13: In the Valley of Tombs

It was Boromir who got them going again. "We cannot linger," he said to them. "The Elves have bought us time, but we are not free yet."

"But, all the stones have fallen," Vandiel objected. "How will we find our way out?"

Her twin shook his head, raising the lantern so they could see better. "Not all the stones are fallen. Look, you," he pointed to their right. "Those stones over there are still standing. We can still see our path."

"Shouldn’t we look for the blue stones, though?" Ercassë asked. "That should be our original path."

"I think it would be safer to continue as we have," Valandil said. "What do you say, Fiondil?"

Fiondil, however, did not respond. The torture and the effort of escaping had taken its toll and Valandil was just in time to catch him before he collapsed completely. The three younger Mortals huddled around their injured friend and brother. Vandiel felt his forehead.  "He’s burning up with fever," she said. "We need to get him out of here."

Valandil was struggling to raise Fiondil into his arms when someone took the unconscious Man out of his embrace. Valandil looked up in shock to see Laurendil there with Eärnur. The two Elves were covered with dust but otherwise appeared well. Vandiel and Ercassë both gave squeaks of alarm when they found the Elves suddenly and silently in their midst.

"Come, let us go," was all Laurendil said and he and Eärnur started away with the Mortals trailing them in silence, too shocked yet to voice the questions they had. Valandil had enough presence of mind to join the two Elves and offer the lantern to Eärnur, who shook his head and smiled at the Man.

"Go you ahead of us, Valandil," the Elf said. "Scout out our path. Laurendil and I can see well enough to lead the others."

The Mortal nodded and moved forward, though not so far that the Elves could not see the light of the lantern. They continued on in silence, though Fiondil started moaning as if in pain. Eärnur grimaced at the sound.

"His dreams have been dark and I fear his fëa may have been damaged by what they did to him," the Elf said softly, though in the absolute silence of the cavern, they all heard him.

"What did they do to him?" Laurendil asked in a clinical manner.

Eärnur shook his head. "He would not tell me, though I can guess. Let’s wait until we get out of here and we can give him a proper examination. I did what I could to alleviate his pain, but in his delirium he often fought me, fearing I might be trying to torture him."

Laurendil nodded. "Well, if we ever get out of here we...."

"Hey!" Valandil shouted, stopping so the others could catch up to him. "I think I can see daylight, and I can feel air moving."

"You’re correct, Valandil," Laurendil said with a smile. "Why don’t you scout ahead and see if the way is safe. Leave the lamp here so you do not give away your position. Go carefully."

Valandil nodded and handed the lantern to Eärnur, who turned to Laurendil with a puzzled look. "Should I not go instead?" he asked the other ellon in the Telerin dialect of Quenya.

Laurendil shook his head and answered in the same language. "Let these Children do what they can, meldonya. They need to feel they are as capable as we."

Eärnur shrugged in acquiescence and they all waited in silence for Valandil to return. They did not have to wait long. Valandil came back, breathless with excitement. "The way is open and there is no one about. Come and see where we are."

They followed him and soon they saw a small opening where diffused light greeted them. Only Boromir did not flinch at what seemed like sudden brightness to them after being so long in darkness. The path leading to the opening sloped upward slightly and Eärnur gave Laurendil a hand climbing the slope with Fiondil in his arms. Then they were standing outside, taking deep breaths of clean air and marveling at what they saw before them.

They appeared to have come into a deep valley, now covered in dense fog. From the strength of the light about them, it was perhaps only an hour since the sun had risen. In the far distance they could hear the sound of a river and towering above them were the slopes of a high mountain. Grey shapes loomed out of the mist in no discernable pattern and it was hard to see what they might be.

"Where do you suppose we are?" Vandiel whispered, looking around with some trepidation.

As if in answer, some of the fog parted before them and they could see a large marble plinth upon which was carved an effigy. The Elves noticed how pale the three younger Mortals went at the sight.

"What is it?" Laurendil asked. "Do you know where we are?"

Valandil nodded as he turned to look at the two Elves. "This is the Valley of Tombs where the kings and queens of Númenórë are laid to rest in the shadow of the Meneltarma."

