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.