused glances at the maidens’ matter-of-fact practicality. "That is well thought of, Vandiel," Laurendil said as he took her hand to help her find her purchase. Soon, they were set and the two Elves pushed off, with Laurendil first while Eärnur counted slowly to sixty before following.

Laurendil estimated that Boromir’s pace would not bring him to the bridge for at least a half an hour, giving them plenty of time to reach it from the river. He had divined Eärnur’s true reason for suggesting the Mortals hang on to the limbs facing away from the bridge: they would unlikely see or hear much when Boromir was killed, as assuredly he would be. He very much doubted that Sauron would be interested in keeping any of the Mortals alive; he was after the Elves.

He slowed their approach to the bridge when he saw the torches flickering ahead and over the sound of the river heard someone shout a warning. He could see Boromir standing still in the midst of a ring of guards. One of them was speaking.

"Where are the others, old man?"

"They are climbing the western slope," Boromir said, turning slightly to point towards the southwest ridge.

"And why are you not with them?" the guard asked with a sneer.

"I cannot climb," Boromir said, "I am blind and old. I decided to try another way out."

"Well you’ve found it, old man," the guard answered with a cruel laugh. "Here is your way out." With that he grabbed Boromir by the shoulder with one hand and thrust his short sword into the steward’s midsection. Boromir gave a surprised gasp before collapsing to the ground while the guards stood about watching him die. Laurendil closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the good Man’s soul. Meanwhile he and Eärnur had been slowly making their way closer to the bridge, staying close to the eastern bank where the trees overshadowed them, providing them with additional cover.

When the guards were sure that Boromir was dead, the one who had led the questioning turned to his fellows. "He may be lying but I do not want to take the chance. Take half the troop to the next valley over. I’ll take the other half upstream and see if we can’t trap these rebels."

"You know we’re not supposed to enter the Valley of Tombs itself," his second-in-command reminded him.

"No more we won’t," the captain said. "We’ll spread along the western bank of the river which marks the boundary of the valley from the mountain. You do the same on the other side. They won’t have any choice but to come down either to you or to me but either way they’re trapped."

"We should leave a few people here just in case," the other guard suggested and that idea was accepted. With a shout of orders most of the guards began climbing back over the bridge while the captain led his men up the western bank of the river.

Laurendil thanked the Valar that both he and Eärnur had elected to stay along the eastern bank. Judging that the time was right when all was confusion, Laurendil shoved the willow limb into the middle of the current, quietly warning the maidens what he planned to do. Then, taking a deep breath, he ducked under the branch and held on, praying that in the hubbub of movement, the guards would not notice an errant log or two floating down the river.

****

Nirnaeth: (Sindarin) The Dagor Nirnaeth Arnediad, or Battle of Unnumbered Tears, in which the Elven armies were defeated by Morgoth.

Nai Eru tye mánata, meldonya: (Quenya) ‘God bless you, my friend’; an attested phrase [Parma Eldalamberon 17, "Words, Phrases and Passages in the Lord of the Rings", page 75.]

17: The Journey South

Laurendil held his breath for as long as he could before he dared to lift his head out of the water to see where they were. He had heard no shouts of alarm or the sudden zing of arrows attempting to hit a moving target in the dark but did not discount the possibility of still being discovered, so he was cautious about raising his head above water. He need not have worried. Opening his eyes he encountered only darkness and the sight of stars high above. Lifting himself further up he looked back to see the bridge behind them. At that moment both maidens came up for air, sputtering and gasping for breath.

"Are we safe? Did we make it?" Vandiel demanded, her eyes still closed against the water running down her face.

"Yes, we’ve passed the bridge," Laurendil said softly, "but speak not so loudly for sound carries across water and we are not out of the woods yet, as they say."

The two maidens nodded their heads and Laurendil pushed the log towards the eastern bank. He wanted to stop and see where the rest of their party was. They reached the shallower part of the river and both women clambered up onto the bank, taking deep breaths and shivering in the cold. Laurendil stayed in the water and looked about. All was dark and still. Far in the west he could espy thin wavering points of light that marked the troop of guards heading for the next valley in a fruitless search for ‘rebels’. He smiled grimly to himself, some of the older memories of fighting in Beleriand coming to the fore. He turned suddenly at movement caught at the periphery of his sight and sighed in relief when he saw that it was Eärnur rising from the river, making his way towards them with Valandil and Fiondil in tow. The younger elf flashed him a wide smile.

"Well, that worked better than I thought it might," he said, speaking almost too softly for the Mortals to hear.

"O thou of little faith," Laurendil quipped and Eärnur’s grin widened even more, if that was at all possible.

"What about Boromir?" Ercassë asked, still shivering against the cold and the wet.

"He died as he lived, child," Laurendil said gently, "serving the Light. Valar valuvar."

"Valar valuvar," echoed Eärnur. "We should not linger. There is still the village to be gotten past."

"Can we stop there for clothes and food?" Vandiel asked, but both Elves and the two Men shook their heads.

"Too dangerous," Valandil answered his sister. "That village is the staging point for the Arandili who are even now seeking for us. We should avoid the village at all cost."

"The river is still our best route," Eärnur said. "We should put many leagues behind us before we seek another way to Nindamos."

To that there was no argument and in short order they were all back in the water, clinging to their tree limbs, allowing the river to speed them on their way. The village, they found, was dark with only a token guard watching the road. They were able to slip silently by and soon the village was behind them. They continued to float down river for at least another hour before Laurendil deemed it safe for them to leave it, coming out where willows overshadowed the banks, providing them with additional cover.

Laurendil had managed to keep flint and tinder dry by wrapping it in several layers of oiled cloth and placing it inside a water-proofed pocket of his tunic so it was not long before they had a warming fire going and they began to dry out. It was sometime after midnight though before any of them felt sufficiently dry and warm enough to consider sleeping. Ercassë cried at the thought of having to leave Boromir’s body behind. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Valandil was the one to offer her some comfort and she eventually fell asleep in his arms. At which point, Laurendil suggested the other Mortals also get what sleep they might.

"We will not travel during the day," he told them, "so sleep as much as you need to and we will travel again at night. Eärnur and I will keep watch."

It was a testament to how low their spirits were that none of them, not even Fiondil, offered any objections or demanded that they share in the watch. Soon, the Mortals were huddled together with the two maidens in the middle while Laurendil took roost in the crook of a willow tree. Eärnur agreed to stay by the fire and tend it, singing softly a song of mourning for the fallen Boromir.

Laurendil’s heart was too heavy with sorrow even for a dirge. Instead, he thought back over the events of the last week and wondered at it all, especially what role the Valar played in it and how it all seemed to ‘fit’ — Eärnur being sent to the Star Island, the centuries that followed when all believed him dead, then he himself being sent and finding his dear friend alive. He looked down at the top of Eärnur’s silvery head and smiled at him fondly. How strange was fate in all its workings.

*Say rather, how wondrous are the designs of Ilúvatar,* came an errant thought, the voice unfamiliar. He lifted his eyes again and gazed southward where the Siril flowed. Dawn was slowly creeping across the landscape and the river disappeared into the pale grey distance as mist rose to obscure his view. The Elf sighed, making himself more comfortable in his perch. They were not free yet and Nindamos still lay many days away.

****

For the next four nights they traveled, stopping at dawn to sleep. They had thought to take to the river again when they woke the first night, but Fiondil was feeling feverish and they dared not risk it.

"I wish we had more of the plants we used to bring the fever down the first time," Vandiel said.

"I will be well, Vandiel," Fiondil protested. "I’m more concerned about my feet. I fear I shall be crippled for life ere too long."

"Which is why I had hoped to travel by way of the river," Laurendil said as he examined the Mortal’s battered feet. He kept his expression neutral but inside he was worried. The fever was not too high, yet, but the blood-encrusted feet might contribute to it. He shook his head. There was naught they could do about it, but take it slowly and walk where it would cause the least amount of pain.

He rose and without another word set out with the others following in a straggling line. Eärnur again took the rearguard while Vandiel and Ercassë tried to mother Fiondil, much to the young Man’s dismay. "More like trying to smother him," Valandil whispered to Eärnur with a grin when the Elf made a comment about it. Eärnur grinned back.

Food was a problem at first, but the further south they went the milder the climate became and it was hard to imagine that winter was only a month away. Both Laurendil and Eärnur were adept at finding edible roots and plants, and while these did not assuage anyone’s hunger, they were better than naught. Their progress was slow, painfully so, for Fiondil and Eärnur could not move quickly through the brush with bare feet and often enough they were both found walking in the river itself where the streambed was generally soft mud. Further sapping their strength was the fact that their sleep was fitful and full of evil dreams, for they were in constant fear of being found. Yet, they encountered no others in the land. Far to the west were the rolling hills marking the Emerië, the sheepfold of the island. As they moved further southward they could see vast vineyards replacing the grasslands beloved of sheep, the land neatly terraced as it fell towards the sea. Yet looking eastward they saw great stands of woods that looked to the practiced eyes of the Elves too regular and orderly. When they pointed this out to the others, Valandil nodded.

"Since the time of Tar-Aldarion, the Hyarrostar has been home to great plantations of trees which were created to provide all the timber necessary for ship-building," he told them.

The Elves looked somewhat sad at that, but made no comments. Laurendil was remembering how Círdan and his people harvested the timber for their grey ships from various groves that were left otherwise to their own devices. There was no husbanding of the forests gracing the slopes of the Ered Luin and the Elves of Mithlond took only those trees willing to give themselves into the hands of the Shipwright for his purposes.

Fiondil finally succumbed to his fever on the morning of the fifth day of travel and Laurendil decided they could afford to spend the night there. "I think we are far enough south that Sauron’s men won’t be able to find us. Perhaps with adequate rest Fiondil will begin to recover."

"And food," opined Ercassë, casting a troubled look upon her brother who lay between Valandil and Eärnur, his face flushed with fever, his eyes closed in fitful sleep. "We’re all wasting away from lack of adequate food."

"Nindamos is not too far away and the further south we go the better our chances of finding edible plants and roots," Eärnur stated. "I think I might even be able to spear us some fish. I’ve noticed that there are trout in this river."

"How will you do that?" Vandiel asked with a frown. "We have nothing to catch fish with."

Eärnur smiled. "You forget, my dear, I spent four hundred years amongst the fisherfolk who taught me much. I’m quite adept at making spears from tree branches. I just need to borrow someone’s knife."

Valandil pulled out a small knife from his belt and silently handed it to the Teler who smiled his thanks.

Laurendil nodded. "If you can get us some fish that would be well. Vandiel, why don’t you look about for some roots and tubers to go with the fish while I see if I can’t find some athelas or other fever-reducing plants. Valandil, you and Ercassë stay here and keep an eye on Fiondil."

So it was that Eärnur returned from the river with a cache of trout while Laurendil returned with some athelas, though it was somewhat straggly and withered looking. "It will do," he told them and induced Fiondil to chew on the plants. They cooked the fish on wooden skewers and with the addition of a few tubers and cress, thought they were having a veritable feast.

"I think one more day of traveling will see us at the northern border of the marshes and meres that mark the watermeads leading into the sea," Eärnur said. "I will make my way to Nindamos and gather what news I may as well as necessary equipment."

"Will the fisherfolk not try to keep you with them again?" Vandiel asked.

Eärnur shook his head. "I do not think so. While they would not allow me in their boats, they no longer chained me or guarded me. I only hope that they suffered no harm by the King’s Men who found me."

"I will accompany you if I may," Valandil said. "When they see you in the company of one who is kin to the Lords of Andúnië, they may think twice about attempting to prevent you from leaving."

"They do not recognize any authority but their own," Eärnur replied with a smile, "so I doubt they will be too impressed by your lineage. Still, I would welcome your presence."

So it was decided. They spent the rest of that day and night encamped. Fiondil slept most of the time and that proved to be what he needed, for by the following morning he was feeling much better. Eärnur caught more fish and they ate their fill. Fiondil was not the only one to benefit from the additional rest and when they resumed their trek, they were all in a better frame of mind, feeling more hopeful. At this point they decided it was safe enough for them to travel by day rather than night and they made better time.

True to Eärnur’s prediction, they reached the edge of the watermeads late in the afternoon. The setting sun cast a golden glow upon the marshes and reedy flats. White sandbars covered with pale green sedge and cattails dotted the landscape and Eärnur took the lead then, cautioning them all to step only where he walked. He led them along a path that only he seemed to see until they came upon an island of grey shingle where they could hide among the sedges and reeds. They built a small fire, carefully shielded.

"Tomorrow Valandil and I will make our way to Nindamos which lies just to the east of here," Eärnur informed them, pointing vaguely to the southeast. "We are not far from where I was taken by the Arandili so this part of the marshes is familiar to me."

Laurendil nodded. "We will wait here for your return, but if you are not back within a reasonable amount of time I will come after you."

Eärnur smiled. "Of that, meldonya, I have no doubt."

That night, while the Mortals slept, the two Elves sat close together and spoke of many things as they watched the stars wheel across the heavens in all their splendour, making plans that did not include the four children huddled together near the fire.

Dawn crept slowly across the Hyarrostar, setting the marshes aglow with soft light as mist enshrouded them. The meres came alive with birds: loons and pheasants as well as gulls wheeling above were evident and they even saw a blue-feathered halatir diving for its morning meal. Valandil and Eärnur prepared themselves to leave.

"Walk softly," Laurendil warned them. "We do not know what has happened in the land."

They both nodded. "We will return by sunset," Eärnur promised.

"See that you do, or I will come after you and you will not like it when I do," Laurendil stated gravely and there was no levity in his expression.

Eärnur raised an eyebrow. "I will not like it? What about the fisherfolk?"

"If I have to come after you, meldonya, the fisherfolk will be the least of your worries."

"Come, Valandil," Eärnur said, choosing to ignore Laurendil’s implied threat. "It is at least a league to the village and the route will be treacherous. Stay close to me."

The others watched the two make their way southeastward across the marshes until the tall grasses obscured their view and then they resumed their seats around the fire and waited. They spent the morning idling, sometimes napping, but as the sun rose towards noon the Mortals became restless.

"I’m getting tired of fish and watercress," Ercassë said to no one in particular as they sat around the fire eating the fish that Laurendil and Fiondil had caught earlier.

"I would like a hot bath and clean clothes, myself," Vandiel rejoined.

Laurendil cast an amused glance at Fiondil who merely rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You mean, you do not enjoy running and hiding for your lives and eating only the fruits of the land?" he asked them with a wicked grin. "The daughters of Men are weaker than I thought."

Fiondil snorted at that and started coughing to hide his laughter. Both maidens glared at him and then at Laurendil who evinced an innocent air. Ercassë turned to Vandiel and spoke to her in a loud stage whisper. "Do we kill the Elf now or wait until dark?"

Laurendil raised an imperious eyebrow at that but before he could speak Fiondil piped up, sounding for all the world like a whining elfling to Laurendil’s ears. "But I want to watch, so it’s better to do it while it’s still light out."

Laurendil couldn’t help it; he started laughing. "You are all very wicked children. Gwanno! No iBelain le awarthar!"

"Now, now. There is no need for you to quarrel, my children. Adar arrives with gifts."

The three Mortals jumped in surprise, startled by Eärnur’s sudden approach. Laurendil laughed again as he rose to greet his fellow Elf. Of Valandil there was no sign. Eärnur, on the other hand, was laden with a pile of clothes and a basket filled with foodstuffs.

"You are back earlier than I thought you would be," Laurendil said, his eyes full of unspoken questions.

The Teler shrugged as he dropped the basket before the fire and handed Fiondil the clothes, which the young Man took gratefully. Eärnur, Laurendil now noticed, was also more appropriately clothed with the typical breeches and shirt worn by the islanders. Rude sandals made of hemp graced his feet.

