LONELY: Waiting

SUMMARY: In the lonely watches of the night, the King of Men waits. Waits for whom? For what?

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The King of Men stood upon the tor, staring into the star-strewn night. The stars here in the North were different from those in the South, but they were old, familiar friends to him, as familiar to him as the face of his beloved wife and their children. He smiled to himself as his roving eyes traced the shape of the Valacirca. A fitting symbol, he thought. Ever the Sickle of the Valar remains as a sign of doom to Evil howsoever it might manifest itself.

He hunched his shoulders against the cold wind blowing from the northeast down from the mountains of Angmar, drawing his warm cloak of rabbit’s fur closer to him and sighed. He looked northwestward, across the hills and plains of Eriador to where Annúminas lay. There had been long years of rebuilding, but Annúminas was the jewel of the North now and he smiled wistfully, wondering when next he would see it. Construction at Fornost was also finished and he was confident that the fortress and those who manned it would provide adequate protection to his people here in Arnor while he attended to business in the South.

His eyes strayed westward, where his hope lay, where it always lay, for were not the Lords of the West there, Guardians of Arda, who watched over them? He recalled the stories of his youth, the tales told of the Eldar and the Edain as they battled against the Enemy, the coming of the Host of the Valar and the downfall of Morgoth. They had stirred his blood and they still did, though his reaction was tempered now by age and experience.

He glanced down to the plain spread below him. Campfires lit the surrounding fields, pale reflections of the glorious lights that hung above them, glinting with cold indifference at the small doings of the denizens of Arda. Well, perhaps not so small, he decided with satisfaction. Much had been done, but much still needed doing and he would see it through to the end, wherever the end might lead.

Turning, he saw Voronwë standing in the shadows. His advisors had left him alone, for which he was grateful, but he was never truly alone, not with the ubiquitous guard ever watching over him. He nodded to the man who straightened a little more, returning his king’s nod with one of his own.

"I will climb the tower now," he said and proceeded to do so, taking the outer stairs that wound themselves around it. Voronwë did not follow, knowing his lord’s mood, but stationed himself before the tower stairs. None would disturb the King’s peace; he would make sure of that.

Reaching the top of the tower, the king leaned his elbows against the parapet and continued to contemplate the night. Clouds were scudding across the sky now, blocking some of the stars. From the way the wind was shifting and the smell of wetness in the air, he suspected that it would rain or perhaps even snow sometime soon and grimaced, hunching further into his cloak, as if to ward off a blow.

In the east, there was a pale lightening of the sky and glancing that way he noticed that one star remained burning brightly and saluted it. Eärendil’s presence warmed him and he felt hope rising in his breast that all would be well in the end, howsoever that might be. He felt himself smiling as he turned again to look westward and gasped in shock and delight at what he saw there.

Without a word he spun and raced back down the stairs, heedless of their steepness in his excitement. "He comes! Gil-galad comes!" he cried to Voronwë, who had heard his lord’s descent and was already waiting, sword drawn, thinking that there might be danger which the king had seen but he had not. But when the guard saw the joy in the king’s grey eyes as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he sheathed his sword and quickly followed Elendil down the path leading from the watch-tower of Amon Sûl to the plains below.

And there, as dawn greeted them, the High King of the Númenóreans-in-Exile hailed his friend, the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile, and they were glad.

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‘It is told that Elendil stood [upon the great watch-tower of Amon Sûl] watching for the coming of Gil-galad out of the West, in the days of the Last Alliance.’ — Aragorn, The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter XI, ‘A Knife in the Dark’