The other Mortals gasped. "We have traveled far from the Black Tower and Armenelos, then," Laurendil said, ignoring the looks of dismay on the faces of the Mortals, not understanding their significance.

"We cannot linger here, lord," Boromir said stiffly. "This valley is forbidden to all upon pain of death. There is a curse on all who come to this place."

Laurendil and Eärnur exchanged looks of surprise then Laurendil shrugged, giving the Númenórëans a faint smile. "Well, if we are cursed, there is little we can do about it now. Fiondil needs healing and we cannot go any further until we get this fever down. Come, there is a stand of elms over to the left. Let us lay him there and then perhaps I can find some healing plants. There’s bound to be some about."

"How is he, lord?" Boromir asked as they headed for the elm trees.

Laurendil looked down upon the unconscious Man and sighed. "He was badly tortured and I fear his spirit may have been hurt even more than his body. He may well die if we do not find that which will heal him."

"Perhaps we can find some athelas," Vandiel ventured.

"This is a place of death, not life," Ercassë protested, her expression fearful. "I doubt we’ll find anything that will save my brother in this awful place." She shivered and Valandil wrapped an arm around her.

"Do not abandon hope, daughter," Laurendil said. "Even in a place of death there is life and in life there is hope."

They reached the trees, still in leaf though the leaves were all turned and beginning to fall. Boromir removed his cloak and placed it on the ground and Laurendil laid Fiondil on it, then both women removed their cloaks and placed them on top of him. Eärnur knelt beside the Man and felt his forehead, closing his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and looked up at Laurendil with a shake of his head. "It is as I feared, he is lost in darkness. There is little time."

"Do what you can," Laurendil said. "The rest of us will search for anything that might save him. Vandiel, why don’t you and Valandil search along the riverbank while Ercassë and I search amongst the tombs."

The twins nodded and headed off. Boromir indicated he would remain with Eärnur. "For in truth," he said, "I am of very little help in this."

Laurendil placed a hand on the Man’s arm. "You showed us the way into the prison and the way out again. You have done more than your share. Rest now for our trials are not over."

With that, Laurendil stood and with a nod to Eärnur took Ercassë by the hand and led her towards the nearest of the tombs.

****

By now the fog was beginning to lift as the sun burned it away and their view was less obstructed. Laurendil and Ercassë wandered from grave to grave hoping to find some wild plants that could be used for healing.

"Even if we find no athelas," Laurendil told her, "we might find some comfrey."

"All I see is vorenyalië," Ercassë stated mournfully. "Ever does it cover the graves of our people." She wandered a bit from Laurendil’s side, looking at the tombs. Most were carved in the likeness of the person who lay beneath the stone, but there was one that did not have an effigy. Ercassë turned to Laurendil, her eyes excited, as she called out to him. "Lord Laurendil, look! Here is the tomb of Tar-Aldarion. Do you see?"

Laurendil walked over from where he had been examining one of the other graves to see what Ercassë was so excited about. Before him was a tomb carved in the likeness of a ship.

"This might be the Palarran," Ercassë said. "Tar-Aldarion was a friend of Tar-Elenalcar of Lindon and Lord Círdan of Mithlond. He was also a remote kinsman."

Laurendil looked at the young Woman in surprise. "You are an heir of Aldarion?" Ercassë nodded. "Then you and Fiondil are also of the House of Elros Tar-Minyatur."

Ercassë shook her head. "We’re not of royal descent though, unlike Vandiel and Valandil," she said. "We are descended from the House of Almiel, Tar-Aldarion’s youngest sister, through our father."

"It is still a noble lineage," Laurendil said with a smile.

Ercassë shrugged, looking apologetic. "Our House has little wealth or power these days, but we remember whence we came. We still remember our oaths to the Valar."

Laurendil put an arm around the maiden’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "Wealth and power are not everything, child," he said gently. "To remain faithful to your oaths when others do not is better than all the gold in the world. Recall the fathers of your people and their deeds — Bëor, Húrin and Beren."

Ercassë gave him a jaundiced look. "And the mothers of my people — Morwen, Haleth and Lúthien."

