THE VAULT OF ANNÚMINAS

This chapter quotes “Quarantined” chapter 11, and also references “Force of Nature” chapter 3.

The words of Elendil can be found in the chapter 'The Steward and the King', The Return of the King, and they are also sung by Aragorn in the film at his coronation.

Chapter 12:  Behind the Door 

In those days the Heir of Isildur arose in the North, and he took the shards of the sword of Elendil, and in Imladris they were reforged; and he went then to war, a great captain of Men.  He was Aragorn son of Arathorn, the nine and thirtieth heir in the right line from Isildur, and yet more like to Elendil than any before him.  ‘Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age’, The Silmarillion

Frodo looked about him in wonder.  The tunnel had been beautifully made, its ceiling perhaps 12 feet high, and wide enough for several to walk abreast.  As Aragorn strode ahead, igniting each torch in turn, the long passageway glowed with light.  Ancient paintings and carvings on the walls had been nearly obliterated by the slow, yet inexorable, press of time.  Tree roots had infiltrated minute cracks in the walls, widening them, and persistent tendrils of plants had crept in unseen and untended.  The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust, caused by decaying vegetation and the remains of gems that must have once studded the walls and given them great luster.

“Do you see?” Elladan asked, pointing out all the tiny holes in the walls.  “Pearls and opals are very fragile, Frodo.  As the hill settled, and plants stretched out and grew, the gems would have been compressed and crushed; only their dust now remains.  There must have been many thousands of them.  In its glory, this passageway would have sparkled like a star-filled night.”

“It’s hard to imagine what used to be here,” Frodo said, his voice slightly muffled behind the damp cloth covering his nose and mouth.  They walked slowly forward in the direction Aragorn had gone, hobbit and elf both stepping lightly and stirring up little dust.  “Can you tell what the paintings showed?”

Elladan looked closely at what remained of once brightly-painted murals.

“I believe this entire passageway depicted the time when the Númenoreans came to Middle-earth,” he murmured, letting his imagination -- and tales told him long ago -- fill in what could now only faintly be discerned.  “See, here are ships, and over there are throngs of people arriving in a new land.”  He shook his head in wonder.  “Did they realize their homeland was drowned forever beneath the Sea?  Were they dazed with grief, or eager to tame new lands?  We will never truly know.”

“Is Scamp all right?” Frodo asked suddenly.

“She sleeps,” Elladan smiled, gazing down into the sling he wore.  “I believe she is now well used to this means of transport, and may even miss it once you return home.”

“I think you’re--”

There was a sudden crash, and Aragorn’s voice shouting something.  Elladan raced ahead, Frodo at his heels, to find his foster brother face down in the thick dust, coughing violently. 

Elladan quickly pulled Aragorn to his feet.  “Are you injured?” he asked.

“No, I... I just...” Aragorn was coughing so violently, he could scarcely speak.

“Estel, take this,” Frodo said quickly, opening his water bottle.  Aragorn grabbed the bottle and drank deeply, his coughing finally subsiding.

“Thank you, little one, that’s much better.  What is so amusing?”

“You look like Scamp did; your face and hair are all white from this stuff.  Maybe you should be the one wearing this cloth.”

“You are an impertinent hobbit,” Aragorn said, ruffling Frodo’s hair.  “I just tripped on something.”  They looked down, and saw that one of the tree roots was protruding from the otherwise-smooth stone floor.

“Rangers and tree roots,” Frodo giggled.  “At least you didn’t break your ankle like Halbarad.  You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Aragorn smiled. 

Frodo and Elladan kept their distance while Aragorn brushed off his clothing and shook most of the dust out of his hair.

“I hear water,” Elladan said suddenly.  “It comes from there.”  He pointed to the slab of stone marking the end of the passage, just a few feet away.

“Is this the door?” Frodo asked in excitement.  “How do we get through it?”

“It was my haste in approaching this barrier that caused me to pay less attention, and trip,” Aragorn admitted.  “Elladan, what do you make of these old carvings?  You read Quenya better than I.”

Elladan took a torch from the wall and held it up to the door, carved to resemble a growing tree.  At the top of the tree glittered a few crystals – all that now remained of a pattern of seven – and a line of curious writing.

“The inscription reads...”  Elladan smiled and stepped back.  “Estel, these are the words Elendil is said to have spoken when first he led his people ashore.  It is more fitting that you speak these words, than I.”

Frodo looked from Elladan to Aragorn, not understanding the look that went between them.  He saw Aragorn approach the door and touch a word he seemed to recognize.

“Utúlien,” Aragorn read aloud.  “Frodo, that is Quenya for--”

There was a sudden crack, and Aragorn instantly grabbed Frodo and hurried him away from the door, lest something fall in on them.

“What’s going on?” Frodo asked.  “What did you say?”  He gasped as the stone seemed to shudder, then slowly opened outwards.  There was nothing to be seen on the other side but darkness.  He and Aragorn could both now hear the sound of water that Elladan had noted before.

“It means, “I am come,” Aragorn said, as amazed as Frodo.  “Elladan, what do you make of this?  Is the doorway sound?”