"Where’s Valandil?" Vandiel asked, looking fearful.

Eärnur turned to her with a comforting smile. "He is unharmed. He’s remaining in the village because I think it would be wiser for us to stay there tonight."

"Why? What’s happened?" Fiondil demanded from behind a stand of bulrushes where he was donning clothes similar to those worn by Eärnur.

For a moment the Elf did not speak and only Laurendil saw the doubt and worry in his otherwise expressionless (to the Mortals) face. "What is it, meldonya? What has happened?"

Eärnur sighed. "Even before we reached Nindamos I felt there was something wrong, so I cautioned Valandil to stay low and wait until I had scouted the area. There was nothing there save for the village."

Fiondil came out from behind the rushes pulling the shirt over his head. "That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" he asked as he joined them by the fire.

Eärnur shook his head. "You misunderstand me, mellon nîn," the ellon said. "I mean exactly what I said. There was nothing but the village there. Just that. No people, no animals, no boats. The village of Nindamos is deserted and from the looks of it, it’s been so for quite some time."

They stared at him in disbelief. Laurendil saw the deep sadness in his friend’s eyes and realized that in spite of everything, Eärnur had grown to love these rude folk who had kept him from his own people for four hundred years. He wondered then if he could have been so magnanimous in forgiving those who had enslaved him and his respect and love for the Teler grew even as he pondered the mystery Eärnur had presented them.

****

Valar valuvar: (Quenya) ‘The will of the Valar will be done’; an attested phrase.

Halatir: (Quenya) Kingfisher, literally ‘fish-watcher’.

Gwanno! No iBelain le awarthar!: (Sindarin) ‘Be gone! May the Valar forsake you!’

18: The Mystery of Nindamos

In the end, they made their way to Nindamos, though not before they examined the goods Eärnur had brought.

"These were still relatively fresh," Eärnur pointed out as they examined the basket of foodstuffs, mostly fruits and cheese and even a couple loaves of bread, "which leads me to believe that the village has only recently been deserted, perhaps only in the last week or so."

"Yet, you found no clues as to why, or where they may have gone?" Laurendil asked even as the young Mortals began feasting on the food.

Eärnur shook his head. "The boats are all gone. Most of what was left behind were implements in need of repair and cast-offs. Nothing of value."

"Where could they have gone, and what drove them away?" Fiondil asked as he passed a flagon of wine to Laurendil who accepted it with a graceful smile.

"Valandil is trying to determine that," Eärnur told them. "I came back to lead you to the village. In spite of the fact that it’s deserted, I deem it the safest place for us."

Laurendil agreed and before long they had gathered their meager supplies together and followed Eärnur along paths that only he seemed to see, passing through tall reeds and yellow sedge until they reached a rise in the land where a village sat. For some time they had been hearing a sound that none could quite place until they neared the village and then they all realized they were hearing the sound of breakers and now the smell of brine was stronger than it had been. They came upon the village from the rear. It sat upon a high bluff overlooking the ocean. Quays lined the shallow cove below them and all about them they saw evidence of a village dedicated to fishing, but there was a definite air of desolation and an emptiness of sound save the high squeeing of gulls that left them all feeling depressed. Valandil met them near the center of the village where the well stood. His expression was grim.

"Nothing," he said without preamble. "No sign of blood or bodies. No sign of any violence visiting this place. I think they simply up and left."

"Yes, but where, and more importantly, why?" Eärnur asked with a sigh. His expression was troubled and Laurendil put an arm around his shoulders, giving them a squeeze in comfort.

"Could they have been driven away by the King’s Men?" he asked. "You said that you ran into them on their way to the village. Did you ever learn why they were heading here?"

Eärnur shook his head. "Nay, I never did. Indeed, I am not entirely sure they ever continued to the village. Once they captured me they seemed content to return to Armenelos."

They all thought about that for a while, wondering at the import. Finally, Fiondil ventured an opinion. "Do you suppose you were the target all along and it was just by chance, or not, that they found you alone?"

Eärnur stared at the young Mortal in surprise. "You think they knew I was here and were coming after me?"

"Why else would they bother with these people?" Fiondil countered.

"The Arandili are known for ranging across the island and harassing the people," Valandil said. "They collect the taxes and have even been known to forcibly recruit young men into the army. They could have been coming here to do one or the other or both and you just happened to be caught. Perhaps they deemed you the bigger prize."

Eärnur shook his head. "In the four hundred years that I’ve lived among these people, rarely did anyone bother them. I recall only once that anyone came from Armenelos and that was but a single traveler." He gave them a wry smile. "The villagers made sure that the stranger and I never met. It was rather amusing seeing them scurry about trying to keep the two of us apart."

"How long ago was that?" Valandil asked.

Eärnur shrugged, but gave the young Man a quizzical look. "About a year before I was taken."

"Who was he? Why did he come here?" Fiondil demanded, perhaps seeing a connection the others had yet to make.

"He was a pedlar, or so he claimed," Eärnur answered, now looking dubious. "At any rate, he did not stay long, only a couple of days."

Valandil and Fiondil exchanged looks. "What are you thinking, gwador?" Valandil finally asked.

"If I understand the chronology correctly, about three years ago I heard rumors that Ar-Pharazôn was seeking something... or someone in the south."

Valandil frowned. "I don’t recall any such rumors. None of the Elendili mentioned this."

Fiondil nodded. "Not surprising as it was but a single rumor from a source that was not always reliable, but now I’m wondering..."

"Wondering what?" Ercassë asked in frustration. "I do wish you would stop speaking in riddles, brother. It’s most annoying."

Fiondil gave his sister a bright smile and hugged her. "I am sorry, sister mine," he said as he gave her a light kiss on her forehead, "I was just trying to remember the details of the discussion. My... contact in the guard said that Zigûr was ordering a troop of Arandili south, ostensibly by order of the King, but now I think perhaps not." He gave Eärnur a piercing look. "I think somehow Zigûr sensed your presence here on the island. I think those Men were sent to find you, and, of course, they did."

Laurendil was just in time to grab Eärnur as the ellon swayed in shock, helping him to sit down against the side of the well; the others gathered around him. Vandiel quickly sent the bucket on the rope down into the well. There was a splash and then she was winching the bucket up. A dipper hung on a hook embedded in the wooden frame of the winch and she used it to ladle some water and hand it to Eärnur, who drank the water gratefully, some of his color slowly returning. "He knew I was here? He knew...."

"I doubt he knew you specifically were here," Laurendil assured the younger ellon. "In your time among the villagers, did you employ any of your... powers?"

Eärnur shook his head. "No. I utilized only the most rudimentary of the healing arts. I never revealed the full scope of my abilities to these people... except...." He scowled and then groaned in despair.

"What?" Laurendil asked, his expression grave. "What is it, meldonya?"

"It was the winter before I was found," Eärnur replied, speaking softly. "There was a terrible storm that ravaged this area for several days. One of the houses nearer the shore was pounded by waves and wind and collapsed. A young man, Sakalthôr, the son of the village headman in fact, was severely injured, near to death. I... I used some of the deeper healing arts to save him, though he would never ply the waves again, for he never fully regained his strength." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Do you think Sauron sensed the use of power then and sought to discover its source?"

Laurendil shrugged. "It’s possible," he averred. "We’ll probably never know for sure, though the timing is... suspect."

Eärnur grinned. "Timing is everything they say," he quipped.

They all laughed at that, more for the need to release the tension they were all feeling than because there was any real humor in the Elf’s words. When they had calmed down somewhat, Ercassë asked, "What about the other fishing villages you said were nearby? Are they deserted as well?"

Fiondil gave his sister a measuring look. "That’s a very good question, sister. Perhaps we should go see."

Eärnur rose gracefully and shook his head. "I will scout the area. You do not know where all the safe paths across these marshes lie. Stay here and gather what supplies you can find. I do not think we should stay here for more than the night."

"Yes, but where should we go now?" Vandiel asked with a dejected sigh. "I tire of running and hiding. I want to go home."

"As do we all, child," Laurendil said with a gentle, yet sad, smile. "Fear not! An answer will be forthcoming. Have a little patience. Let us see what Eärnur discovers about the other villages and then we will discuss our next move."

They all agreed to that and without another word Eärnur loped away towards the northeast to the nearest village while the others checked the houses and outbuildings for whatever they could find.

****

Not all the boats were gone, as they discovered. It was Fiondil who found it, walking further up the beach in search of clues or perhaps just some privacy. His body still ached from his torture and he had much to think about. The boat, a small fishing boat, was stranded high on the beach, the bright green and yellow paint on its hull beginning to blister and peel. He called to the others and Valandil, the most knowledgeable about such things, gave the boat a thorough examination.

"It appears seaworthy enough," he opined at last. "No sails or oars, though, and that may be why it was left behind."

"We may have need of it, at any rate," Laurendil said, "and I think we can find sails or oars in the village."

"It’d be a tight squeeze to get us all on board, though," Valandil replied. "I would not wish to trust my life with it unless need drove me."

"Still, it’s something to remember," Laurendil retorted. "Come, let us return to the village. Eärnur is approaching."

The Mortals gave the Elf looks of disbelief, but did not argue, so they were not too surprised to see Eärnur standing on the bluff above them when they returned to the village, though they did cast surreptitious looks at Laurendil, which the Elf ignored.

"The two closest villages are intact," Eärnur said without preamble as he made his way down to the beach. The maidens had been gathering driftwood in anticipation of building a bonfire on the beach. They felt uneasy in the village itself, whispering of ghosts, much to their brothers’ disgust and Laurendil’s bemusement. "I managed to find one of the children picking winterberries and asked her if she knew what happened here."

"And?" Laurendil asked, his expression one of amusement more than frustration. "Do you plan on telling us what you learned anytime soon?"

Eärnur gave his fellow Elf a wicked grin, then said something in Telerin Quenya that the Mortals didn’t quite catch, but whatever was said set Laurendil laughing. The Noldo threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Very well. We’ll eat first, then you can tell us."

So they set about putting a meal together. By now the late afternoon sun was setting, and the constant swishing of the waves on the beach produced a calming effect on them all. Soon they were gathered around the bonfire, eating. Fiondil and Valandil told Eärnur about the boat and the others told him of the things they had found, or had not found, in the village.

"It’s almost as if they simply packed what they needed and left," Valandil stated. "There is no sign of panic or distress."

"What did the child tell you?" Laurendil finally asked Eärnur.

"She knew very little, but what she said, or didn’t say, was interesting," Eärnur replied, taking a sip of tea. Ercassë had managed to find some in a tin in one of the houses and they were all enjoying the soothing beverage. "About the time we were attempting our escape from the Valley of Tombs, there was a gale that hit the coast. Not a violent one as such storms go, but bad enough that all the boats were beached. The storm lasted only through the night, but when it cleared the villagers were amazed to find a ship... a grey ship sailing the waters just off the coast."

"A grey ship?" Vandiel asked. "Is that significant?"

"Perhaps," Laurendil answered without taking his eyes off Eärnur. "What did this ship do?"

"Nothing, according to the child," Eärnur replied. "It merely sailed back and forth in the distance but never came close to shore. She told me that all the village heads gathered for a meeting to decide what portent this grey ship might mean. She seemed to think perhaps Lord Ossë had something to do with it."

The Mortals all gasped at that and Laurendil noticed Ercassë casting a fearful glance at the dark ocean behind them. "What happened?" he asked.

"Nindamos is the largest of the fishing villages here," Eärnur explained. "As such you might call it the capital of the region. The other village heads made their way here, according to the child, to consult with Azrubêlzir, Nindamos’ headman, only to find the village deserted."

They all looked at one another in confusion and fear. "What could it mean, then?" Vandiel finally asked.

"The other fisherfolk...." Eärnur started to say, then stopped, looking distressed.

Laurendil leaned closer to his friend, giving him a concerned look. "What is it, meldonya? What has you so distressed?"

Eärnur did not answer immediately, merely staring into the flames of the fire. No one else spoke, willing to wait for the Elf to collect himself. "They think Lord Ossë... took the villagers to himself."

Laurendil leaned back, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Took the people and the animals and the boats but left the village intact."

Eärnur finally looked at the other ellon and gave him an elegant shrug. "They’re a superstitious people and Lord Ossë could do whatever he wants."

"Perhaps they were... enticed away," Fiondil ventured uncertainly.

The others gave him an appraising look. Valandil clapped the younger Man on the shoulder. "You might just be closer to the truth than you think, gwador."

"Yes, but why?" Fiondil protested, "and why this village and none of the others?"

"Do you count these fisherfolk among the Elendili?" Laurendil asked Valandil, who shook his head.

"Nay, we do not, but neither do we count them among the Arandili," he answered. "They are only for themselves, no one else."

"Is that true, Eärnur?" Laurendil turned to the other ellon.

The Teler nodded. "In a way. Lord Ossë they know and respect, even fear. Of the Valar, themselves, they had few stories, until I arrived."

"Oh?" Laurendil sounded amused.

Eärnur smiled. "I used to tell them stories, well the children, but many of the adults listened in."

"Stories such as?" Laurendil retorted.

The ellon shrugged. "Oh, you know, tales about life in Aman and living amongst the Valar and Maiar. I told them about... the troubles that followed the Darkening, that sort of thing."

"Ah," was Laurendil’s only comment.

The Mortals gave the two Elves confused looks. "Would you care to explain?" Valandil finally asked in exasperation.

Laurendil shook his head and gave them a brilliant smile. "Not really. Suffice to say that not all was peace and tranquility in the Blessed Realm when the Light of the Trees died. There was much turmoil then and for some time afterwards." He turned back to Eärnur. "And in all your stories the Valar figured prominently." It was not a question but Eärnur nodded anyway.

"I never told them that their superstitions were ludicrous or that their disbelief close to blasphemy. I simply told them stories about my life in Aman, growing up in Alqualondë, going to Lórien to become a healer... meeting you and Findaráto." This last was said with a wicked gleam in his eyes and the Mortals were surprised when Laurendil burst out laughing.

"Now that’s telling tales out of school," he protested. "I’m sure my lord Findaráto will not be amused when he learns he’s been slandered by you."

Eärnur gave the other ellon a hurt look. "I never slandered Findaráto to anyone. I spoke only the truth. I cannot help it if the son of Arafinwë attracts trouble wherever he goes, even without Glorfindel there to egg him on."

Now Laurendil started laughing even harder and the others watched in amazement as the ellon fell backward off the piece of driftwood he’d been using as a seat. "Too true... too true," he finally gasped out, trying to get control of himself. Eärnur, they noticed, looked on with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"So you’re saying that you... taught these people the truth about the Valar?" Ercassë asked while Laurendil struggled to sit upright again, accepting Fiondil’s helping hand.

"I suppose I did," Eärnur allowed with a musing look. "In truth, I didn’t see it that way, I just wanted to... to hold on to what I was before I came here. If I taught them to believe in the Valar again, that was not intentional."

"Perhaps, but it must have happened, at least to some of them," Fiondil stated. "Surely, the younger generations would have grown up hearing your stories and believing them."

"You’re probably correct, Fiondil," Eärnur nodded in agreement. "I just never thought of it that way."

"Boromir spoke of Númenórë’s fall," Fiondil added softly. "Do you think..."

"Someone decided to save these people?" Eärnur finished the thought for him and shrugged. "Possibly, but the question remains: who and why?"

"As to who, I have one or two guesses," Laurendil answered him, "but as to why... perhaps for your sake, meldonya?" Laurendil ventured gently.

Eärnur gave Laurendil a surprised look. "My sake?"

