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The Last Messenger: A Tale of Númenor  by Fiondil

10: Margileth

The Morimindon was originally so called because of the dark stone of its construction. It had been built in the days of Ar-Gimilzôr, shortly after the Edict of Forbiddance. The tower was built just outside the city where walls were being constructed. As it stood to the west of the city limits, looking towards the Meneltarma and ultimately to the Blessed Realm, its original purpose was probably that of a watchtower against the Eldar. Shortly after Ar-Pharazôn took the throne it began to be used as a prison for ‘malcontents’ and ‘traitors’. Rumors of torture and worse being perpetrated within the walls of the prison were whispered about but could never be proved. When Ar-Pharazôn brought Sauron back to Númenórë, and that Maia began to corrupt the king, rumor became reality.

Lady Eärwen was not sanguine about allowing Vandiel and Ercassë to join in what she admitted was but a fool’s hope of a rescue, and while both Valandil and Boromir were also inclined to agree with the lady, Laurendil was adamant that the two young women join in the rescue. "They will both be needed," was all he said, and the implacableness of his tone and the depths of wisdom and age they saw in his eyes as he spoke stopped their protests.

Reaching the Morimindon undetected was, of course, their primary concern. Boromir assured them that there was a way in that was unknown to most and it would be unguarded, but getting there was another matter. Finally, they realized the easiest solution was to simply leave the city, not by the north gate, but by the west.

"There is the outlying village of Lonopelë," Eärwen told them, "which lies to the south of the Morimindon. You could make your way there. No one would remark at your doing so."

So it was decided. Valandil, Boromir and the two maidens would travel together, pretending to be a grandfather being taken by his grandchildren to visit a relative in the village. Laurendil assured them all that he would be able to pass through the gate under the eyes of the guards without being noticed.

"There are ways of tricking the eyes of those of... weaker wills so they do not see what one does not wish for them to see," he told them. "I will have no problem leaving the city."

"We cannot approach the prison until well after dark, though," Vandiel pointed out, "so where will we go in the meantime once we leave the city?"

It was Boromir who answered. "Ah... we will actually go to Lonopelë," he said with a grim smile, "for as it happens, there is an old woman, a widow, with whom I am acquainted. She will welcome us and entertain us with her interminable prattle about her insufferable grandchildren and when the hour comes for our departure we will be heartily glad to be leaving her for a prison."

Eärwen laughed aloud at the deprecating tone of the Man and Laurendil hid a smile while the three younger Mortals stared at the steward with open-mouthed confusion.

"Pay him no mind, my dears," Eärwen said to them with a wave of dismissal. "My steward is being naughty. The widow in question is his own beloved sister, Margileth, and she dotes on her younger brother very much."

"Too much," Boromir muttered darkly, but Eärwen merely laughed again.

Thus, an hour before the gates would close, the guards at the west gate watched with studied disinterest as three young people chivvied an old blind man along. "Come along, Gran’fer," one of the maidens said with a scowl on her pretty face, "Auntie Margileth is awaitin’ supper on us. We’re gonna be late if’n we don’t hurry."

"Peace, daughter," the old man said somewhat tetchily. "I cannot go any faster than I can. We will get to your auntie’s house in plenty of time, no fear. Now where’s that useless brother of yours gone to?"

"I’m right here, Gran’fer," the young man replied, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. "I ain’t been far y’know," giving his putative grandsire a scowl which the man could not see. "I was just admirin’ the guards at the gate. I sure be wishin’ I could be a guard." He looked a bit wistfully at the men standing at attention and one or two of them gave him a brief sympathetic smile as their small group filed past them.

The old man just shook his head. "Pure foolishness," he said angrily. "You’re not fit for guarding the privy, boy."

One or two of the guards snickered at that and they saw the young man roll his eyes while the two maidens shook their heads. It was obviously an old argument between them. The Men at the gate were so busy watching the old man berate his seemingly useless grandson that they never noticed the dark shadow of the Elf flit past them. For that matter, neither did anyone else.

****

"Not fit to guard the privy, am I?" Valandil asked with a snort once they were away from the city and nearly at the outskirts of the village. Vandiel and Ercassë started laughing, but quietly so as not to draw attention to themselves from the passers-by. Boromir merely smiled and said nothing as they continued walking. Laurendil caught up with them just about then. He gave Valandil a look of amusement.