Laurendil smiled warmly and nodded. "And the mothers."

They stood there for a moment examining the ship. Ercassë pointed to something that sat on the foredeck. "What’s that copper bowl doing up there?"

Laurendil reached up and brought it down so they could examine it. Inside was a branch of yew that was still green. Ercassë gave the Elf a perplexed look. It was obvious that she did not recognize the significance of either the bowl or its contents. "It’s a bowl of remembrance," he said, drawing on memories of an earlier time. "It was a common custom to place sprigs of tamuril and other plants, such as mîdhaear, in these copper bowls and place them on the graves." He picked up the branch. "Look, you. This branch is relatively fresh. Someone still follows the ancient customs of your people, curse or no curse."

Ercassë nodded, looking thoughtful as Laurendil reverently replaced the yew in the bowl and returned the bowl to its resting place. "Come, there is no athelas or anything else useful to be found here amongst the dead. Let us hope Valandil and Vandiel were more successful."

Ercassë’s eyes started to glimmer with unshed tears. "Wh-what if nothing is found? What if... what if Fiondil...." she couldn’t finish her thought and Laurendil gathered her into his arms and held her.

"Fear not, daughter," he said. "Eärnur and I are Master Healers under the aegis of Lord Irmo himself. We have ways of healing unknown to the Secondborn but it is often best to use what Arda has given us in the way of healing herbs and such before resorting to other methods. Now, dry these tears and tell me about this curse. Why is there a curse on this valley and who put it there?"

As they started back towards the elm trees, Ercassë explained. "I think the curse was placed on this valley by the king himself, or... or perhaps Zigûr." She faltered a bit and Laurendil took her arm to lend her support. After a moment she continued speaking, her voice low, her expression troubled. "My heart tells me that the king wishes not for us to recall our mortality. Ar-Pharazôn fears the memory of the ancient kings who returned their lives to Eru of their own free wills. He does not wish to die, you see, and so he fears death and the reminder of it. I think if he could, he would destroy this valley and what it holds, but as he cannot, he merely forbids others to enter it."

"All Men must die, child," Laurendil said quietly, "will they or nill they. It is the Will of Ilúvatar and his gift to you. I think a time may come when even the Valar will lament their immortality before the long ages of Arda come to an end."

"And the Elves?" Ercassë asked softly.

Laurendil nodded. "Yes, we Elves also."

Ercassë remained thoughtful as they reached the trees. Fiondil, they could see, was still unconscious, but restless, muttering incomprehensibly. Eärnur was sitting by his side, stroking his hair and singing softly. He looked up as Laurendil and Ercassë approached. Laurendil shook his head and Eärnur’s expression became sad but he did not cease his soft singing. Boromir made room for Ercassë to sit on Fiondil’s other side, holding his hand to give her brother the only comfort she could give, the comfort of her presence. A few minutes later, the twins returned from the river laden with wet plants.

"Did you find any athelas?" Vandiel asked.

Laurendil shook his head. "Only vorenyalië and the tomb of Tar-Aldarion."

The twins raised identical eyebrows at that news, then Vandiel shook her head. "Well, we were more fortunate." She knelt and laid her burden on the ground. Valandil did the same. "There’s a pool of nénur and look, lórefen. These plants combined to make a tonic may give Fiondil healing sleep. They are not as efficacious as athelas, but they will help. All we need is a fire."

"A fire is easy enough," her brother said, "but we have nothing in which to make the tonic."

Laurendil turned to Ercassë with a smile. "The bowl," he said. Ercassë looked at him in confusion for a moment and then her expression cleared as she realized what the Elf meant.

She stood up, smiling for the first time since their venture began. "I’ll be right back," she said, lifting her skirts to run between the graves.

Valandil set about building a fire while Vandiel sorted through the various plants. Laurendil and Eärnur looked on with curiosity. "Why the water-lilies?" Laurendil asked.

Vandiel looked up, not sure if the Elf was serious with his question, but seeing the sincere interest in Laurendil’s eyes, she answered him readily enough. "The water-lily is a plant that makes strong the spirit. We also call it poicahondalótë, for one who is pure-hearted is able to endure all evils, both of the body and the spirit, or so we believe."

