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.