“It appears to be,” Elladan said, examining the door.  Its enormous hinges were now clearly visible.  “Estel, I believe you discovered by accident the key to this door – a combination of certain words in the Elder Tongue, which would have been spoken by those who made their home here.”  He looked back upon the passageway they had traversed, then up to the ceiling, pondering something.  “We have come far enough to be under the Hallow.  Interesting.”

Frodo peered into the blackness.  “Is it safe to go further?”

“Let me see what is there,” Elladan said softly.  He thrust the torch beyond the doorway into the darkness, hesitated a moment, then came to Aragorn’s side.  “This was the King’s own chamber.  Perhaps it was his voice alone that would open the door.  I doubt anyone but the King ever walked down that passage, or entered this room, once they were constructed.”

“Why do you say that?” Aragorn asked.

“Because of what lies within,” Elladan said simply.  “With your permission, brother, I will go first, this time, and light your way.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, and Elladan disappeared into the dark void beyond the door.

“Estel,” Frodo sighed, “you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do at supper tonight.  I scarcely understand what you two are talking about.”

“I know, little one, and I apologize,” Aragorn said.  “An ancient place brings to our minds folk of legend, and tales you might not have been taught.”

They saw the darkness lift ahead of them; apparently Elladan had found torches waiting beyond the door.  Elladan returned, and motioned Aragorn to proceed.

“Enter, brother.  It is your right.”

Aragorn smiled down at Frodo. “Come, together we will see where your dream has led us.”

Frodo nodded, but eyed the door doubtfully.

“What if it closes again when we’re in there?”

“I will stand guard,” Elladan assured him.

Frodo followed Aragorn past the massive door and into the brightly-lit, perfectly round chamber beyond. There was at once so much to see that he scarcely knew where to look first. A miniature waterfall gushed from an aperture in the ceiling, spilling into a beautiful basin from which the water drained out somewhere deep below them; the previous night’s rain had increased its flow temporarily.  The smooth stone walls were painted with landscapes, ships and mountains, birds, trees, and strangely-dressed people.  Unlike the outer passage, these scenes were perfectly preserved in vibrant colors.  Looking up at the domed ceiling, Frodo saw glittering stars set in groupings only vaguely familiar.  For the first time, he wondered if the stars had looked different thousands of years ago.

At the far side of the chamber was a niche cut in the rock, which held only a silver chest encrusted with gems and crystals. And the floor......

“Estel, look at the floor!” Frodo cried out.  “Is this the city, do you think?  None of that dust got in here to cover it over, except what we’ve tracked in.”

Aragorn looked down, startled, and a smile slowly spread across his face.  There, at his feet, was a depiction of Annúminas in its glory, every building and street shown in perfect detail.

“Frodo,” he said, “if you would not mind, I will bring you back here with that sketch book so you can draw this for me.”

“I’d love to,” Frodo smiled, happy to have a skill his friend could use.  “Is that pedestal special?”

Aragorn turned back to the only object in the room that had caught his attention when he entered – the single thing on which Elladan had based his assumption that the King, and only the King, had ever come here.  The pedestal was fully six feet high, with a round indentation at the top that Frodo could not see.

“Yes,” Aragorn said softly. “Elladan was correct; this room was used only by the King.  This pedestal must have held the palantír of Annúminas – a globe by which Elendil could see his sons, in kingdoms to the south.”  He touched the pedestal reverently.  Elendil himself had stood in this very spot.

“That’s something else you can explain to me later,” Frodo said, still looking around.  He walked over to the silver chest, wondering if Estel would open it, but suddenly one of the paintings caught his eye and made him gasp.

It was a Man, taller than any in the crowd of people among whom he stood.  He wore a shining gem at his brow, and held a sword outstretched toward the direction of the setting sun.  Frodo looked carefully at his face and eyes, and the sword he held.  The hilt was the very same... it looked just like...  He turned back to Aragorn, his heart pumping wildly.  What had Elladan said?

“These are the words Elendil is said to have spoken when first he led his people ashore.  It is more fitting that you speak these words, than I.”

“Enter, brother.  It is your right.”

“Estel,” Frodo whispered, “why do you carry a broken sword?”

Aragorn stared at him, frozen with shock.

“What did you say?”

“It’s his, isn’t it?” Frodo asked, pointing to the painting.  “Is that Elendil, the first king?  Why do you have his sword?”

“Frodo...”

Frodo’s mind was whirling.  He remembered what Estel had told him years ago, when they first met... when the Ranger had asked him to stop using the name ‘Aragorn’.

“This may be difficult, but you must not tell anyone my name.  Not your friends, or cousins, or anyone.”

“I won’t, if you don’t want me to.  Are you a secret?”

“Something like that.  Perhaps someday I won’t be, but for now, I’m just a Ranger who came to stay for a few days.”

“Can I make up a name for you?”

“Why don’t you call me ‘Estel’.”

“Why?”

“That’s a new Elvish word for you; it means ‘hope’.  My foster-father used to call me that.”

“Why did he call you ‘hope’?”

“People are expecting me to accomplish many things.”

“He looks just like you!” Frodo insisted, coming back to the present.  “If you braided your hair, and wore a different style of...”  He looked up at Aragorn, his eyes huge in the torchlight.  “Estel?”

Aragorn knelt to look into the hobbit’s troubled face.

“Yes, little one?”

“Who... are you?”

** TBC **