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.