"You spent four hundred years among these people, working and living with them, healing them of their hurts and teaching them of the Valar, whether you intentionally set out to do so or not. You’ve grown to love these people. I’ve seen how your eyes turned dark with worry whenever you spoke of the people of Nindamos. However they treated you, you apparently forgave them and I can see that you fear your presence may have caused them some harm. Perhaps the Valar in their mercy have sent these people from the island to protect them from whatever disaster may yet come to Númenórë."

Fiondil looked upon Eärnur with some awe. "Perhaps I wasn’t the only one you were sent to save, Eärnur. Perhaps you were sent to help save this entire village. Do you think they would have listened even to Lord Ossë if you had not taught them about the Valar, taught them not to fear the Powers but to at least respect them even if they could not bring themselves to love them?"

"Fiondil is correct, meldonya," Laurendil said pointedly to the speechless Eärnur. "More is going on than we all suspect, I deem. Findaráto always said the Valar were a devious lot. I think you and I are beginning to understand just how devious they truly are."

For a long time no one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts at the revelations that they had just heard and the conclusions that were being drawn. The night deepened about them. Stars shone brilliantly above and there was a phosphorescent glow to the ever-moving waters as the waves pounded incessantly upon the shore. Finally, Ercassë stirred.

"You mentioned a grey ship, Eärnur," she said. "What do you think it means? We’ve seen no sign of it since we arrived."

"Ah...." Laurendil answered her instead, giving them a slight smile. "That’s my ship the villagers saw, the Eäremírë."

The Mortals all gave him shocked looks. "Your ship!" exclaimed Valandil. "But how...."

"I called to it, or rather to its captain to meet us here," Laurendil explained, though his words only left the Mortals feeling more confused.

"What do you mean... called?" Vandiel asked in a tight voice.

"We Elves possess the gift of ósanwë, of thought-sending," Laurendil replied. "At need, we can call to others with our minds. When we were still in the Valley of Tombs, I called to Voronwë, the captain of the ship, to come to the mouth of the Siril where the ship was hiding in a harbor off the coast of Andúnië."

"You knew we must come this way before we followed the river," Fiondil accused him.

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, I knew."

The four Númenórëans sat in silence at the implications of the Elf’s confession for some minutes. None of them noticed the amused looks that were exchanged between the two Elves. Finally, Valandil gave Laurendil a shrewd look.

"Do you think your ship appearing as it did after that storm Eärnur mentioned had anything to do with the disappearance of the people of Nindamos?"

Now it was Laurendil’s turn to look surprised. "Anything is possible," he averred. "We won’t know for sure until we reach the ship."

"How do we do that?" Ercassë asked. "Valandil doesn’t think we can all fit in that one boat that Fiondil found."

"We’ll just wait for it to re-appear," Laurendil said. "Voronwë has his instructions. He knows to look for us here. I’m sure we’ll be seeing the ship soon."

"In the meantime," Eärnur added, "we can all do with some sleep. Tonight, I intend to sleep in my own bed."

"Your own bed?" Vandiel exclaimed.

Eärnur nodded, giving her a smile. "The bed that I’ve slept in these last four hundred years. It’s still there, along with some of my personal possessions. I found them while you were putting our meal together. So, now, if you all will excuse me." He stood and gave them a short bow.

"But what about us?" Ercassë asked, jumping up. "Where are we supposed to sleep?"

Eärnur swept his arms wide. "Child, you have an entire village of empty beds. Choose one." Without another word the Elf strode purposefully off, climbing the dark bluff towards the village above them. For a moment or two none of the others said a word, then Fiondil shook himself. "I think I’ll just sleep here on the beach," he said diffidently.

Valandil stood up, brushing some sand off his leggings. "In some of the houses I noticed that they left behind pillows and blankets. I’ll go fetch some. I think I would prefer to leave the village to Eärnur."

Laurendil laughed, standing as well. "I’ll give you a hand."

Fifteen minutes later, four Mortals and one Elf laid themselves down beside the dying embers of the bonfire, wrapped in blankets, allowing the waves shushing upon the beach to lull them to sleep, while somewhere in the village a lone Elf lay dreamlessly on a rude cot with a smile on his face.

****

Eäremírë: (Quenya) Sea-jewel.

19: The Grey Ship

The next morning, Eärnur and Valandil went over the boat Fiondil had found with a fine-tooth comb, making sure it was completely seaworthy. They spent most of the morning working on it, while Laurendil and Fiondil scoured the village for sails or oars. The maidens spent the morning collecting supplies to augment what little remained of their own. By noon, the two sailors in their group declared that the boat would serve at a pinch, though it would be a tight squeeze to get their equipment plus themselves aboard.

"Luckily, I don’t anticipate us being at sea in it for too long," Laurendil informed them. "Voronwë has his orders and knows he is not allowed to bring a boat ashore. We will have to go to him."

"What! Just get in this... this toy boat and hope your captain shows up?" Fiondil asked.

"It’s not a toy boat," Eärnur replied with a bit of a huff, his sailor’s blood offended by the Mortal’s disparagement.

"And we will not launch until the Eäremírë is sighted," Laurendil added. "The only reason I ordered Voronwë not to bring a boat in was because I did not wish to risk any more Elves than necessary in a place that no longer welcomes us."

The four Mortals looked sad and embarrassed at the Elf’s words but Laurendil merely smiled. "Do not blame yourselves, younglings," he said gently. "Neither Eärnur nor I hold any grudge against you for your king’s policies concerning us. We are saddened that the people of Númenórë have turned their backs on the Valar and we fear that nothing good can come of it, but we are glad to know that some of you have not forgotten past friendships or oaths."

"I only wish there were more of us who do," Valandil said, speaking for all of them.

"That there are as many of you as there are speaks well for the future of the Edain, whatever fate brings them," Eärnur replied, clapping a hand on the Man’s shoulder. "Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry. What’s for lunch?"

The two maidens giggled at that and everyone else smiled. Soon they were gathered around the bonfire that was never allowed to go out and eating the simple fare that Vandiel and Ercassë had put together while they spoke of many things.

"How soon do you think we’ll see your ship?" Valandil asked Laurendil at one point.

Instead of answering the Mortal directly, Laurendil directed a question to Eärnur. "Did your... informant" — here, everyone laughed — "tell you when the ship was last seen?"

"The day before we arrived," Eärnur answered.

"Which means that we cannot hope to see them again for at least another day," Laurendil informed them. "Before I left the ship, Voronwë and I discussed how best to avoid detection while waiting for my return, for the King’s navy plies these waters as well."

"That’s always a consideration," Eärnur said in agreement. "There is only one of our ships and a whole armada of the King’s, or so I would assume."

Valandil shook his head. "Not as many as you would think," he replied. "Certainly the navy that went to Endórë was large, but over the last few years fewer ships have been seen patrolling the seas."

"Which is rather odd, when you come to think about it," Fiondil added. "Some of the shipwrights have disappeared as well but no one knows why, or if they do, they will not speak of it. It’s almost as if...."

"As if what?" Laurendil asked when Fiondil stopped, his expression thoughtful.

The young Man shook his head. "Nothing... I was just thinking out loud. So, do we stay here another night or what?"

Clearly he was changing the subject and the others let it go. Eärnur was the one who answered him. "I do not trust the other villagers. The girl to whom I spoke is young and although I exacted a promise from her not to tell about me, I cannot expect her to keep silent for long. She is bound to let something slip in a thoughtless moment. I would not want to be here when others come looking."

"What do you suggest?" Laurendil asked.

"I never saw it myself, but I was told that around that headland," here he pointed eastward, "is a small cove. Access from the land is by means of a goat track, very steep and difficult, so most people went to it by boat."

"Then why would they go there at all?" Ercassë asked, looking confused.

Eärnur cast her a wicked grin. "It was empty and secluded and... very private." The last was said with a great deal of suggestiveness in his tone and the two maidens suddenly blushed in embarrassment.

"What makes you think we won’t be bothered there as well?" Laurendil asked, his expression one of amusement.

"Wrong time of year," was Eärnur’s rather smug answer and the two Mortal males started laughing.

"How far is it, though?" Fiondil asked when they were calmer. "I’m not much for sailing...."

"He means he gets seasick," Valandil interrupted with a grin; Fiondil glared at him.

"Not far," Eärnur assured them. "I never went there myself mainly because I was never allowed in a boat, but I was told that it takes less than an hour with a good wind to get there."

"At least the sea is calm," Valandil reassured Fiondil who went pale at the thought of being in a cramped boat for at least an hour.

"For now, but what about tomorrow?" Fiondil retorted.

"We could leave now, or within the hour," Eärnur suggested. "It shouldn’t take Valandil and I much longer than that to ready the boat. We could be at the cove before sunset. If we take some kindling with us it would save us time getting a fire started."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Laurendil stated, rising gracefully from the log on which he’d been sitting. "Vandiel, Ercassë, why don’t you finish gathering what supplies we will need for the next few days while Fiondil and I help our two sailors here with the boat."

"No need to burden yourself with extra water," Eärnur said as he too rose to his feet. "There is a spring that runs down to the ocean."

"Good enough," Laurendil responded with a satisfied nod. "That’s one less worry. Bring only enough food for perhaps three days as well as blankets and clothing. We won’t be there for long anyway."

"What if we are, though?" Ercassë asked with some concern. "Anything could happen to delay your ship. What will we do about food then?"

"We should be able to get what we need from the sea," Eärnur stated. "I became quite expert at cooking anything from sea eels to seaweed." He laughed at the expressions of distaste on the Mortals’ faces. "And I understand the cove has nut trees and berry patches to supplement our diet. I would not worry too much about it yet."

With that everyone appeared content and the two maidens made their way back to the village while their brothers and the Elves headed up the beach. "I want to see if we can bring the boat down this way so we’re not lugging supplies across the sand," Eärnur said to them and they all agreed that would be a good idea.

****

The trip to the cove was uncomfortable but mercifully short. Valandil insisted that Fiondil sit in the stern. "If you’re going to be sick, you can do it without importuning the rest of us."

"How kind," Fiondil retorted sarcastically. Valandil merely grinned as he readied the sail.

But Valandil knew his friend well and it was not long before Fiondil was leaning over the side heaving while Eärnur held him with one hand to make sure he didn’t fall overboard, while working the tiller. Vandiel and Ercassë were crammed in the prow with Laurendil while Valandil dealt with the boom. Eärnur suddenly began singing a rollicking sea chanty. It was, surprisingly, not an Elvish song, but one that he afterwards confessed he’d learned from the fisherfolk.

"They had many such songs and I learned them all," he told them with a laugh, "even the dirty ones." He gave Laurendil a wink and the ellon laughed, remembering a time when an innocent Teler learning Sindarin had accidently stumbled upon a particularly vicious insult and no one would translate it for him because he was considered too young. Now looking at the Elf manning the tiller with expert ease and singing a jolly tune, Laurendil found it hard to believe he was looking at the same person. There was a level of confidence, or perhaps maturity would be a better word, that Laurendil had not seen in Eärnur before and he wondered at it. He had still not accepted fully what had happened to his friend and resented what he saw as callousness on the part of the Valar in throwing away Eärnur’s life that way.

"There’s the cove," Eärnur called out, pointing ahead.

They all looked. Even Fiondil stopped heaving long enough to glance up, his face pale and green. "Thank the Valar," he whispered before leaning over the side again. Eärnur merely laughed and expertly brought the boat to the shore. Everyone but Eärnur and Fiondil jumped out. Laurendil and Valandil pushed the boat onto the sand, making sure it was safely beached above the high water mark. Then they helped Eärnur with Fiondil before unloading the gear. Eärnur led Fiondil up the beach a ways, helping him to lie down on the sand. Laurendil then came over and pulled out his cordial, letting Fiondil take a couple of sips. Almost immediately the young Man’s color returned and he began to look about him with interest.

The cove itself was not large, perhaps only a few hundred feet across at its widest. It was irregularly shaped so that part of the beach was hidden behind a stand of shrubs and high dunes. The only evidence that anyone had ever been here before them was a stone-lined firepit and a ramshackle hut set near the tree line. Behind them were cliffs, and Eärnur pointed to one part that looked less sheer than the others. "There’s actually a goat path that connects between here and Nindamos. You can see why coming here by boat is preferable."

"And safer," Valandil added with a grin.

"Speak for yourself," Fiondil quipped, his eyes bright with humor.

Eärnur pointed towards the east where high dunes hid part of the cove. "Beyond those dunes a small freshwater rill comes down from the cliffs into a shallow pool then flows into the ocean. We can store our gear in this hut," he then suggested and the others quickly agreed.

When all was secured, Laurendil suggested to the Mortals that they should relax and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. "I will see to the evening meal," he told them. After a hasty conference between Vandiel and Ercassë, the two maidens rummaged through their gear and came away with soap, towels and clean clothing found abandoned in the village. With firm admonishments to the males to stay put, they sauntered off towards the dunes intent on having a real wash. The two Elves and the two Mortal Men just grinned at each other.

"And when they’re done, it’s our turn," Laurendil said and they all laughed.

Eärnur said he would help Laurendil with the meal, so Valandil and Fiondil spent the time wandering up and down the beach being careful to go no further than the dunes out of respect for their sisters’ privacy. About a half an hour later, the maidens returned looking fresh and clean. Laurendil turned the cooking over to them while Eärnur gathered the necessary equipment and then the four men went to take their own baths. The pool, it turned out was very shallow and not very wide, certainly not wide enough or deep enough for all four of them at once, so they took turns bathing two at a time. By the time they were finished the sun was setting in glory with clouds painted in shades of salmon and gold as the sky deepened from blue to indigo. Soon after the men returned from their baths, they were all seated around the fire, eating. As they ate, they talked about their options.

"What will happen to us once your ship comes and takes you and Eärnur home?" Valandil asked Laurendil. "I’m not sure any of us can ever return to our families."

Laurendil gave the Mortals a considering look. "Fiondil, at least, cannot remain here, but there is no reason why you, Vandiel and Ercassë cannot return to Rómenna, since it’s unlikely that your King’s Men know who helped Fiondil and Eärnur to escape."

"But they know who Fiondil is, don’t they?" Ercassë asked, giving her brother a sympathetic look, but Fiondil shook his head.

"I never told them however much they tortured me," he said simply, his eyes on the bonfire. "Nor did they ever learn about Isildur, thanks to Eärnur." He looked over to the Elf and gave him a brilliant smile which Eärnur returned.

"What do they know?" Valandil asked quietly.

Fiondil turned his gaze upon his friend. "They know only that I am one of the Faithful caught in a forbidden place. They intended to see me burn."

The two maidens shivered at that and Ercassë, who was sitting next to her brother, threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief hug.

"So they do not know your name, but they do know your face," Valandil stated and Fiondil nodded.

"Therefore no place in Númenórë is safe for you," Laurendil told Fiondil. "You must leave and never return."

"How?" Fiondil exclaimed in some exasperation. "I cannot go with you and Eärnur to Tol Eressëa. Where will I go and how will I arrive?"

"First things first, child," Laurendil said gently. "We need to reach my ship, then we will make decisions."

"So we just wait," Fiondil said testily.

Eärnur gave him a wan smile. "Just as we had to wait for rescue, mellon nîn, with patience and trust in the Valar."

Fiondil stared long into the Elf’s eyes before nodding. "I can do that," he finally said.

"It will not be for long," Laurendil assured them. "Voronwë should be returning this way in the next day or two."

****

Laurendil’s estimate was off by three days. Sometime after midnight they were awaken by rain which came sweeping in from the southwest, forcing them all inside the small shack that had been built for just this purpose. It was cramped and not nearly as comfortable as sleeping on the beach by the fire and no one got any real sleep after that. The rain continued through the rest of the night and did not cease until late in the afternoon, just before sunset.