"I’m not sure your attû would approve you joining the guards, youngster," he said with a sly smile.

The younger Man laughed. "He’s probably spinning in his grave right now at the thought." The other Mortals all snickered and Laurendil looked at them in amazement, not expecting such levity. Then, memories surfaced of the Edain under his command and some of their jokes about death and dying. He continued walking along with a thoughtful expression on his fair face.

In the meantime, Boromir gave them softly spoken directions to his sister’s house and soon they were standing before a well-kept cottage surrounded by an herb and flower garden.

"What a lovely cottage," Ercassë exclaimed as they opened the gate leading to the front walk that wound its way past beds of asphodels and helinyetilli, hollyhocks and mundulóci with here and there quiquilla and quinquenna. Roses — pink and red and pale yellow — climbed the fence while purple helilohti covered the lintel of the cottage door. Window boxes on either side of the door were filled with golden-red culdalotsi.

The cottage itself was a small two room affair with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. The door was framed by two small mullioned windows and was painted a cheerful blue. It appeared to be the sort in which the upper half could be opened separately thus allowing air and sunlight into the house. Such was the case when they arrived. Smoke rose from the chimney and smells of cooking emanated from the open doorway. Boromir smiled as he gave a hail. "Greetings, Margileth," he called out.

From inside they heard someone coming to the door. "Boromir, is that you, brother?"

"Even so," the house steward replied. "and I bring guests."

The others saw an old woman, her hair steel grey, her face full of wrinkles, but the eyes that looked upon them were a clear blue, like the summer sky, and were bright and merry. She was wiping her hands on a starched-white apron. "Why, brother," she said in exclamation, "could you not send word of your coming and that you bring guests, and such guests? Come in, come in." She unlatched the lower half of the door and gestured for them to enter.

Inside Laurendil and the others saw a keeping room with a wooden table and two benches dominating the center. A wood burning stove took up the wall on their right while a rocking chair sat to one side of it. On a brightly colored braided rug a black cat with a splash of white on its forehead slept, cocking its ears at the sound of voices but otherwise refusing to acknowledge their presence. Herbs hung in swags from the beams along with ropes of onions, garlic and potatoes. A blue vase graced the center of the table filled with roses from the garden. A cupboard and another table covered with crockery were placed against the wall opposite the stove. A door leading to the bedroom faced them.

When the elf removed his hood and head scarf, Margileth stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "Odd, for a moment there I thought you were one of the Fair Folk," she muttered as she went briskly to the stove to check on her stew, "but your hair is too short, for I recall descriptions of the Eldar and all say their hair is long."

Laurendil smiled. "Indeed. It is as I have heard as well," was all he said and the others snickered.

Margileth turned around and glared at them, then addressed Boromir directly. "Well, brother, and what brings you here and are you planning on introducing me to your fellow conspirators?"

"Peace, sister," the old man said with a fond smile. "The youngsters are Lord Valandil and Lady Vandiel, kin to our Lord Amandil and with them is their friend, Lady Ercassë."

Margileth gave the three younger Mortals a piercing look. "Yes, I see the resemblance," she said as she stared hard at Valandil and Vandiel. Valandil gave her a small bow while the two maidens offered her their curtsies. "Hrummph. Well it’s pleased I am to make your acquaintance, I’m sure, though I wonder what such as you are doing cluttering up my home."

"Now, Margi, that’s not polite," Boromir admonished her with a frown.

The Woman sighed and gave them a deprecating smile. "No, I suppose it’s not, but I little like having complete strangers drop in on me unannounced."

"And for that, dear lady," Laurendil said, stepping forward to take her hand and bow over it, "we crave your pardon. I am Laurendil, by the way," he added with a sly grin, "in case Boromir forgot I was here, which is the only reason I can think on for him neglecting to introduce me along with our companions."

"Now, my lord," Boromir protested, though he was smiling as he spoke, "I’d not forgotten thee. I was merely saving thee for last."

"Ah... well, in that case, please do the honors."

"Hrummph," Margileth snorted. "A bit late since you’ve already given me your name, youngster."

Now the younger Mortals started laughing. Margileth gave them confused looks and, ignoring her brother, turned back to Laurendil with a bemused expression.

"You must forgive my companions, child," Laurendil said with a gentle smile, "they are still rather young."

