Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

Chapter 2: The Tower Part One

The Tower: Part One

Oromet

3255, Second Age

Life always seemed different when Palantir stood on the tower of Oromet. He was high above Númenor, and all he could see for miles was ocean. Unfortunately, that fact was as disappointing as it was comforting. No boats were coming. "None ever will," he suddenly realized, the words cutting through the silence. "Only ships leaving, so many ships leaving. None coming, nine leaving…" He paid no mind to the words that seemed to come from someplace beyond. This foresight would be the death of him. He was already half mad with worry.

Míriel was still in Andunië, probably arguing with Elendil about some minute detail of lore. Elendil was as good a historian as he was a warrior, and he always had a new story to share with his cousin. And Míriel always refuted the details of his claim based on her reading. The two cousins were as different as they were similar. They were so close in age, and Amandil had always been closer to Palantir than his own brother had. Their children called each other cousin. Míriel had never called Palantir's true brother's son cousin. As a matter of fact, she never called him at all if she had anything to do with it.

It had been ten years since Gimilkhâd's death, the news coming as both blessing and sorrow. He knew in his heart that his brother would have been overjoyed if it was Palantir's death being announced, and yet he could not be glad that Gimilkhâd had died. His brother had been the leader of the King's Men, responsible for some of the worst of their crimes. He had been a hateful man who held grudges until he died. Palantir could still feel his brother's anger and hate hanging over him. Their childhood had been difficult. His mother had been wise enough to take him west with her often, to her kin here in Andunië. His mother's uncle had been Lord of Andunië, and they were always welcome in the west.

If he had the choice, he would never leave Andustar. As king, that choice was not his. He had his duty as ruler, a duty to his country. Yet recently, it had been Míriel that was minding royal affairs. She would make an excellent queen. As his health was declining, she was taking on more and more of the duties expected of the ruler of Númenor. Every day, she won more people over to her side. He had begun to reclaim Númenor from the King's Men, and she was continuing his work.

He was proud of her. Míriel would make a fine queen some day. As his gaze focused on the ocean beyond, he found himself wondering what her days would be like. Would she be able to mend relations with the elves? Would she manage to win over the people of Númenor and return them to the old ways? Would she be able to live with those she loved without fear? There were so many questions and uncertainties, but that did not diminish his pride in his daughter.

Uncertainty. He was still uncertain of why he kept returning to this tower when he knew that no ship would come. Perhaps some thought him mad, to stand here and wait for something that was so impossible. Yet that was hope, he told himself. Hope is not knowing for certain, but never losing faith that what you seek might yet come to pass. Hope was a gift. Some would call foresight a gift, but they did not know the truth of it. Foresight left no room for hope. At least people could still cling to hope, even when the hours grew dark. Perhaps hope gave them some bravery to face adversity, and perhaps that allowed them to triumph even after those with foresight would have given up fighting.

Palantir had fought all his life. He was losing the strength and will to fight any more. The King's Men kept raising popular support for their secret party, no matter how hard he and Míriel tried to sway the people back to the old ways. His brother may have been dead, but his brother's son was no different than his father. They said that Manwë knew all that the people did. Why then did Manwë not see all he had struggled to do in Númenor and send some sign that the curse on their isle might be lifted? When would the Eldar return? More questions without answers.

For all that people looked to him for answers, he seemed to have none to the questions he needed answered. Yet such was the nature of his sight, and he had been forced to accept it. Trying to clear his mind, he looked back out of the tower across the sea. He had always imagined what it must be like there, or even just what it must have been like to greet elves as they came to Eldalondë. When he closed his eyes, he could see it. He was standing beneath the trees in the forests of Eldalondë, the gold leaves of the malinorni glinting in the sun. Everything was peaceful: he felt not the constant fear and anxiety the King's Men left in their wake.

He could see the elf that approached him, offering a formal greeting. They walked long in the woods and spoke of history, family, and all things that grew in the earth. The hours flew past quickly, not dragging as they so often seemed to do. Then the elf left, fading away into the forest. Swiftly, a child darted through the forest, finally stopping in front of him. The boy's eyes were grey as the sea, bright with joy and the innocence of youth. Then he heard his daughter's voice from behind them.

"I see you've found your grandfather at last," she called to her son, who nodded and smiled. Palantir turned to her and stared back at Míriel. She was smiling, no trace of her usual somber expression. The light in her eyes danced with joy; they were no longer haunted by sorrow. On her brow she bore the crown of Númenor and around her neck hung an amulet that announced her union with the Lord of Eldalondë.

"I had to find you, to tell you… we don't have to be afraid any more, Father." Her words echoed in his mind. This was all he had ever hoped for. No more fear, no more despair. And Míriel looked happy as she walked over to rest her hand on the shoulder of her son. Palantir stood there and watched him, and he felt certain that the future would be brighter for his home and his house from this moment on.

Yet all of it was naught more than a dream. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the tower. He still felt the burden on his heart of all his grief, of all his fears and doubts. Now matter how far he looked or how vividly he imagined a life beyond his own bleak reality, nothing changed. His dreams were not nearly so clear as his visions, which had been gaining clarity more and more as the years passed.

The visions. As he looked out to sea, it seemed to him that a single ship slipped in and out of his mind. No matter how he tried to banish it from his mind, it remained. It finally occurred to him that he could not live like this. Eru gave each man one life to live; it was his Gift and his bane. Palantir knew he could not live in both present and future anymore. The more the visions came, the more he felt his earthly strength slipping. Did he even have a choice any more, to stay in this world or fade away into the mists of time with his visions and prophecies? He knew not. All he knew was that there was a ship approaching on the horizon.