The Elves spent some time getting the fire restarted so they could have a hot meal at least. The sand was still too wet with the rain and the waves which had been driven further up the beach by the storm for them to sleep outside, so they were forced back into the hut for the night, though both Elves decided to find a tree to sleep in instead.

Needless to say, tempers were frayed almost to the breaking point among the four Mortals with the lack of sleep and comfort and no grey ship in sight. The next day, their third at the cove, dawned bright and sunny and in spite of the fact that winter was nigh, the day proved warmer than usual. Eärnur and Valandil took the boat out to sea to catch some fish using a net that had been found inside the hut. They hoped also to see if they could sight the ship. The others whiled away their time either scrounging around for nuts and berries and any other edibles to supplement their meal, or resting. Eärnur and Valandil returned after only about an hour with a small catch and no sign of the Eäremírë.

The next day was pretty much the same and now all four Mortals were beginning to feel depressed. The Elves tried to alleviate their misery with song and storytelling, but the response was lackluster and halfhearted. Fiondil was the only one who seemed able to lift himself out of his black mood enough to tell the Elves about his previous adventures.

"I was a spy," he told them with a faint grin. They both gave him looks of surprise. "I pretended to be friends with the younger sons of those who were Arandili in the hopes of learning about any moves against the Elendili." He paused for a moment, staring into the fire. It was evening and they had just finished their meal. He sighed, looking rueful. "I ended up alienating my parents. Even after I ‘reformed’ my adar has never trusted me. Ercassë is the only one who kept faith with me even though I know she did not understand what I was doing or why."

"You say you reformed," Laurendil enquired.

Valandil spoke up then. "It was part of the ‘act’, you might say. We knew that it would be too dangerous for Fiondil and his family if he continued among the Arandili. He could easily have been conscripted. The Elendili have a sort of immunity to conscription. Lord Amandil was able to ensure that none of the Faithful would be forced to serve with the King’s Men. There is no longer any love or friendship between Great-Uncle Amandil and Ar-Pharazôn, but even the King is not so foolish as to antagonize the Lord of Andúnië too much."

"I stayed with the Arandili just long enough to establish a network of informants so we could keep tabs on the comings and goings of the Arandili," Fiondil added. "Then, Valandil made a big show of ‘pointing out the error of my ways’," he flashed them an amused grin, "and I came back to the fold."

"A dangerous ploy," Laurendil stated, though he could not help but admire these young people and their courage.

"Yes," Fiondil agreed, "but because of it I was able to learn of Zigûr pressuring the king to destroy Nimloth and was able to get word to Isildur and... well, the rest you know."

Both Elves grimaced at that. "Nothing good can come of that," Eärnur finally said.

There was agreement all around.

****

It was late in the morning of their fifth day at the cove when Ercassë, whose turn it was to keep watch for the ship, gave a shout. Everyone else stopped what they were doing to look up and glad cries came from more than one throat as a grey ship with blue sails hove into view, rounding the eastern headland.

"Quickly!" Laurendil shouted. "Ready the boat."

There was a scurry of activity as the fire was doused and their supplies, mostly clothes and other personal items gleaned from the deserted village, were thrown into the boat. Then with a shove from Valandil and Laurendil, they were launched and heading for the ship. It took only a few minutes for them to reach it. The Mortals gazed upon the Eäremírë with awe. Never had they seen such a beautiful ship, its lines clean and graceful. The sails were of sendal painted with a silver star. They could see sailors, both male and female, lining the rails and glad shouts were exchanged between them and Laurendil. Eärnur managed to bring their boat alongside the ship and ropes were thrown down to secure it. A rope ladder was then lowered and one by one they clambered aboard, with the Mortals boarding first followed by Laurendil and then Eärnur.

"Welcome aboard, my lord," said one of the Elves as he helped Laurendil over the rail.

"Thank you, Captain," Laurendil replied and the others knew that this dark-haired ellon must be Voronwë. "How run the seas?"

"Smoothly, now," Voronwë answered witha grimace. "The storm forced us to take shelter further up the coast or we would have been here two days ago."

"That you are here now is all that matters," Laurendil said, clapping a hand on the captain’s shoulder. "I would make you...."

"Anatto! Anatto!"

Everyone turned to see a small child running towards them with an older ellon following more sedately behind. The Mortals were surprised to see Laurendil go to his knees and open his arms wide to receive the child’s embrace, laughing all the while.

"And how is my little sailor, hmm? Did you miss me?" he asked as he stood up, giving the elfling a hug and a kiss.

The child merely nodded, now grown suddenly shy in the presence of strangers. The ellon who had been following them smiled indulgently as he approached. "He’s been nagging everyone from Captain Voronwë on down about everything to do with sailing," the ellon said as he joined them. "I’m glad you have returned safely, Atar." He reached over and gave Laurendil a brief kiss. "So who are all your friends?"

Laurendil laughed as he returned the ellon’s kiss with one of his own. Still keeping the elfling in his arms he turned to the four Númenórëans. "Lord Valandil, Lady Vandiel, Lord Fiondil, Lady Ercassë, let me make you known to my daughter’s husband, Vorondil, and my grandson Calaldundil."

The four Mortals gave Vorondil bows and curtsies which Vorondil returned, his eyes wide with wonder, but before he could properly address them, Laurendil took him by the arm. "I have a surprise for you, hinya," he said with an amused glint in his eyes.

"What surprise, Atar?" Vorondil asked, his expression suddenly guarded. "You know I don’t like surprises."

Laurendil gestured to where Eärnur was standing near the rail amongst some of the other sailors so that Vorondil had not noticed him. "I found him lolling around. Do you think we should take him back with us or just leave him here?"

For a moment Vorondil stared at Laurendil in confusion, but when Eärnur snorted at his friend’s words and muttered something in Sindarin that made half the crew snicker and Calaldundil’s eyes go wide, Vorondil gave the ellon a closer look and then recognition lit his face.

"Eärnur?" he whispered in shock as tears of joy trickled down his cheeks. "Are you truly here? You’re not dead?"

Eärnur smiled and opened his arms so Vorondil could come into his embrace. "No, child, I am not dead," he replied gently, giving him a kiss on his forehead. Then he pulled Vorondil away so he could look at him. His eyes were bright with joy and mischief. "Did you miss me?" he asked teasingly.

Vorondil’s only response was to burst into tears and Eärnur held him again, softly crooning a lullaby as the others looked on with wonder, for one whom they had thought lost was now found and they rejoiced.

****

Anatto: (Quenya) Hypcoristic form of Anatar: Grandfather.

20: Et Eärtumnallon

It was sometime later and they were all on the poop deck taking their ease as Voronwë and the elven sailors went about the task of bringing the Eäremírë about and heading almost directly east. Laurendil was seated with Calaldundil on his lap. Eärnur was seated next to him with Vorondil on his left. He kept a hand on the Teler’s arm, gently stroking it, as if to assure himself that Eärnur was truly there. The four Mortals ranged around them in a semi-circle. Food and drink had been provided them and they nibbled on bread, cheese and fruit while sipping on a mild yellow wine (Calaldundil was drinking fruit juice, much to his disgust).

"So where do we sail?" Valandil asked Laurendil.

"We will be sailing due east for a day before swinging north, then west. That is to avoid any Númenórëan ships that may be sailing these waters. There is a secluded cove north of Rómenna where we will leave you before we continue our own way back to Tol Eressëa."

"But what is to become of me?" Fiondil demanded. "We’ve already agreed that I cannot remain here."

Laurendil gave him a brief smile. "Do not concern yourself, Fiondil. Provisions have been provided for this very contingency." What those provisions were, though, he refused to elaborate. Instead, Laurendil asked about Nindamos.

"Do you know what happened to the fisherfolk of Nindamos?" he asked Vorondil.

There was a brief silence and then, surprisingly, it was Calaldundil who spoke, his tone one of childish awe. "Lord Ulmo came and told them to go away," he whispered.

Eärnur gave a start and cast a questioning look at Vorondil for an explanation. The ellon nodded, his expression sober.

"We reached these waters in the teeth of a storm and were forced to seek shelter in Nindamos’ harbor, much to the dismay of its inhabitants." He flashed them all a wry smile.

Eärnur chuckled knowingly. "I can just imagine."

"What happened?" Ercassë asked, her excitement obvious to the Elves and the three older Elves shared a smile. Young Calaldundil just stared at the four Mortals with naked interest, though he was glad to be able to do so from the safety of his beloved Anatar's lap. The said Mortals were equally fascinated at the sight of the elfling, finding it hard to believe the child was fourteen years old yet looked no older than six.

It was Vorondil who answered. "The storm did not last long as such storms do, according to our good captain. In fact, he and the sailors were rather surprised at that. We did not venture ashore as you had ordered, though I had to practically tie this little one to the main mast to stop him from leaping overboard to play with the children he saw on the beach."

"Ada!" the said elfling protested in childish disgust at grown-ups and their strange need to say embarrassing things in front of strangers. For the Mortals’ sake they were all speaking in Sindarin which even Calaldundil could speak after a fashion.

Vorondil merely laughed, reaching over to plant a kiss on the ellon’s brow, much to everyone’s amusement. Laurendil ruffled his grandson’s hair. "What happened next?" was all he said.

Both Vorondil and his son went still; Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged questioning glances. "Vorondil?" Eärnur finally said to his friend.

Vorondil shook his head, giving them a wan smile. "The storm passed and Captain Voronwë was ordering his people to raise anchor and sails. Even as the crew were preparing the ship to set sail again, Calaldundil started shouting, pointing out to sea...."

****

"Atto!" Calaldundil shouted from the poop deck where he had been ordered by Vorondil to remain out of the way of everyone. "Look, Atto!" The elfling pointed southward towards the open ocean.

The child’s cry alerted not only Vorondil but half the crew, including the ship’s captain. He and Vorondil made their way towards the elfling but stopped in amazement before reaching the deck. Rising out of the sea was none other than Lord Ulmo himself.

The Lord of Waters rose from the waves in a form taller than the highest mast of the ship, a trident in his hands. His sea-green beard and hair trailed behind him, looking more like seaweed than anything else. He wore a sleeveless knee-length coat that shimmered as if made of fish scales. On his head he wore a crown of living sea anemones. He strode out of the deeps towards Nindamos, ignoring the elven ship for the moment as he concentrated on the fisherfolk. Every Elf aboard the Eäremírë bowed deeply as the Vala passed by. Vorondil ran to Calaldundil and took his son into his arms. Together they made their way to the rail to better see what the Lord of Waters wanted with the Mortals who were standing in stunned silence. Only the cry of the gulls and terns and the wash of the waves upon the shore broke the absolute silence that surrounded them.

Ulmo never touched land but remained in the shallows. He gazed upon the Númenórëans with mingled love and regret, and none could interpret the meaning behind his expression. Then he spoke in greeting and now every Mortal fell to their knees, some quailing in fear while others simply stared in disbelief.

"Hush now, my children," the Vala admonished them gently. "Fear not! I have not come to punish you, but to warn you."

Some of the bolder Mortals, Vorondil noticed, climbed from their knees to face the Lord of Waters and he could do naught but admire their courage.

"W-what wouldst thou of us, lord?" One of them demanded respectfully and Vorondil thought this must be the head of the village.

"For long and long as ye Mortals account time," Ulmo answered, "ye harbored one of the Firstborn and kept him safe for the time when he would be found."

At those words, most of the villagers quailed again and Vorondil was at a loss to understand what they were saying or what Lord Ulmo meant by his words. Ulmo held up a hand for silence, which came, though somewhat reluctantly. When he had their attention again he smiled.

"Fear not, my children! Ye did what I wished of you. There was a reason why the Firstborn could not leave this island and for keeping him here as I commanded, I will give you this gift: flee this island! Take ye your wives and children, your goats and cattle, and whatever possessions ye deem most valuable or useful and flee. Take ye your boats and sail east unto the lands of your forefathers. If ye would be saved from the coming darkness that will soon engulf this land, then I say to you: flee!"

"But Lord," the Mortal who had first spoken protested, "our little sailing boats cannot survive the crossing."

"My People will see you safely to Endórë," Ulmo replied. "Only do as I bid and all will be well with you."

"What of the other villages?" the Man asked. "Should we not warn them as well?"

Ulmo shook his head. "Nay. The warning is meant for you and you alone to heed or not as you will."

Vorondil watched as the Mortals held a hasty conference, the crash of the waves upon the shore too loud to allow any of the Elves to hear their words. Finally, the one who had spoken to the Vala stepped forward to enter the waters. He gave Ulmo a deep bow. "It will be as thou hast commanded, Lord," he said. "It will take some time for us to gather our things, though."

"Leave one boat, the smallest that you have, behind," Ulmo commanded them, his expression pleased. "It will be needed by others soon."

With that the Mortals began scrambling about, lading their fishing boats with whatever they could, which, admittedly was not much. The Elves watched in bemusement. Vorondil turned to the captain with whom he had become good friends while waiting for Laurendil to return. "How will they transport the animals with enough fodder for them to survive the crossing?"

"Never mind food enough for themselves," Voronwë added with a sympathetic scowl. "I do not envy them the crossing, however smooth the sailing."

"And of whom does Lord Ulmo speak?" The question was voiced by Aerveril, Voronwë’s first mate, who was standing next to them.

Even though she had spoken barely loud enough for the Elves standing beside her, Lord Ulmo turned his attention upon them, his expression one of amusement. All the Elves straightened to attention, except Calaldundil, who hid his face in the crook of his atar’s shoulder.

"And ye, my heart’s children," the Lord of Waters said, "get ye back to the sea, for this harbor is not for you."

"My lord," Voronwë said with a respectful bow. "We await the coming of one whom the Valar sent to this island and...."

"And he comes, but thou must not be here when he reaches these shores," Ulmo retorted. "Wait for him at sea as he bade thee."

The captain bowed again and then, keeping his eyes on the Vala, he issued his orders to Aerveril and soon the ship was a hive of activity again. In the meantime, Ulmo bent towards the ship, a gentle smile on his face. "And how fares my youngest eärhína, hmm?"

The Vala obviously meant Calaldundil, who merely scrunched further into his atar’s embrace. Vorondil gave Lord Ulmo an apologetic smile then turned to his son. "Lord Ulmo hath spoken to thee, hinya. Hast thou forgot thy lessons as thy ammë hath taught to thee?" With that, he put the elfling down, forcing the child to face the Vala, who waited with infinite patience. Slowly, Calaldundil gave Lord Ulmo a bow, awkward and ungraceful by elven standards, though most Mortals would wonder at one so young being so refined, but no one censured him, allowing for his youth and the circumstances.

"Wh-why did thou callest me a... an eärhína?" he whispered.

"My lord," Vorondil supplied and the elfling hastily amended his words.

Ulmo smiled benignly at the child. "Hast thou not enjoyed thy trip aboard the Eäremírë?"

"Oh, yes!" the elfling exclaimed, his expression brightening to something akin to joy. "Unca’ V’ronwë’s been teaching me how to tie knots. Would you like to see?" he asked, slipping into the familiar person in his excitement. Without waiting for an answer, Calaldundil ran off, eager to show the Lord of Waters what he had learned.

Vorondil blushed in embarrassment at his son’s precipitous behavior and tried to apologize but Ulmo merely waved his apology away with a flick of a hand. "Be not concerned, young Vorondil," Ulmo said with a smile. "He is a delightful child and I look forward to the day when he captains his own ship."

Vorondil just stared at the Vala in shock. "Bu-but, lord! He’s a Noldo!"

"Well, when has that stopped anyone?" Voronwë exclaimed with a laugh, flicking a hand through his dark brown locks and Vorondil blushed even more. He was saved from having to offer yet another apology by his son running back, nearly breathless with excitement as he clung to the practice rope Voronwë had given him.