Margileth stared at the Elf in confusion and then it slowly dawned on her who this person truly was. "Oh by the Stars of Elbereth," she whispered, the blood draining from her face. Laurendil grabbed her before she stumbled back into the stove and led her to the rocking chair giving orders as he did so.

"Water, now," he said commandingly, "or if there be anything stronger, that will do."

Boromir went unerringly to the cupboard and opened one of the doors, pulling out a decanter and a wooden cup, then returned to where Laurendil was kneeling beside the rocking chair. The cat had gotten up and was now sitting in its mistress’s lap, offering her its own brand of comfort. Laurendil was rubbing one aged hand while Ercassë knelt beside her as well, doing the same with her other hand. Boromir’s hands were shaking enough that Valandil took the decanter and cup from him and splashed a good amount of the wine into the cup before handing it to Laurendil.

"Here, my dear," he said solicitously as he pressed the cup to Margileth’s lips, "drink this."

It took a moment for the old woman to comply but by then her color was returning and her heartbeat was more regular. She stared at Laurendil over the lip of the cup, her eyes wide with wonder. Finally, she pushed the cup from her and started to stand, but Laurendil pushed her back into the chair. "Rest," he said. "You’ve had a shock."

"M-my stew," she protested.

"I will check it," Vandiel said, glad to be able to do something beside just stand there. Laurendil gave her a bright smile and a nod of encouragement before returning his attention to their hostess.

"There, nothing to worry about," he said reassuringly. "I’m sure your stew is just fine. I want you to sit here and relax. I am sorry for this, my dear," he added with a slight frown. "I fear we’ve done you a disservice coming here, but I assure you it is needful and we will not be staying long at any rate."

Margileth nodded somewhat distractedly, giving her brother her attention. "Would you care to explain from the beginning, brother? And the rest of you, sit, sit. No sense standing on ceremony here."

Laurendil nodded to the others, who took seats on the benches. Vandiel continued to stand by the stove checking the stew, however, while Laurendil simply changed his position to sit on the braided rug, his legs crossed. The Mortals all stared at him in consternation.

"My lord!" Margileth protested, starting to rise, which did not please the cat, who jumped off her lap with a hiss and went over to the Elf-lord, who smiled at the animal and gently picked it up before settling it on his own lap, even as he was waving Margileth back down.

"No, child, do not get up," he ordered. "I am quite well here with my new friend." He glanced down at the cat now kneading the Elf’s tunic, its purr so loud it was clearly audible to all.

Margileth reluctantly complied while the younger Mortals looked a bit uncomfortable. The image of one of the Firstborn sitting on a braided rug playing with a cat was one they never thought to see and it was very disconcerting. Laurendil, for his part, ignored them, stroking the cat and whispering something in Quenya to it while Boromir explained to his sister what was going on. When he was finished, Margileth sighed and gave them a grimace.

"Bad business that," she said. "The ruckus it raised could be heard all the way out here. Rumor has it that Zigûr has finally convinced the king to burn the Tree. They plan to cut it down on next Valanya."

Laurendil frowned at that. "Appropriate, I suppose," he commented with a shrug. "Sauron will be amused by the irony of it even if Ar-Pharazôn does not understand."

The others stared at the Elf with varying degrees of uncertainty but then Margileth shook her head and got up. "Here, dear, let me see to the stew," she said to Vandiel. "Why don’t you pull out some bread from the bread box there and there’s a half wheel of cheese in the cold room, Boromir."

Vandiel went to cut the bread while Boromir walked to the right of the stove and lifted a ring in the middle of the floor revealing a small root cellar. A short flight of stairs led downward and in a few minutes he was returning with the cheese. At Margileth’s directions, Ercassë was setting out bowls and eating utensils while Valandil was pouring wine for them all. Laurendil rose to help as well but Margileth refused his offer. "Sit you there, my lord, and take your ease," she said, pointing to the rocking chair. "We’re fine."

Laurendil decided it wasn’t worth arguing about and sat in the chair with the cat, looking on with faint amusement. He decided to speak to the cat. "And what is your name, Little One?" he asked as the cat continued to purr.

"His name’s Bannoth," Margileth answered for her feline companion with a sly smile.

Laurendil gave her a surprised look and she nodded even as she continued stirring the stew. "Likes to make pronouncements of doom when I don’t feed him on time."