Laurendil nodded his understanding. "And this?" he picked up one of the slender reeds of lórefen. "I have never seen this species of plant before."

"It’s similar to the fúmella plant," Eärnur said, much to Laurendil’s surprise, "but not as dangerous to the body. It apparently grows only near water and is rather rare. I don’t recall ever seeing it in Lórien either."

Laurendil examined the plant closely, memorizing its structure. He silently vowed to speak to Lord Irmo about the plant when he and Eärnur returned to Aman.

Vandiel looked surprised at the extent of Eärnur’s knowledge. "What you say about the plant is true, but how....?"

Eärnur gave her a quick smile. "I spent many years among the fisherfolk who live among the watermeads way to the south," he answered her. "This plant is quite abundant there and I learned of its properties from a healer who lived in Nindamos. That’s the largest fishing village at the mouth of the Siril." This last he directed at Laurendil, who nodded.

"I am familiar with the area," he said softly. "I spent nearly a month combing the southern shore in search of your body." His mouth quirked in a wry grin. "Obviously, I didn’t find it."

Eärnur nodded, returning Laurendil’s smile with one of his own. "Obviously."

"Well, at any rate," Vandiel said, "these two plants when combined have usually proven effective as a sedative so the body may find rest and as a restorative so the spirit may find hope."

"You are wise in the ways of healing, daughter," Laurendil said with a bow of acknowledgment. "Your wisdom may well be the saving of Fiondil."

Just then, Ercassë returned, carrying the bowl, now empty of the yew but filled with water from the river. Valandil had the fire going nicely by then and had even constructed a kind of tripod from rocks, allowing the bowl to sit above the fire without actually being placed within it. Valandil directed Ercassë to place the bowl on the rocks and began putting some of the plants in the water. "It needs to boil," she told them. "When the plants have steeped long enough we’ll remove them and let the water cool enough for drinking. It’s rather crude, but it should work."

"The fog is disappearing," Valandil said to no one in particular. "The sun is now high enough to give us some warmth."

"Good," Vandiel said, as she used a knife that Laurendil gave her to stir the plants. "The sun will help keep Fiondil warm. I wish we could clean his wounds. I don’t want them to fester."

"All in good time, my dear," Eärnur said. "Let’s first bring this fever down, then we can take your brother down to the river and clean him up."

"How long will it be before we can give him this tonic?" Ercassë asked, looking doubtfully at the yellowish-green color of the boiling water.

"Not long," Vandiel assured her with a smile. "Perhaps another hour or so. I want the tonic to be as strong as possible, though it will taste terrible. We need to bring that fever down and lighten his spirit."

"In the meantime," Laurendil said, looking directly at Eärnur, "perhaps you could tell us how it is you are not dead."

Eärnur nodded. "Fiondil already knows my tale, for, in the darkness of the cell, we had little else to do but tell each other our stories. There is little enough to tell of mine, but such as it is...."

The others settled back, ready to hear what the Elf had to say. Laurendil, especially, was full of curiosity to learn what Eärnur would tell them, wondering all the while why the Valar lied to them about his friend’s fate.

****

All words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Vorenyalië: Evermind, what the Rohirrim will call simbelmynë.

Palarran: Far-wanderer; the name of one of Tar-Aldarion’s ships.

Tar-Elenalcar: Gil-galad’s name rendered in Quenya as all royal names in Númenor were.

Tamuril: Yew. In the Language of Flowers, the yew is a symbol of sorrow or repentence.

Mîdhaear: (Sindarin) Rosemary, literally, ‘dew of the sea’; traditionally a symbol of remembrance.

Nénur: Yellow water-lilies. In the Language of Flowers, water-lilies symbolize ‘purity of heart’.

Poicahondalótë: Pure-hearted flower.

Lórefen: Sleep-reed; an (invented) herb which grows near water and, when distilled and taken internally, acts as a sedative, bringing healing sleep to one who has been sick or wounded.

Fúmella: Poppy.