"Look! I can do this," he nearly shouted, as he came barreling up to the rail. Both Vorondil and Voronwë grabbed the back of his tunic to prevent him from leaping overboard in his excitement. He ignored everyone and everything but his precious rope, his expression turning thoughtful as he tried to remember what the captain had taught him. Finally, after a few false starts he held up the rope and all could see a knot. Vorondil had no idea if it was a good knot or not, but both Voronwë and Ulmo appeared pleased.

"And do you remember what we use that knot for, youngling?" the captain asked.

Calaldundil hesitated only for a moment before answering. "It’s for... um... tying the ship to the wharf so it doesn’t sail away with the tide."

"Very good," Ulmo stated, his expression pleased. The child practically glowed with pride at the praise. Ulmo, meanwhile, reached down and brought something out of the water and carefully extended his hand so Calaldundil could see what he held. The child’s eyes widened and his mouth became an ‘O’ though no sound issued from his throat. In the palm of the Vala’s hand was a perfectly formed spiral seashell, its walls iridescent. "Take this, Eärhinya, a gift from me to thee."

Calaldundil looked at his atar for permission and when Vorondil nodded, he gingerly took the fragile shell, cradling it carefully in his hands. "What do we say, Calaldundil?" Vorondil asked in his best ‘atto’ voice.

"I thank thee, my lord," the elfling said with a brief bow that was less awkward than the previous one.

"Thou wilt notice there is a small hole in the shell," Ulmo told him. "When thou returnest unto Aman, takest thou the shell unto a jewel-smith and he will make thee a fine chain for it. Then thou wilt be able to wear it as a remembrance of this voyage."

"Will not the shell break if it already has a hole in it, though?" Vorondil asked. He was concerned that such a fragile object could easily be broken and feared how his son would react if that happened.

"I have strengthened its walls," Ulmo replied. "The shell will not break unless you dash it with all your might against stone."

"Hmm... well, in that case, perhaps I should hang on to it until we return to Aman," Vorondil said with a knowing smile and Ulmo merely chuckled when Calaldundil clutched the shell to his chest, unwilling to give it up even to his atto. Vorondil knelt beside his son, brushing a hand through the ellon’s hair. "You must promise to keep it in a safe place until we return home, then," he said and Calaldundil’s expression brightened as he nodded.

By this time the fisherfolk were nearly finished with loading their boats and one by one they set sail. Ulmo turned to Voronwë. "Escort them into open waters. Head southeast until the dawn. My People will escort them from there. Continue round to the northeast before returning here. You will avoid the ships of the Númenórëans that way."

The Captain of the Eäremírë gave the Lord of Waters a deep bow then turned to issue further orders. Vorondil and Calaldundil remained where they were and watched as Ulmo strode back out to the depths, disappearing under the waves....

****

"We sailed for a day and night," Vorondil said as he finished his narrative. "At dawn the next day several Maiar, led by Salmar and Amillo, appeared and began leading the fishing boats eastward."

"Not Ossë?" Eärnur asked in surprise.

Vorondil shook his head. "I have the feeling that Ossë and Ulmo aren’t too happy with one another at the moment."

Laurendil and Eärnur nodded, though the four Mortals looked a bit confused. Laurendil gave them a brief smile. "Long story. I’ll tell it to you as we sail."

"So now we know what happened to the villagers," Vandiel said softly. She looked up at Vorondil, her expression fretful. "Do you think they will survive the voyage?"

Vorondil gave her an assuring smile and nodded. "They are under the protection of Lord Ulmo. The Maiar who escort them... Salmar is Lord Ulmo’s Chief Maia and unlike Ossë, he has never thought to rebel against his lord’s authority. The fisherfolk are in good hands."

The Mortals nodded, satisfied that the people of Nindamos were safe. Fiondil, however, was more concerned about his own fate than those of the villagers whom he had never met. "How long will it take us to reach this cove you spoke of?" he asked.

"We should reach the harbor tomorrow night around midnight," Laurendil answered.

"And then what?" Fiondil demanded in exasperation. "What happens to me? I cannot remain in Númenórë. You know that!"

Eärnur reached over and placed a hand on the young Man’s knee. "Hush now, mellon nîn," he admonished him gently. "Do not fret so. A way will be found. Have faith."

"Easy for you to say," Fiondil muttered, looking rebellious.

Eärnur straightened, his expression going cold. "Indeed. After four hundred years in captivity, it is very easy for me to say."

Fiondil paled at Eärnur’s words and then he started to blush, attempting to apologize, but Eärnur stilled him with a finger on his lips, his eyes unreadable as he gazed at the now mortified Mortal. "Do not give into either despair or bitterness, child. Your life is short enough without compounding the problem. Have faith and believe that a way will be found."

For several moments no one else spoke. Finally, though ,Vorondil stirred and gave Eärnur a measuring look. "Well, while we are waiting around for a way to be found, perhaps you can enlighten me as to just what you’ve been doing these last four hundred years. Do you know I cried for a week when news came that you had died?"

Eärnur cast a mischievous smile at the younger Elf. "Only a week? I’m crushed."

"You’ll get over it," Vorondil retorted with a sniff.

Eärnur threw back his head and laughed. It was several minutes before he could get himself under control. When he had recovered enough he began his tale. "The Lord of Andúnië and I were sailing along the coast towards Rómenna when a gale came up from nowhere and...."

****

All words are Quenya.

Et Eärtumnallon: 'From Out of the Sea-Deeps'.

Eärhína: Sea-child.

Eärhinya: My Sea-child.

Hinya: My child.

21: Márienna

They sailed through the day and into the night. The Mortals slept for part of the time, lulled by the motion of the ship and the soft singing of the Elves. Laurendil gave Fiondil some more of his cordial and that seemed to help with his bouts of seasickness. Around noon, Captain Voronwë ordered the ship to head north, eventually turning west by mid-afternoon.

"We’re making good time," he told Laurendil. "Unless something unforeseen occurs we should be at the rendezvous by midnight."

"Very good, Captain," Laurendil replied. "Continue as you see best."

During the voyage it escaped no one’s notice, least of all the Elves, that Fiondil and Vandiel spent most of their time speaking together in low whispers. Valandil’s expression was one of satisfaction while Ercassë’s was more puzzled. Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged amused looks.

The voyage would have seemed dull and interminable had it not been for Calaldundil, who, with the exuberance of all children, pestered the Númenórëans about anything and everything under the sun. Some of his questions were unanswerable by the Mortals or anyone else. How do you really explain to an elfling why Mortals have to die?

"It is Eru’s gift to them," Laurendil finally said to his grandson. "One that we may well envy in time."

Calaldundil scrunched his face in confusion, not sure what his anatto meant but he was too engrossed with the Mortals, once he got over his initial shyness, to let it worry him. The two maidens, especially, intrigued him, perhaps because they seemed more approachable. At any rate, he spent much of his time trailing after them, which was fine with the Elves, especially the sailors.

"If I have to explain one more time why we call this the poop deck," one such sailor commented to Laurendil with a smile, "I’ll be very tempted to throw the little pest overboard. Let someone else deal with his incessant questions."

Laurendil merely smiled, Vorondil looked embarrassed, and Eärnur laughed outright. "Reminds me of a certain elfling I used to know," he said with a wink.

"I wasn’t that bad," Vorondil protested weakly.

Laurendil put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead. "Nay, you were not... you were much worse."

"Atar!" Vorondil exclaimed in exasperation, but Laurendil and Eärnur merely laughed the more at Vorondil’s put-upon expression.

Laurendil got his fair share of teasing, though, for his hair. "I know why my hair was cut off, but what did you do to warrant such punishment?" Vorondil asked.

Laurendil merely grimaced. "It wasn’t a punishment," he muttered.

"No, it was a lesson," Vorondil supplied with a knowing grin, quoting both the Valar and Lord Findaráto. Laurendil refused to dignify that statement with a reply, probably thinking that his daughter’s husband was closer to the mark than he would like to acknowledge.

By the time the sun was setting to the west they were in sight of land again. Voronwë ordered lamps to be lit, though more for the comfort (and safety) of the Mortals than for the Elves who could see well enough by the light of the stars.

"There was a sighting of a ship further south of us," he told Laurendil when reporting their progress, "but it was too far away for us to be concerned. It will not be able to catch up to us and we lost sight of it soon enough."

Laurendil nodded. "Very good, Captain. I do not want any... encounters with the Númenórëans if we can help it. I trust you and your people to see us safely to our rendezvous."

As midnight approached, all could see Fiondil’s demeanor become more agitated. "Why will you not tell me what plans you’ve made for me?" he asked Laurendil at one point. "Have I not the right to know what my future holds or even to decide for myself what I want to do?"

"And what do you want to do?" Laurendil asked.

"I want to remain here with my family and friends," the young Man replied. "This is my home. Is that so hard to understand?"

"No, it is not," Laurendil said, "but to remain here would be too dangerous, not only for you but for your family."

"But why?" Fiondil exclaimed in frustration. "The Arandili don’t know who I am."

"But they know what you look like and it will not be difficult for them to trace you back to Rómenna," Eärnur supplied, having listened to the conversation.

Fiondil’s expression became mulish. "My only other course is to flee like a coward. I’d rather stay and fight even if it means my death."

Laurendil shook his head. "I do not think there will be any fighting. I deem the days are coming when the only choice will be to flee from the coming downfall. Boromir saw truly, I think, though he gave us no details. Do not think of it as fleeing, Fiondil, so much as it is an opportunity to travel."

"But I get seasick," the poor Mortal practically wailed. "I’ll never survive the trip."

Now both Laurendil and Eärnur laughed. "Fear not!," Laurendil said, "I think, between the two of us," he pointed to Eärnur and then to himself, "we can come up with a remedy for that."

"I find it rather amusing that one who can claim descent from Elros Tar-Minyatur could actually become seasick," Eärnur said with a teasing smile.

"The son of Eärendil is probably spinning in his grave at the thought," Laurendil stated and had the satisfaction of seeing the surprise on both Eärnur and Fiondil’s faces at his use of the expression.

The shouting of the sailors and the heightened activity alerted them that they were approaching the cove where they could see another ship at anchor. By its lines and sail, it was clear that this was a Númenórëan ship.

"Should we be concerned?" Valandil asked as he and the two maidens joined Laurendil and the others at the rail.

Laurendil smiled. "Nay, there is no need. We are expected."

"Expected! By whom?" Ercassë demanded.

"Wait," Laurendil admonished them. "All will be revealed soon."

With careful maneuvering Captain Voronwë and his crew brought the Eäremírë along side the other ship. Then, with a soft word from Laurendil, a dory was lowered and Laurendil, Eärnur and Vorondil climbed down to it, followed by the four Mortals. Soon they were heading to shore with Vorondil and Eärnur rowing. The light of torches flickered on the beach and they could all see some figures standing waiting for their arrival. It wasn’t until they were nearly to shore that any of the Mortals recognized who was there.

"Uncle Amandil!" Vandiel cried out as she espied Lord Amandil standing on the beach smiling at them.

"Welcome, my children, welcome indeed!" he called out as he moved forward to help Vandiel and Ercassë out. Then to Fiondil’s surprise, he took the young Man into his embrace. "I thank the Valar you are safe, child. It would have been a terrible thing if you had been lost to us."

"Th-thank you, my lord," Fiondil stammered. Lord Amandil’s greeting was so different from what he expected he would get from his own atar.

No sooner did Amandil release Fiondil to greet the others then he found himself in another’s embrace. "You crazy, foolish, orc-brained idiot!"

"It’s good to see you, too, Anárion," Fiondil laughed, even as he returned the older Man’s embrace. "And I am not orc-brained. That’s Isildur’s endearing trait."

Anárion laughed in agreement.

"How fares your grandson?" Laurendil asked Amandil.

The Lord of Andúnië shook his head. "He still lies in sickness, but he is no longer fevered. I do not understand what the cause is but he does not worsen so we must trust that someday he will eventually recover."

Laurendil nodded. "The Valar make it so."

"But how do you come to be here, Uncle?" Valandil asked as he gave Amandil his own greeting.

Amandil smiled. "Ah, well, before you left Rómenna, Lord Laurendil and I discussed the possibility that should Fiondil be rescued he would have to leave Númenórë, for it would be too dangerous for him to remain here."

"I asked Lord Amandil to ready a ship for that contingency," Laurendil then supplied, "and we agreed that if all went well we would meet in this hidden harbor."

"But how did you know when to come?" Ercassë asked. "We were forced to go south to Nindamos before Lord Laurendil’s ship found us."

Laurendil gave her a chuckle. "Did I not tell you that we Elves have the ability to speak mind to mind? We can do the same to Men who are open to us and if need drives us, though it is not easily achieved."

"Knowing that Lord Laurendil would send me word," Amandil told them, "I kept myself open to any hint of a message. Two nights ago I woke with a strong urge to leave Rómenna and knew that was the signal I’d been waiting for." Then he gave Fiondil a sad smile. "It is time for you to say farewell, child. This ship will take you to Endórë, to Lindon, in fact, and the court of Tar-Elenalcar himself."

"Surely, this ship isn’t just for my benefit, lord?" Fiondil asked, looking distressed.

Amandil shook his head. "No, it is not. There are others who will journey with you, for they all wish to leave Númenórë. You will not be traveling alone, I assure you."

Fiondil nodded reluctantly, turning to his companions. "I still wish I could remain here, or you could all come with me."

Valandil shook his head. "For us to go with you will bring danger to our families, but I think a time will come when we also must leave Númenórë or perish."

Before Fiondil could respond to that, Vandiel came to his side, slipping a hand into his. "You must leave, Fiondil, but you need not leave alone. I will come with you."

"Vandiel, what are you saying?" Ercassë exclaimed.

Vandiel turned to Fiondil’s sister. "I love Fiondil and I will go with him. You and Valandil need to remain here to protect our families from the king, but it isn’t necessary for me to remain. I will go with Fiondil."

"If you leave, my daughter," Amandil warned her, "you will be exiled from all whom you love."

Vandiel shook her head, gazing lovingly into Fiondil’s eyes. "Not all, Uncle."

Valandil gave Fiondil a wry grin. "Did you know what Vandiel intended, my brother?"

Fiondil shook his head, suddenly shy. "We talked about a future together, but nothing specific, for I knew not what fate had in store for me, yet if she wishes to come with me I will not refuse her."

"Is this what you truly wish, Vandiel?" Valandil asked his sister.

"Yes, Valandil, it is."

"Then you both have my blessing." He took his sister into his embrace and kissed her before doing the same to Fiondil. "But I do not know what your parents will say to all this."

"They will say what they will say," Ercassë answered, embracing Vandiel. "You have my blessing as well, Vandiel, and now I can truly call you sister."

The Elves, who had remained in the background, now came forward, led by Laurendil, who took Vandiel into his embrace even as Eärnur took Fiondil into his. "Your choice is good, Vandiel," Laurendil told her, "for both of you. May the Valar bless you now and to the end of your days. Márienna. We will not meet again."

"Namárië, Eärnur," Fiondil said as Laurendil was making his goodbyes to Valandil and Ercassë. "Thank you for all you did for me."

Eärnur merely smiled. "I did little enough, meldonya, but I am glad that I was there to do it. Áva márië, Fiondil, and take good care of Vandiel. She is very special."

The others continued to say their own farewells. Ercassë hugged Vorondil. "You will tell Calaldundil goodbye for us, won’t you?"

Vorondil smiled. "Yes, I will. I would have woken him but he was quite exhausted and I knew if I did wake him up he would never go back to sleep."

"Then, I suppose it was for the best," Valandil said as he came up to give Vorondil his own farewell. "Otherwise, Captain Voronwë would have one very unhappy crew."