The Elf threw back his head and laughed, thinking of how amusing it would be to see Lord Námo’s expression when he told him. "And I thought it was because of his coloring."

The Mortals gave him quizzical looks and Laurendil chuckled. "Black...it’s Lord Námo’s favorite color, you see," he explained, "though Lady Vairë has managed to get him into other colors every once in a while." The Elf gave them a bright smile. "He looks rather nice in dark green."

"Y-you’ve seen the Lord of Mandos?" Vandiel asked in an awed whisper.

Laurendil gave her a sympathetic look. "Yes, child," he said, "I’ve not only seen Lord Námo, but I have also spoken with him and many of the other Valar. As a Lóriennildo I...."

"Sorry, what?" Vandiel interrupted, shaking her head.

"Ah, my apologies," Laurendil said. "The Lóriennildi are Elves who have taken service with Lord Irmo and Lady Estë, caring for any who may suffer injury in hröa or fëa. We are also charged with caring for the recently Reborn."

"Reborn?" Valandil asked, looking confused. The others showed similar confusion on their faces.

"Hmm," Laurendil said, stroking Bannoth who had finally settled down to sleep. "You call us immortal, but the Firstborn are not, for when Arda comes to an end, so shall we, though what will follow from that, not even the Valar know, or so they say." He shook his head and was silent for a moment. No one made a move to speak. Finally, he looked up and gave them a wry grin. "At any rate, we are able to die as easily as any Mortal, but our fate is different from yours. When you die you leave the Circles of Arda forever, but when an Elf dies, he resides for a time in the Halls of Mandos, where he is healed of the hurts to his fëa before being re-embodied. As a Lóriennildo, it is my duty and my joy to welcome the newly Reborn and help them to reintegrate themselves into Elven society."

"So, when one of you dies," Valandil said, speaking slowly as if trying to marshal his thoughts together, "you know they will return... eventually."

Laurendil nodded, but said nothing, his expression carefully neutral, for he had a sense as to where the young Man might be going with his line of enquiry.

Valandil took a deep breath before continuing. "So... so you’re not... sad when...."

"Nay, child," Laurendil interrupted. "Death is death and the pain of separation, however brief the time, is as real for us as it is for you."

"But... how can it be?" Vandiel now asked. "If yo-your nana died and...."

Laurendil rose, gently placing the cat on the seat before turning to Vandiel, who was now quietly weeping, and took her into his embrace. The other Mortals stared at him in consternation, though Boromir’s gaze was blank. "Listen to me carefully, Vandiel," Laurendil whispered, though he spoke loudly enough for all the others to hear. "I had a friend who betimes came to this island and befriended one of the Lords of Andúnië. They shared many interests, for my friend was a Teler, and they love the sea." He paused for a moment, reliving the pain he had felt when he learned of Eärnur’s death. "There was a storm and the ship that my friend was on went down. All were drowned."

He felt the young Mortal’s breath hitch at that and he stroked her back, giving her the comfort he would not permit for himself. "My friend is lost to me, child, and though I know someday he will be returned to me, I do not know when Lord Námo will release him and... and he will not remember me or our friendship."

Vandiel pulled back from his embrace, her expression one of shock, shock that was mirrored on the faces of the others. "Not remember you?" she asked in disbelief, "but, how...."

Laurendil smiled wistfully. "A consequence of having died. When Eärnur is finally released, it will take some time for him to reclaim the memories of his previous life. Our relationship will necessarily be different from what it was before and it might never achieve the level of camaraderie that we knew before his death."

"Eärnur..." Ercassë muttered, looking thoughtful. "The Lord of Andúnië... his name was Eärnur also, wasn’t it?"

Laurendil nodded. "Yes. As I said my friend and the then Lord of Andúnië shared many things, including their names."

"And when we were talking about him...." Ercassë covered her mouth, her eyes going wide and brimming with tears. "I’m sorry... we didn’t know.... we didn’t."

"There’s nothing to apologize for, child," Laurendil said gently, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "You could not know, and for you, it was a long time ago."

"Yes, a long time," Margileth muttered, shaking her head. "Well, the stew is ready. We should eat."

That broke the maudlin mood among the Mortals, for which Laurendil was thankful. They gathered around the table, pausing for the Standing Silence before sitting. Laurendil had noticed that these Elendili all practiced this ritual, though he did not recall any of the Númenórëans of four hundred years ago doing so. When he asked about it, it was Boromir who explained.

