After Gladden Fields by Kaylee Arafinwiel

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After Gladden Fields

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“Elendur.”

The Crown Prince of Arnor stirred. He felt as though he had been sleeping a long time, though he didn’t remember falling asleep. Curiously, he was warm and comfortable, as he hadn’t been for some time, and yet…

“Elendur. Open your eyes.” It was the same voice, one he did not know, and yet knew would not be gainsaid. Slowly, he obeyed, eyes adjusting to the greying light around him, light that seemed to radiate from the Being that had called to him.

 

It was a man, or someone who appeared to be a man, dressed in a midnight blue velvet tunic with moonstones and black opals sewn along the hem and neck. He wore a shirt of grey watered silk underneath, his woolen breeches the same shade of grey. His blue-black hair was long, longer than Men usually wore it, and it was carefully braided like an elf’s and bound with a circlet of silver. Four black opals surrounding a moonstone graced the center of the circlet. His eyes were slate-grey, but full of warmth and... love.

 

“Do you know me, Elendur?” he asked in Adûnaic, and Elendur frowned, trying to place him. “You appear to be one of the Nimîr, lord,” he replied in the same tongue, “and yet you speak the language of Yôzâyan to me.”

 

“Indeed,” came the reply, and with that simple word, it all came rushing back to Elendur. His father…his brothers…the ambush…

 

“B-but…I...” Elendur stuttered. “We fled her shores before she fell. We carved out kingdoms for ourselves. Arnor and Gondor…Adar said Arnor would be ours for all time.” He had switched to Sindarin unthinkingly, and the Being obliged him by doing the same, speaking sternly.

 

“Arnor onen aran, ardh uireb sa ú-onen,” he replied. Elendur was brought up short.

 

“Ada…the ambush…he died,” Elendur breathed, terror coursing through him. “The Ring…he died. And I…”

 

“You all died, my son, there on the banks of the Ninglor,” was the not ungentle reply. “You came to me.”

 

“H-hir Bannoth,” Elendur whispered.

“The same,” he agreed. “But all is not lost for your family, my son. Do not fear. One yet lives.”

“Valandil is just a child,” Elendur said quietly. “What will happen to him?”

“As to that, he is no longer your concern,” the Lord of Mandos replied. “You must have faith that all will be well with him until it is his time to come to me, whenever that might be.”

 

Elendur nodded meekly, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss at his brother’s heavy burden. “And what of Aratan and Ciryon, lord?”

“They have come to me as well, and I will take you to them. Come, my son.”

With that, Lord Námo led his newest charge from the sleeping chamber to a larger one where Elendil, Isildur, Anárion, Aratan and Ciryon awaited.

 

Despite the circumstances, Námo smiled. It was good to see a family reunited, even if they could not all be together. “I think it is best you reflect on what happened, best beloveds,” he said gently. “Mortal ye be, and may not linger for all time in my Hall, but I will allow a time of reconciliation with what Was and what must Be before ye depart to meet the Source of your existence.”

 

He passed through the door without opening it, as though it were not there, and Elendur fell into his father and grandfather’s arms, weeping. All he could think of was Valandil. How could a mere child cope with so heavy a destiny? Only time would tell – and they would not be there to see him learn and grow into his new position. Oh, muindor-laes, forgive me…

 

It would be a long time before the first King of the Númenóreans in Exile and his family were ready to move on.

 

The End

 

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Chapter End Notes

“Arnor onen aran, ardh uireb sa ú-onen” – Arnor was given a king, an eternal reign it was not given. This phrase is adapted from Fiondil’s “Anno ammen sir…” which spoke of Doriath.