They all laughed at that. Finally, the Elves got back into their boat even as Fiondil was helping Vandiel into the boat that would take them to their own ship. Amandil lifted his hand in benediction. "Namárië, my children. May your lives be full of joy. Márienna, Lord Laurendil. Elen sillë lumenn’ omentielvo."

"Márienna, Lord Amandil," the Elf-lord called out. "Remember my warning. No longer will the Valar come to the aid of the Edain as they did for your ancestors. Sauron is yours to deal with as you will, now and always. Look not to the West for succor, for it will not come."

"Your words are hard, my lord," Amandil replied, "but I will remember them."

The two dories made their separate ways to their respective ships and in a short time sails were being unfurled and the sound of the Elves singing could be heard over the wash of the waves on the shore. Those on the beach watched for a time until the lights of the two ships and the singing faded into the distance.

Amandil turned to the others. "Come, let us go. I have a camp set up further inland where it is more protected. We will spend what is left of the night there and ride to Rómenna in the morning."

Silently the others followed the last Lord of Andúnië, Ercassë quietly weeping in Valandil’s arms as they made their way across the sands.

****

All words are Quenya.

Márienna: Farewell, literally ‘May you go on and find goodness’. An attested phrase used only in 'farewell'. Namárië can be used both as a greeting and as a farewell, much like ‘Shalom’ in Hebrew or ‘Aloha’ in Hawaiian.

Áva márië: Go happily. An attested phrase used only in 'farewell'. The first word should not be confused with the negative particle áva or avá, meaning ‘don’t’.

Elen sillë lumenn’ omentielvo: ‘A star shone on the hour of our meeting.’ A slight variation on the traditional greeting.

Tar-Elenalcar: Quenya version of Gil-galad.

22: Return to Aman

The Eäremírë sailed serenely into the port of Avallónë just as the sun was setting behind the Pelóri, casting a golden glow to the west. Avallónë itself was in twilight and the silvery lamps of the quays were already lit. Word had been sent ahead, apparently by way of Lord Manwë’s Eagles, and many people crowded the waterfront, waiting to greet the returnees. Glad cries of welcome were called out between ship and shore and there was much excitement. Laurendil, holding Calaldundil in his arms, pointed to where their family stood and the elfling began waving excitedly and crowing with delight when he saw his ammë waving back.

Once the ship came to rest and the gangplank was lowered, Laurendil and Calaldundil were the first off, followed by Vorondil and Eärnur. Many waiting on the quay exclaimed with equal amounts of surprise and horror at the sight of Laurendil’s shorn locks to which he responded with a laugh. Then the exclamations of horror changed to ones of disbelief as several recognized Eärnur and soon the ellon was surrounded by family and friends all vying with one another to be the first to greet one whom they all thought dead.

"I couldn’t understand why Lord Manwë sent the message requesting that we come here," Uinéndilmë, one of Eärnur’s sisters, told Laurendil, "but one does not refuse a summons by the Elder King however strange it might seem."

"And now you know why," Laurendil said with a smile.

The elleth could only smile as tears of joy slipped down her face.

It was some time, as questions and explanations flew back and forth, before anyone realized that others had also come to greet the returnees. Only when Laurendil stopped in the middle of introducing his youngest son to his namesake and bowed deeply to someone making his way through the crowds did anyone realize that Prince Findaráto was there. The Prince of Eldamar ignored everyone else as he swept past them, his eyes on Eärnur alone. He took the ellon into his embrace and all could see they were both weeping as the two friends were once again reunited.

"I’ve waited a long time for this," Findaráto whispered into Eärnur’s ear before stepping back to plant a kiss on the ellon’s forehead.

Eärnur’s expression became calculating and for a long moment he just stared at his friend. "You knew, didn’t you?" he asked softly but Laurendil caught the question and gave the prince his own measuring look.

"All this time?" he asked his liege lord.

Silence reigned about them as people began to discern that perhaps more was happening than they understood. Findaráto gazed serenely upon the two ellyn who had unconsciously moved to stand shoulder to shoulder as if closing ranks. He shook his head slightly. "Only after the fact and not until the Valar decided to send Laurendil to find you. Before that I assumed, as did everyone else, that you were in Mandos."

"But you knew when you sent me... and you said nothing?" Laurendil demanded angrily.

Findaráto gave him a stern look. "You are not the only one bound by oaths, Laurendil. If I did not speak it was not from lack of caring. The knowledge of Eärnur being alive was not mine to impart."

"What about me?" Eärnur asked. "Did you care nothing...."

Findaráto took the Teler into his embrace again. "Hush. Of course I cared, but my hands were tied and I could do nothing for you, as much as I wanted to." He pulled back and gave Eärnur a rueful smile. "Believe me, I was all set to... er... commandeer the first ship I could find..."

"You mean ‘steal’," Eärnur couldn’t help correcting with a smile. Findaráto chose to ignore him.

"...and sail to your rescue, though it would have meant perjuring myself in the process."

"I’m not worth that," Eärnur retorted, all levity gone.

Findaráto shook his head. "Yes, you are," he rejoined, "and I would have too if wiser and calmer heads had not prevailed."

"Meaning the Valar," Eärnur replied with a shrewd look.

"Indeed."

Everyone turned to see Lord Irmo standing there and they all gave him their obeisance. The Vala never took his eyes off Eärnur. "Welcome back, child," the Lord of Lórien said, "we have all missed you and your healing skills."

"But apparently you did not miss me or them enough to bring me home sooner," Eärnur said softly, his voice devoid of emotion.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd. Irmo merely gazed at the ellon, his expression never changing. "Arrangements have been made for you to spend the night here. Tomorrow...."

"Tomorrow I intend to go to Alqualondë to spend time with my family," Eärnur interrupted, his expression now cold and uncompromising. "The Valar can wait."

"I understand..."

"They chained me to my bed every night for nearly two hundred years," Eärnur exclaimed with some heat, "until they were convinced I would not run away. Do not presume to understand anything about me, Lord Irmo. I will come to Ilmarin or Valmar at my convenience, not yours."

There was absolute silence now as the crowd watched the interplay between Eärnur and Lord Irmo. The Vala’s expression was more sad than angry. Finally he nodded. "When you are ready, my son, come to Ilmarin. We will await you there."

Without waiting for a response, the Vala faded away. No one moved or spoke for several tense minutes. Even young Calaldundil remained solemnly silent, though he little understood what had transpired. All were waiting to see what the Teler would do next. Finally, Eärnur released a breath he was unaware he had been holding, staggering somewhat and feeling suddenly fatigued. Findaráto and Laurendil were by his side instantly, supporting him.

"Let’s get you away from here, meldonya," Findaráto whispered. "Time enough for other things in the morning."

Eärnur just nodded, willing to be led away by his two closest friends while their families followed. Findaráto led them along a winding street that ended in a cul-de-sac where a villa was perched upon a bluff overlooking the sea. It belonged to the royal family of Alqualondë, the prince explained to them, and had been made available to them for their use by King Olwë himself. A light repast was waiting for them but Eärnur ate sparingly, too tired to care what he was eating. Soon, he excused himself and retired for the evening, but everyone else sat up late into the night listening to Laurendil tell his tale.

****

Morning found everyone ready to depart. They made their way back to the waterfront where the Eäremírë was waiting to take them to the mainland, Captain Voronwë giving them all warm greetings. The ship would leave Findaráto, Laurendil and his family at the small port that served the Elves of Tirion who wished to cross to Tol Eressëa. It would then continue northward towards Alqualondë with Eärnur and his family. The entire journey, Eärnur spoke to no one, standing by the starboard rail, looking out into the sea. Those nearby thought they heard him singing softly to himself, but none recognized the tune nor the words, for they were sung in Adûnaic. It was a song he had learned centuries before from the fisherfolk of Nindamos.

Finally, the ship reached the mainland and further goodbyes were spoken, though Eärnur’s farewell to Findaráto was perfunctory and devoid of any real warmth, which saddened but did not surprise the prince. He suspected that Eärnur had many adjustments to make before he would be ready to rejoin Amanian society. Eärnur’s farewell to Laurendil was more heartfelt and tearful.

"Send word when you are ready to go to Ilmarin," Laurendil said to him as he offered the ellon a hug. "I will meet you at Eldamas and accompany you."

The Teler nodded, giving Laurendil a shy smile. "Thank you," he whispered, "for everything."

Laurendil gave him a piercing look. "Do not let bitterness rob you of the joy you should have at being home, meldonya. Findaráto does not deserve being snubbed by you. He is not to blame for what happened."

For a moment, Eärnur stared at his friend, then sighed. "I need time, Laurendil," he said apologetically.

"And that you shall have," Laurendil said giving the ellon a final hug and a kiss on his forehead in benediction. Then he followed his family and Findaràto off the ship. Several minutes later, the Eäremírë sailed on, leaving Laurendil and the others to make their way to the horses waiting to take them to Tirion and beyond.

****

It was two weeks before Eärnur was ready to travel on to Ilmarin. During that time Lord Irmo assigned Ingil the task of keeping an eye on the ellon and reporting to the Valar on a regular basis.

"He spent the better part of the first week in tears," the Maia told them, "and refused to speak to anyone about his experiences until King Olwë came to welcome him home. Only then did he unburden himself. He seems calmer and more accepting of what has happened. I think he will be coming to Ilmarin soon. He sent a missive to Lord Laurendil in Lórien last night asking him to meet at the Laughing Vala five nights from now."

"Which means we can expect them no earlier than next Valanya," Námo commented.

Manwë nodded. "Ingwë will be here as well."

"And that is significant, why?" Irmo asked with a smile.

Manwë smiled back. "Significant because Ingwion will be accompanying his atar."

"Ah, yes, of course."

The Valar exchanged meaningful looks. Then Manwë dismissed the Maia, who gave them his obeisance before returning to watch over Eärnur. When the Maia left, the Elder King sighed, looking sad. "I do hope the child will forgive us eventually."

"I think he already has," Námo stated with a straight face, "but he’s enjoying watching us... er... squirm."

"And are we?" Irmo asked his brother with a slight smile.

"Yes," Manwë answered with a grimace.

"And deservedly so," Varda added.

"What about Laurendil, Irmo?" Námo asked his brother. "How is he handling all this?"

"He refuses to speak to me," Irmo replied, "or to Estë. Nor has he resumed his duties. Like Eärnur, he has been spending these last two weeks either with his family or speaking with Findaráto. I think he is waiting to see what Eärnur is going to do first."

"Well, that day is not far off," Námo stated with a frown, "and then we will all see."

****

Laurendil and Findaráto met Eärnur at the Laughing Vala. Eärnur’s reception of Findaráto was much warmer than when they had last seen each other. "I am sorry, meldonya," the Teler said as he embraced Findaráto, giving him a kiss in friendship. "I needed time to...."

"You have no need to apologize to me, otornya," Findaráto exclaimed. "If anything, I’m the one who should apologize, and I do."

"Well, now that everyone has apologized to everyone else for everything, do you think we can get something to eat?" Laurendil asked with a teasing smile as the three of them stood in the courtyard of the inn where they had met. "It was a long ride from Lórien."

The three of them laughed as they went inside.

The next morning saw them on their way to Vanyamar. "We will stay with Ingwë," Findaráto told them, "and then join him and Ingwion when they go to Ilmarin as is their custom on Valanya."

"It will be good to see Ingwion again," Eärnur stated with a smile. "I never got a chance to collect on our last bet."

"Oh? What bet was that?" Laurendil asked with a smile of his own.

Eärnur just shook his head. "Not telling and any way he’s probably forgotten."

"Ingwion forget anything? Not likely," Findaráto exclaimed. "My cousin is notorious for forgetting nothing. If I know him, he’ll make good on the bet with interest."

They reached Vanyamar and the palace of the High King in time for the noon meal and were greeted warmly by all. Ingwion especially was pleased to see Eärnur again and their reunion was merry, full of laughter and gentle teasing. Ingwë, having been kept apprised of all that had happened since Laurendil had returned with Eärnur, was pleased to see that the ellon’s eyes were clear and bright and they held no sorrow or resentment.

That evening, while they were holding an informal feast in honor of Eärnur, Ingwion gestured to one of the servants as they were finishing the final course and taking their ease and whispered something in his ear. The servant nodded, giving the prince a secret smile before carrying out his orders. Eärnur was too busy speaking to Ingwë to notice at first but then he realized that all other conversations had stopped. He looked about in puzzlement, then noticed the wide grin on Ingwion’s face.

"What’s going on?" he asked, looking between Ingwion and the High King whose expression was one of deep amusement.

"Remember that bet we made just before you left?" Ingwion answered.

Eärnur nodded, stealing a quick glance at Findaráto who sat there with a knowing smirk on his face.

"Do you remember who won?"

"I did," Eärnur said, "but really, there’s no need..."

"I always make good on my promises," Ingwion said in all seriousness, "however long it takes. So, here you go." He made a gesture and the same servant came forward carrying a red leather-bound book with a jeweled clasp, which he set before the ellon who simply sat there staring at the tome. "Now, the bet was," Ingwion continued for the benefit of the others, "that whoever lost would act as the servant of the other for one day. Well, I never got a chance to fulfill my end of the bargain, at least not as planned." He gave Eärnur a shake of his head. "Believing you were dead and knowing that when you were finally reborn the last thing you would remember would be a stupid bet, I set out to make a record of how I kept my end of the bargain." He gave Eärnur a nod of his head. "Go ahead, open it."

With some hesitation the ellon complied with the request and opened the book to the first page. He stared at it for some time, reading what was there, a look of puzzlement on his face. Then he turned the page and continued reading. He began to randomly turn the pages and reading what was there before going to another page, stopping after he reached the final page. He looked up at Ingwion. "I... I don’t understand."

Ingwion nodded. "I could not act as your servant for one day, so I set out to act as a servant to other people. That," he gestured with a hand at the book, "is a record of each act of service I rendered to whomever. Once a month I put aside my princely garb and duties and became someone’s servant, chosen randomly among the populace. For that one day, whether I spent it copying records for Atar’s secretary, or sweeping floors or pulling weeds, I did so in your memory. Every month I made a careful record of what I did on that one day and I have done so for the last four hundred years. As soon as we learned of your return, I had the pages assembled into this book. Now you can read it at your leisure and see what I have done with myself."

"But the bet was to act as a servant for just one day," Eärnur protested. "You did this twelve days out of the year for four hundred years. Why?"

Ingwion shrugged, giving the confused ellon a brilliant smile. "Consider it interest and I do not begrudge any of it. In fact, I learned much about myself and the people whom I served. Some have since become very good friends, friends I would never have had if it hadn’t been for you leaving."

"But for four hundred years?" Eärnur exclaimed in disbelief.

"And I would have done it for four hundred more, or for however long it took before you were returned to us," retorted Ingwion with equanimity.

"I... I don’t know what to say," Eärnur replied.

Ingwion stood up and went to Eärnur and pulled him into an embrace. "There is nothing you need say, but perhaps, someday, you might be able to return the favor."

"What do you mean?"

"When you are ready, perhaps you would write down your own story of living among the fisherfolk of Nindamos. I would treasure such a gift."

"We all would," Ingwë interjected with sincerity.

Eärnur nodded. "Perhaps I will."

Ingwion gave him another hug and then let him go. When they resumed their seats, Ingwë encouraged the Teler to read some of the book out loud. With a glance at Ingwion for permission, the ellon complied and the rest of the evening was spent laughing over some of the more absurd tasks Ingwion had been made to perform during his times of service. Later, when Ingwë looked in on Eärnur, it was to find the ellon fast asleep with a gentle smile on his face, the book firmly clasped in his arms.