"It’s a recent development, lord," the blind Man said. "I would say only in the last century has it become prevalent among us."

"Started with Lord Númendil," Margileth added, "he who was the father of Lord Amandil. It sort of spread from there. We do not do it in the presence of those whom we know are not Elendili, of course, for we are under suspicion enough from our neighbors, but in the privacy of our own homes and families it reminds us that it was from the West our salvation came when our ancestors fought in the War of Wrath."

"It’s a way of honoring the Valar," Valandil said, "and the One who rules over us all."

"Even more so, since we are forbidden from climbing the Meneltarma," Boromir said with a grimace. "It is our greatest grief, not being able to offer our worship there. So, in this small gesture do we show ourselves faithful to the Valar and the One."

"I see," Laurendil responded with a nod. "It is good to have a reminder of one’s ultimate source of being, even in so small a gesture."

"Do you have a similar ritual, lord?" Ercassë asked.

"Nay," Laurendil said with a smile, "for we converse with the Valar and their Maiar servants whenever we wish, so we have no need for such rituals to remember our place in Eä." He then gave them a wry chuckle. "And if we’re ever so stupid as to forget, I assure you the Valar have no compunction about reminding us... and rather forcibly, too, I might add. Lord Námo, especially, is quite fond of teaching us our manners when we become unruly."

The Mortals stared at the Elf in disbelief, then Margileth gave a rueful snort. "Glad I am then to be living in Númenórë. Bannoth’s attempts to teach me my manners is bad enough without some plaguey Vala getting into the act."

They all laughed at that. Bannoth, being a cat, ignored the insult and mewed, demanding his share of the stew as he sat under Laurendil’s feet. The rest of the meal passed in quiet conversation as Laurendil spoke to them of his own family and some of the mischief his three children had gotten themselves into when they were young.

Afterwards, when the dishes had been cleared away and the room made spotless again, Margileth insisted that the youngsters, as she insisted on calling them, rest. "You maidens may take my bed and get some rest. Lord Valandil can sleep on the floor beside the stove. We’ll make up a comfy pallet for you."

The young Mortals protested, of course, but both Boromir and Laurendil, looking equally grave, overrode their objections. Boromir even went so far as to threaten them. "I will not let you accompany Lord Laurendil and me unless you take your rest. I cannot risk any of you not being fully awake and well rested when we go to the Morimindon. You will need all your wits about you."

"Boromir is correct, Little Ones," Laurendil interjected. "Go and rest or I will be forced to take drastic measures." He gave them a hard stare.

"What measures?" Vandiel demanded, looking cross at being addressed as ‘Little One’ by this Elf-lord.

Laurendil merely smiled, though it was not a comforting one. "Pray you never find out, child."

All of the Mortals, even Boromir and Margileth, shivered at the Elf’s tone and the three younger Númenórëans capitulated and went to their rests, while the older Mortals and Laurendil spent the rest of the evening speaking softly. Laurendil sat on the braided rug again, keeping a pleased Bannoth company.

Two hours before dawn, they woke Valandil and the maidens and after a hasty breakfast, they made to leave, quietly thanking Margileth for her hospitality. The woman dismissed their thanks with a wave. "Just you go and succor that poor child," she said at the door, Bannoth in her arms. "That is all the thanks I need. No le govado iMelain."

Boromir kissed his sister good-bye and Laurendil gave Bannoth one more rub behind his ears and then they all made their way out of the village toward the Morimindon, each silently hoping that their mission would succeed, each fearing that they might not see the next sunrise should they fail.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted.

Lonopelë: Village of the Deep Pool.

Culdalotsi: Plural of culdalotsë: Marigold, literally "golden-red flower". Marigold was originally known simply as golde in Old English.

Helilohti: Plural of helilohtë: Wisteria.

Helinyetilli: Plural of helinyetillë: Pansy, literally "eye of heartsease".

Mundulóci: Plural of mundulócë: Snapdragon. Literally, ‘dragon snout’.

Quiquilla: Lily-of-the-Valley.

Quinquenna: Solomon’s Seal.

Bannoth: (Sindarin): Mandos.

No le govado iMelain: (Sindarin) ‘May the Valar go with you’.





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