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.