****

Ilmarin was much as Eärnur remembered from his last visit. They were even shown into the same audience chamber where he had had his fateful visit with the Elder King and Lord Námo. Now, beside those two Valar, Lady Varda, Lord Irmo and Lord Ulmo were also there. Ingwë and Ingwion accompanied Eärnur, Findaráto and Laurendil to the audience. After the Elves gave the Valar their obeisance, Manwë greeted them graciously, his expression serene. Eärnur was the only one who appeared nervous, though he tried to hide it.

"Let me begin, Eärnur," the Elder King said when all were seated, "by apologizing for what we did. It was not an easy decision to make, but Námo saw some things concerning Númenórë that disturbed us and sending you there when we did was the only solution we could come up with to prevent grave harm to those Atani faithful to us and Eru."

Eärnur nodded, but his eyes were on Ulmo. "Was it necessary for my friend to die on my account, though?"

Ulmo’s expression was grave, but it was Námo who answered. "I know this concept is difficult to understand, Eärnur, but it was the Lord of Andúnië’s time. He would have made that journey whether you were on board or not and the storm would have arisen regardless. It was simply his time to depart from the Circles of Arda."

The ellon sighed, tears forming. "They said the same thing, but I didn’t want to believe them."

"Who said it, meldonya?" Laurendil asked gently.

"The fisherfolk. They kept telling me that if my friend had died it was because it was his time to do so. They seemed so fatalistic about it."

Námo shook his head, giving Eärnur a sympathetic look. "Say rather that they were accepting of this one fact: death is their final destination whether they are given the opportunity to offer back the gift of their lives to Eru or not. All Mortals die. Your friend was destined to die on that journey. I assure you that neither he nor his crew suffered unduly. Ulmo saw to that and they are now all safely beyond the Circles of Arda as Eru decreed where no evil can ever touch them. Take comfort in that, if in nothing else, child."

For a moment, Eärnur sat there, not looking at anyone as he contemplated Námo’s words. Finally, he looked up and gave the Vala a brief nod of acquiescence.

"Do you understand now why we could not allow you to leave the island?" Ulmo asked.

"Yes, but why was I made to suffer for four hundred years before..."

"Fiondil Ardamirion was not your only... assignment, shall we say," Manwë replied. "We wished to save the fisherfolk as well."

"Why just those of Nindamos and not the others?" Eärnur asked.

"We have our reasons, child," Ulmo answered. "Reasons that do not concern you now, for your part in this is over. You are home now and free to take up your life again."

"How?" the ellon demanded with some heat. "How do I just pick up where I left off? Too much has happened to me. I am no longer the naive little fool who blithely left Aman four hundred years ago at your request."

"You are not a fool, child," Ingwë intervened, "though you were naive, but only as we all are who have never left the bliss of Aman for the darker world beyond. At least you now have something in common with Findaráto and Laurendil and they can help you with your readjustment if you will let them."

"We’ve been where you are, otornya," Findaráto said with a sympathetic smile. "In a sense, you are as much a Reborn as any who have died and have had to start their lives over again once released from Mandos. Perhaps you should consider returning to Lórien, not as a Master Healer, but as a patient, at least until you get your bearings."

"I think Findaráto’s idea has merit, child," Irmo said. "You might even consider spending time with my sister, Nienna."

Eärnur nodded reluctantly. "I... I tried to imagine returning to Lórien and taking up my duties there and... I think I would rather go to Lady Nienna’s instead." Now he looked at them with some embarrassment. "I find being in the presence of so many other Elves somewhat unnerving, almost as if I were one of the Atani."

"An understandable reaction," Irmo stated without any condemnation. "You need time to adjust to being back with your own people. Spending some time at my sister’s should help. When you are ready, you can then return to Lórien where you may do as you please, take up some of your duties, seek further counseling, whatever you need. We’re all here to help you, if you will let us."

Eärnur nodded and then began weeping softly. "I’m sorry... I...."

Laurendil went to comfort his friend but Varda reached him first, taking the ellon into her embrace and gently rocking him. "No, child," she said softly, "you have nothing to be sorry about."

She continued rocking him for a time until his weeping stilled and he became calm again. Everyone else remained quiet, their expressions ones of understanding and love. Finally, Eärnur collected himself and resumed his seat with a soft ‘thank you’ to Varda, accepting a handkerchief from Findaráto and a glass of wine from Laurendil as he did so, giving them both a shy smile. The Valië merely smiled at the three ellyn before returning to her own chair.

"Then, it is settled," Manwë said. "Eärnur will spend some time with Nienna and hopefully, one day, the residents of Lórien will once again enjoy the benefit of his presence as a Master Healer."

"My People and I all look forward to that day," Irmo said with a smile.

"Is that agreeable to you, child?" Námo asked, giving the ellon a measuring look.

Eärnur nodded. " Yes, lord, it is." Then he brightened somewhat and they could sense his excitement. "And I have much knowledge to impart, for I learned some interesting things as a healer among the Atani."

"Then, when you are ready, I would like to sit down and have you tell me what you learned," Irmo said, "and perhaps we can arrange for you to impart that knowledge to the other healers as well."

"Starting with me," Laurendil said with a smile. "Remember the lórefen?"

Eärnur nodded. "I managed to bring some with me."

"Good, for I admit that in the excitement of trying to escape from that valley of death, I’d forgotten all about it."

"Then it’s a good thing one of us knows how to think under pressure, isn’t it?" Eärnur retorted with a wicked grin and they all laughed, Laurendil laughing the loudest.

It was obvious by then that the audience was over. As the Elves began to say their farewells with Eärnur making arrangements with Irmo about going to Nienna’s, Laurendil sought out the Lord of Mandos, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "You should know, my lord," he said to Námo, "that I met a Woman of the Atani who has a cat, a black cat with a splotch of white on his forehead."

"Indeed," Námo replied, casting a considering look at the ellon, wondering where this was going.

"Yes," Laurendil said with a straight face, "and you’ll never guess what she named him."

"Do tell," the Lord of Mandos retorted.

"Bannoth."

"Excuse me?" Námo asked in disbelief, quite aware of the amused smiles on his fellow Valar’s faces.

Laurendil nodded. "But not because of his coloring, mind you."

"An obvious conclusion," Manwë interjected with a facetious smile. Varda rolled her eyes, Irmo snorted and even Ulmo chuckled into his beard.

"So why did this presumptuous Woman name her cat after me?" Námo asked with a mock glare.

Laurendil simply smiled at the Vala’s demeanor. "She told me, and I quote, ‘because he likes to make pronouncements of doom when I don’t feed him on time’."

*Now that sounds familiar,* came Vairë’s voice in their minds, her tone one of wry amusement.

For a second there was absolute silence and then Námo threw back his head and laughed. Soon they were all laughing and then to everyone’s surprise and delight Eärnur began singing a silly ditty he had learned from the children of the fisherfolk about a cat playing a fiddle and the laughter continued for some time.

****

All words are Quenya.

Valanya: The last day of the Valarin week, dedicated to the Valar. The Valarin week is only six days long rather than seven.

Otornya: My (sworn) brother.

23: Epilogue: The Laying Down of Authority

Aman, twenty-four years later:

Námo was the first to arrive in the throne room, though the others were not far behind. His expression was one of disbelief rather than anger. "Are they insane?" he exclaimed as he entered to find Manwë, Varda and Ulmo already there.

"Apparently," Manwë said in a distracted tone. He was on the balcony where he was concentrating on what his Eagles were telling him.

"Where are they now?" Varda asked Ulmo, sounding more calm than she actually felt.

"They’ve passed Avallónë and are just now reaching Aman," Ulmo stated, his expression one of mingled anger and sadness.

"Eönwë," Manwë called and his Herald appeared, giving them all a deep bow. "Alert Arafinwë. Have him order the people of Tirion to Valmar. Ar-Pharazôn will strike there first."

"You’re going to let him get that far inland?" Oromë asked, his demeanor one of great grief at the obstinacy of these younger Children, always desiring what was not theirs to have.

"The better to trap them," came the reply, though it was Tulkas who spoke, his expression feral.

"And then what?" Yavanna asked quietly. "What do we do with them then?"

"Do you think they will really try to invade us?" Vairë asked her spouse.

Námo shook his head. "There is a chance, a very slim one, that in the end Ar-Pharazôn will turn back. We will have to see."

"Even if he does, there will be repercussions," Manwë stated gravely, turning his attention to his fellow Valar as he stepped back into the throne room from the balcony. "This affront to our Authority cannot go unpunished."

Eönwë appeared then, giving Manwë a bow. "King Arafinwë is even now leading his people towards Valmar." Then he gave them a sour grin. "Prince Findaráto and Lord Laurendil are in the process of gathering a troop of warriors from among the Reborn and Returnees and is even now raiding the armories of the Noldor."

Manwë raised an eyebrow. Eönwë merely shrugged. "Friend of Men he may be called, but Ar-Pharazôn has just made himself the prince’s enemy."

"All well and good," Tulkas interjected, "but I like not the idea of the Eldar going to war again and staining the lands of Aman with blood, whether their own or someone else’s."

Manwë nodded and turned to Eönwë. "Go to Findaráto and tell him that I, the Elder King, order him to leave Tirion and follow his atar to Valmar. He and his warriors may act as a rearguard if they wish but under no circumstances are they to engage the Mortals unless it is to defend themselves."

"And if he gives you any grief, Eönwë," Námo said, "Tell him that if he disobeys I will be having a very long talk with him after this is over. That should give him pause."

Eönwë gave the Lord of Mandos a brief smile before bowing and fading from view to carry out his orders.

"They’ve landed," Ulmo stated baldly, his expression remote and forbidding. Always he had been the closest to the Children, both Eldar and Mortals, and it grieved him beyond telling that these Younger Children would become so corrupted by Sauron as to defy the Authority of the Valar this way.

He cast a glance at Aulë and his grief turned towards his brother Vala, who must stand by and watch his former servant destroy yet another part of Atar’s plans for Arda.

"Now what?" Estë asked, her expression grimly sad.

"Now we wait," Manwë answered and his voice was colder than the snows of Taniquetil, contemplating many things as Arien sank into the uttermost West. Doom hung over all of Aman like a shroud.

****

Unclothed warrior Maiar, led by Manveru and Erunáro, kept watch over the Invaders, effectively blocking any retreat. Ar-Pharazôn did not know it, but he and his men would never leave Aman alive. The Maiar were in fact herding the Mortals into the Calacirya and on towards Túna. Manveru looked towards Valmar, nodding in satisfaction. It had taken some convincing, plus a direct threat from Lord Námo, to get Findaráto and his warriors moving, but now all the Children were safely away.

He could see pavilions being set up on the western outskirts of Valmar between the Ezellohar and the Máhanaxar for their use. Hopefully the dislocation would be for only a day or three. A contingent of Maiar had also been sent to guard the road leading towards Alqualondë. No Mortal would reach the pearl gates of the Swan City. Other Maiar, led by Roimendil of the People of Oromë, were on Tol Eressëa, keeping the populace calm. Ar-Pharazôn’s ships had by-passed the island, but the Eldar were naturally frightened at what was happening.

Manveru shook his head in disbelief. Were the Mortals that stupid, ignoring a possible threat sitting behind their lines? The Tol Eressëans, for the most part, were Returnees from Endórë and most of them had fought in the War of Wrath beside the ancestors of these Invaders. They would like nothing better than to take up arms again and defend their new homes. Lord Manwë was correct, though, in forbidding any of the Eldar from engaging the enemy. Enough elven blood had been spilt upon these fair lands; no sense staining them with Mortal blood as well if it could be at all helped.

"They’re heading towards Tirion," Erunáro informed his brother in the Thought of Atar.

"It is nearly dark," Manveru answered with a nod. "They will most likely set up camp below the city. Send guards to all the city entrances. The Mortals are not to be allowed to enter the city itself, at least not tonight."

Erunáro nodded and issued the order while Manveru sent a report to Eönwë letting him know that all was in place.

****

The Valar sat upon their thrones debating what their next step should be. It had been hours since Ar-Pharazôn’s fleet had landed and they were no closer to a solution than before.

"We should just destroy them," Aulë said harshly, "and be done with it."

"And the people of Númenórë itself? What should be done with them?" Nienna demanded sorrowfully.

"They need to be taught a lesson," Tulkas answered.

"As if having their fleet destroyed and their king dead won’t be punishment enough," retorted Varda.

"There is still Sauron to consider," Námo interjected.

"Speak not that traitor’s name in my presence, Little Brother," Aulë insisted with great anger and grief overshadowing him.

"Forgive me, Aulë. I do not mean to cause you more grief than you already bear," Námo replied but Aulë waved away his apology.

"We have never had the authority to chastise any of the Children unto death," Manwë said in the tense silence which followed. "Yet, death is the only option. These Children cannot escape with impunity. Their transgression is too great, their defiance too deep."

Before any could respond to the Elder King’s words, Eönwë appeared, looking even more grave than he had earlier. "They’ve reached Túna, my lord," the Maia said to Manwë. "We have overheard Ar-Pharazôn ordering his people to start searching for ‘the secret’ and becoming more and more enraged as the search proves futile."

"Secret? What secret?" demanded Nessa.

"The secret of immortality, of course, my love," Tulkas answered with a chuckle that held no mirth.

"What are they doing?" Manwë asked his Chief Maia.

"Pretty much wrecking one of the outlying villas," his Herald answered. "They are fighting over who will drink from the well or eat the fruits from the orchard. Apparently they think in consuming these things they will achieve immortality. One of them even went so far as to stab his fellow to, and I quote, ‘see if you are really immortal or not’." He cast them all a wry grin. "Apparently not. Ar-Pharazôn was not happy at that and has ordered the Man executed. Now there are two dead Mortals whose blood has stained our fair land."

Silence fell upon the Valar and a rising sense of horror emanated from them as they realized that they had no means to counteract the deeds of these Invaders. Manwë looked upon each of the Valar, silently asking them the same question. One by one they nodded. Manwë then turned to Eönwë. "Go. Send every Maia to guard the Eldar. What must be done...." He paused and shook his head, his expression bleak. "Go," he said again, not looking at his Herald.

Eönwë hesitated, not sure what was happening, then bowed and faded from view. When the Maia was gone the Elder King rose and the other Valar followed. "We will do this at the Máhanaxar," he said and without another word they all thought themselves to their thrones in the Ring of Doom.

By now it was full night, made even darker by the clouds that hid the stars. A pall hung over all of Aman and the Valar were no less affected by it than the Eldar. When they reconvened at the Máhanaxar, no Elf knew, not even those camped only yards away on the plain between the Ring of Doom and the Mound of the Two Trees. The fourteen Powers stood before their thrones, Vána and Nessa softly weeping at what was about to transpire. All heard as Manwë bespoke Atar.

*Forgive us, Atar,* the Elder King said, *we have failed thee... I have failed thee.*

*Not so, my children,* came the reply and a wave of Love swept through them, calming them and giving them some measure of hope. *This is beyond your authority to deal with and ye have done right to come to me. Yet, I must ask thee this, my son: Dost thou, Manwë, Elder King of Arda, resign thy vice-gerency in the name of thy fellow Valar, if only for a brief time?*

Manwë sighed and all could see the tears glittering in his eyes as he nodded. *Yea, Lord, I do.*

*Then, my children, be comforted and know that I am well pleased with you.*

Atar’s Presence withdrew from them and they all stood waiting for they knew not what. Eönwë suddenly appeared, begging indulgence. "Lord, all throughout Aman the Eldar are falling into slumber. In the midst of their activities they are simply stopping and falling asleep."

"Make sure all fires are extinguished," Manwë ordered. "Every Elda is to have a Maia beside them until I say otherwise. No Elda is to be left alone, no matter where they may be."

"It will be as you say, Lord," Eönwë replied, giving the Elder King a deep bow before leaving.

Minutes passed and the Valar remained rooted before their thrones waiting and then —

"It has begun," Ulmo stated with a calmness that was forced.

At first there was a sense of darkness that was more than just cloud cover and night. There was an ominous feel to it, a pressure upon the soul that threatened to crush it into nothingness and then a sudden lifting of that pressure followed by tremors. As one all of the Valar thought themselves back to Ilmarin where they would have a perfect view of all that was happening.

"Look!" Varda exclaimed, pointing eastward to where the Númenórëan fleet was beached. The ships were falling away as if by a tremendous undertow and they could see that just beyond Tol Eressëa a deep chasm had opened up. Water flowed into the chasm and the noise and the smoke of the cataracts went up into the heavens so that the Valar on Taniquetil could hear the sound perfectly. Slowly but inexorably the ships flowed past the island, their speed quickening as they neared the chasm until they were lost to sight and the sounds of Men screaming faded into the dark.

Yet, that was not the end. Further east they could see Númenórë moving towards the chasm, though all noted with satisfaction that Tol Eressëa remained stationary. The Star Island was too far away for any of the Valar to hear the screams of its inhabitants as tidal waves swept over them and the foundations of the land crumbled and fell into the abyss.

"So none of them survived," Yavanna said softly, looking sad, but Ulmo shook his head and pointed.

"Look closely, sister, and you will see ships further east being swept away towards Endórë. They bear the Faithful led by Elendil. I have already alerted Ossë, Uinen and Salmar to see that they reach shore safely."

Slowly the chasm began to close and the attention of the Valar was brought closer to home as they swept their amaranthine eyes across their own lands. The tremors that had opened up the sea-chasm had also done some damage to Aman.

"Where are Ar-Pharazôn and his Men?" Vairë asked in surprise.

"They are no more, my love," Námo answered. "While you were watching Númenórë being swallowed by the sea, I was watching those encamped below the gates of Tirion being swallowed up by an avalanche, even as the ground opened up beneath them. I fear the villa where they were encamped has been destroyed."

"We will see it rebuilt before we allow the owners to return," Manwë said and the others nodded.

"So now they are all dead," Oromë said with grim satisfaction.

Námo shook his head. "Ar-Pharazôn and his Men are not dead, though they may wish they were."

"What do you mean, brother?" Irmo asked as they all stared at the Lord of Mandos in surprise.

"They sleep, held in suspended animation," Námo answered calmly. "Atar will not permit them into his Presence, not until the Renewing. Thus they shall lie uncorrupted for all the ages of Arda in the Felyar i Alenyalainëon whose location is known only to Atar... and me."

Manwë nodded. "It is well then."

"But is it over?" Nessa asked in confusion.

If Manwë meant to answer, he never got the chance. Suddenly it was as if all of Aman, including Tol Eressëa was engulfed in Flame. There was a subtle shifting of Reality and the Valar found themselves holding their breaths in shock. Then, the Flame faded and they all looked out onto a star-strewn sky and calm seas. All was familiar and different at the same time.

"This... this is the tenth dimension," Ulmo whispered in disbelief. "Valinor has been removed completely from the World."

"Now we know what its true purpose has always been," Námo said with awe and there were nods all around. 

"But what of the Eldar still residing in Endórë?" asked Varda with some concern. "Have they been condemned to permanent exile from us?"

*Nay, daughter,* came the answer from the Timeless Halls. *The Firstborn will always have the ability to take the Straight Path but there can be no return. Only ye who are the Children of my First Thoughts will be able to move between dimensions at will. Until the Remaking, the Mortals are sundered from the Blessed Realm. Only death will allow them to traverse the dimensions to Mandos before they must come to me.*

"We thank thee, Atar," Manwë said humbly. "What now is thy will for us?"

*Resume your offices as my good and faithful servants,* Atar said with great authority, although there was a gentleness to his tone that comforted them all. *Your duties are not yet done.*

"What do we tell the Eldar?" Varda asked for them all.

*The truth, child,* came the gentle reprimand. *Nothing less will serve.*

Then Atar’s Presence was once again withdrawn and the Valar were left to themselves. Finally Manwë stirred. "Come, let us see to our people. The dawn will bring many questions among the Children."

"I will see that the ships of the Faithful arrive safely," Ulmo stated. "There are those among the Eldar who will be concerned over the fates of some of them."

They all nodded and with a thought faded each to his own demesne to check for damage.

****

from ‘The Chronicles of Lindon’:

3295: In this year, as has become more frequent of late, a ship from Elenna, the Star Island, sailed into Mithlond seeking refuge, which King Gil-galad granted. Among the Mortals were a young couple, newly wed, who bore messages of greetings from one Lord Laurendil, once of Lindon’s Court. King Gil-galad welcomed these two with great warmth and named them Elf-friends and took them into his own household where every honor has been accorded them....

3315: In this year was born a daughter to the Elf-friends, Lord Fiondil Ardamirion and his lady, Vandiel Elemmaciliel, and her name is Laurendilmë. May the Valar bless her....

3319: In this year four ships from Númenórë arrived before a hurricane that was greater than any had ever seen before. Their sails were torn and the ships themselves were battered. Some claim to have seen Lord Ossë himself blow the ships into Mithlond where Lord Círdan awaited them. One of the ships bore Elendil, son of Amandil, last Lord of Andúnië, and King Gil-galad greeted him warmly. With him came two who were long looked-for by Lord Fiondil and Lady Vandiel — Lord Valandil and Lady Ercassë. They were accompanied by their young son, Boromir, as well as an elderly Woman carrying a black cat. The joy of their reunion caused even King Gil-galad to weep at the sight....

****

Felyar i Alenyalainëon: Caves of the Forgotten, literally, ‘Caves of Those Who Are Not to Be Recalled to Memory’.

Note: The description of the Downfall itself is taken from the Akallabeth.

Author’s Notes

I. Chronology: Entries marked with an asterisk indicate non-canon events related to this story.

2195: Messengers from Aman go to Númenor.

*2900: Eärnur of Aman visits Tol Eressëa and befriends Eärnur Ciryatano, Lord of Andúnië. Both are lost at sea.

*2905: Eärnur, son of Laurendil and Manwen born

3025: Amandil born

3102: Eldar forbidden to come to Númenor

3119: Elendil born

3209: Isildur born

3219: Anárion born

*3255: Valandil and Vandiel born

*3257: Fiondil born

*3260: Ercassë born

3262: Sauron brought to Númenor

*3281: Calaldundil born

*3295: Laurendil comes secretly to Númenor

3299: Ciryandil, Isildur’s son, born

*3313: Boromir, son of Valandil and Ercassë born

*3315: Laurendilmë, daughter of Fiondil and Vandiel born

3316: Amandil sails West

3318: Meneldil, Anárion’s son, born [last child born in Númenor]

3319: Fall of Númenor

****

II. Characters: An asterisk next to a name indicates that the person is dead (if a Mortal) or residing in Mandos (if an Elf). The chapter in which a character either first appears or is mentioned is shown in parentheses.

Aerveril (OFC): Elda, first mate on the Eäremirë (20)

Almarian (OFC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, owner of an embroidery shop in Rómenna (3)

Almiel: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, youngest sister of Tar-Aldarion, Ercassë and Fiondil are descended from her (3)

Amandil the Faithful: Númenórëan, son of Númendil, Elf-friend, Last Lord of Andúnië, father of Elendil (3)

Amillo (OMC): (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Ulmo (20)

Anárion: Númenórëan, Elf-friend, second son of Elendil (3)

Arafinwë: (mentioned) Elda, King of the Noldor, father of Findaráto (23)

Araroch: Equine, a roan gelding ridden by Laurendil (7)

Ardamir (OMC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, father of Fiondil and Ercassë (3)

Ar-Adûnakhôr: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, Twentieth King of Númenor (14)

Ar-Pharazôn: (mentioned) Númenórëan, The Golden, Last king of Númenórë (3)

Ar-Zimpraphel: (mentioned in Author’s Note), Númenórëan, daughter of Tar-Palantir, married to Ar-Pharazôn (3)

Aulë: Vala, Smith of Arda, spouse of Yavanna (23)

Avalôbêl Gimilzagarthôr: Adûnaic form of Valandil Elemmacil

Azrutarik Adûnazîrthôrun: Adûnaic form of Elentir Númendilion

Azrubêlzir (OMC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, Headman of Nindamos, father of Salakthôr (18)

Bannoth: Feline, Margileth's familiar. The name is the Sindarin version of Mandos (10)

Bëor: *(mentioned) Adan (13)

Beregar (OMC): Númenórëan, first mate on Valandil’s yacht (7)

Beren: *(mentioned) Adan (13)

Beren of Dulgâban (OMC): Númenóréan, Elf-friend, a farmer (8)

Boromir (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, blind House Steward to Lady Eärwen (9)

Boromir Valandilion(OMC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, Valandil and Ercassë’s son (23)

Calaldundil (OMC): Elda, Vorondil and Marilla’s son (age 14) (1)

Calinda (OFC): Númenórëan, serving girl at the Harp and Torch (3)

Círdan: (mentioned) Sinda, The Shipwright, Lord of the Grey Havens (13)

Eäremirë: "Sea-Jewel", Laurendil’s ship (18)

Eärendur (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, Oath-Keeper to the members of the Order of the White Stone, owner of the Harp and Torch, a tavern in Rómenna (3)

Eärnur (OMC): *(mentioned) Elda, friend of Laurendil, lost at sea and presumed dead (1)

Eärnur Ciryatano (OMC): *(mentioned) Númenórëan, Lord of Andúnië (9)

Eärnur Laurendilion (OMC): Elda, Laurendil and Manwen’s youngest child (age 390) (1)

Eärwen (OFC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, granddaughter of Eärnur Ciryatano (9)

Elemmacil (OMC): *(mentioned in Author’s Note) Númenórëan, father of Valandil and Vandiel (3)

Elendil the Tall: Númenórëan, Elf-friend, son of Amandil (3)

Elentir: *(mentioned in Author’s Note) Númenórëan, son of Numendil, brother to Amandil, grandfather of Valandil and Vandiel (3)

Elros Tar-Minyatur: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, son of Eärendil, first king of Númenor (21)

Emeldir (OFC): Númenóréan, daughter of Beren and Haleth of Dulgâban (age 10) (8)

Eönwë: Maia, of the People of Manwë, brother to Imarë in the Thought of Eru and Manwë’s Herald (2)

Ercassë Ardamiriel (OFC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend (3)

Erunáro (OCM): Maia, of the People of Manwë and brother to Manveru in the Thought of Eru (23)

Estë: Valië, spouse of Irmo (22)

Findaráto: Elda, Prince of Eldamar, one of the Fëanturindi, charged with the healing and protection of Aman (1)

Fiondil Ardamirion (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend (3)

Fionwë (OMC): Maia, of the People of Manwë (14)

Gundor (OMC): Númenórëan, infant son of Beren and Haleth of Dulgâban (8)

Haleth (OFC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, wife of Beren of Dulgâban (8)

Hallatan (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, House Steward to Amandil (3)

Hareth (OFC): Númenóréan, eldest daugther of Beren and Haleth of Dulgâban (age 14) (8)

Haleth: *(mentioned) Adan (13)

Húrin: *(mentioned) Adan (13)

Ilmarë: Maia, of the People of Varda, sister to Eönwë in the Thought of Eru (2)

Ingil (OMC): Maia, of the People of Irmo (2)

Irmo: Vala, Lord of Lórien, spouse of Estë (1)

Irmondil (OMC): Elda, Laurendil and Manwen’s oldest son (1)

Isildur: Númenórëan, Elf-friend, eldest son of Elendil (3)

Isilmë (OFC): *(mentioned in Author’s Note) Númenórëan, wife of Calamacil, mother of Valandil and Vandiel (3)

Laurendil Rialcarion (OMC): Elda, Master Lóriennildo, member of the Heren iNinquialdo, spouse of Manwen, father of Irmondil, Marilla and Eärnur (1)

Laurendilmë (OFC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, Fiondil and Vandiel’s daughter (23)

Lindórië (OFC): *(mentioned in Author’s Note) Númenórëan, spouse of Elenitr, grandmother of Valandil and Vandiel (3)

Lúthien: *(mentioned) Elda, spouse of the Adan Beren, who gives up her immortality (13)

Manveru (OMC): Maia, of the people of Manwë, brother to Erunáro in the Thought of Eru (23)

Manwë: Vala, the Elder King, spouse of Varda (2)

Manwen (OFC): Elda, Master Estenduriën, spouse of Laurendil, mother of Irmondil, Marilla and Eärnur  (1)

Mardil (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, House Steward to Valandil (4)

Margileth (OMC): Númenórëan, Elf-friend, sister of Boromir (10)

Marilla (OFC): Elda, Laurendil and Manwen’s daughter, spouse of Vorondil and mother of Calaldundil (1)

Morwen: *(mentioned) Edain (13)

Námo: Vala, Lord of Mandos, spouse of Vairë (2)

Nessa: Valië, spouse of Tulkas (23)

Nienna: (mentioned) Valië, sister to Námo and Irmo in the Thought of Eru (22)

Nísimalótë (OFC): (mentioned) Elda, Loremistress in charge of teaching the children of those serving in Lórien (2)

Númendil: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, father of Amandil (4)

Núneth (OFC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, Beregar’s sweetheart (7)

Orchaldor (OMC): Númenórëan, a crewmember on Valandil’s yacht (7)

Oromë: Vala, Lord of Trees and the Hunt, spouse of Vána (23)

Ossë: (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Ulmo (20)

Roimendil (OMC): Maia, of the People of Oromë (23)

Sakalthôr (OMC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, son of Azrubêlzir, whose life Eärnur saved (18)

Salmar: (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Ulmo (20)

Sauron: (mentioned) Fallen Maia, presently residing on Númenór where he has corrupted the king and most of the Númenórëans (3)

Tar-Aldarion: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, Sixth King of Númenor (3)

Tar-Ardamir: * (mentioned in Author’s Note) Númenórëan, Nineteenth King of Númenor (14)

Tar-Calion: Quenya form of Ar-Pharazôn

Tar-Calmacil: *(mentioned) Númenórëan, Eighteenth King of Númenor (14)

Tar-Elenalcar: (mentioned) Quenya form of Gil-galad, Last High King of the Noldor in Exile, rules from Lindon in Eriador (13)

Tar-Míriel: Quenya form of Ar-Zimraphel

Tulkas: Vala, Lord of War, spouse to Nessa (23)

Ulmo: Vala, Lord of Waters (20)

Ulrath (OMC): Númenórëan, Captain of the guard at the north gate of Armenelos (8)

Uinen: (mentioned) Maia, of the People of Ulmo (23)

Uinéniel: "Daughter of Uinen", Valandil’s yacht (7)

Uinéndilmë (OFC): Elda, sister of Eärnur (22)

Vairë: Valië, Weaver of Arda, spouse to Námo (23)

Valandil Elemmacilion (OMC): Númenórëan, of the House of Andúnië, , twin brother of Vandiel, member of the Heren iNinqualdo (1)

Vandiel Elemmaciliel (OFC): Númenórëan, of the House of Andúnië, twin sister of Valandil (1)

Varda: Valië, Queen of Stars, spouse to Manwë (2)

Vorondil Aldundilion (OMC): Elda, Master Lóriennnildo, spouse of Marilla, father of Calaldundil (1)

Voronwë: (mentioned) Elda, captain of the Eäremirë (18)

Yavanna: Valië, Earth-Queen, spouse to Aulë (23)

Yavien (OFC): (mentioned) Númenórëan, wife of Ardamir, mother of Fiondil and Ercassë (3)

Zigûr: Adûnaic form of Sauron. The literal meaning of the name is ‘Wizard’.