Nightfall in the West by Corsair_Caruso

---

Chapter 3

---

18th of March, 3319, Second Age of the Sun.
Rómenna, Arandor, Númenor.

After breaking his fast, an activity from which much of the rest of the family recused themselves after the morning's excitement, Elendur had decided to go outside to practice his swordplay. He currently had no sword master, as the family had lost much of their income when the King… the late King… had confiscated their land and much of their wealth.

He was still not used to their new home. His grandfather's kinsman, Numendur, had owned the home until recently, but when his family had been forced to vacate their homes in Andunie and join the other Faithful in Romenna, Numendur had graciously given them the home to use as their own. They had been here not quite a year, and the place had a certain charm, but it could not compare to their ancestral estate on the Bay of Andunie.

He stood there, eyes closed with the morning sunlight warming his skin, remembering the sunsets on the bay, the reddish-golden light shimmering on the water like fire. He remembered looking into the west at night, straining his eyes to see if, as the stories said, farsighted Numenoreans could make out the glimmering lights of the isle of Tol Eressea in the Bay of Eldamar. He had never been able to espy them, though that had never stopped him trying. He remembered clear nights when the seas were calm, seeing the light of the heavens reflected on the water, looking high into the air to see the glory of Varda's white fires burning above in the sky and reflected below on the sea, and to catch a glimpse of his ancestor Earendil the mariner sailing in the upper airs, ruling as the brightest of all stars. He could still smell that salty sea air, mixed with the faint scent of the fragrant forests of Nisimaldar when the wind blew just right from the south…

"Well, boy, are you going to use that sword, or are you waiting for someone to carve a statue, 'Study of a Pensive Youth?' " he heard his uncle's voice cry out from behind him.

Elendur chuckled, only slightly embarrassed. "I was thinking of home," and turned and saw his Uncle standing in an archway leading into the courtyard.

Anarion nodded, smiling good-naturedly, golden hair shimmering in the bright sunlight. "I know; it is hard to leave a place when it lives in your dreams and your blood." He sauntered across the stone yard, looking around at the home that had been provided for them. "Still, cousin Numendur has been kind, and we are comfortable here." His smile fell away for a moment, and his blue eyes grew slightly harder. "We can only hope that the king's demise might mean we and our fellows might return to the places we call home, instead of…" his voice trailed off, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes unfocused. After a moment he chuckled to himself again, "I'm sorry, lad, I'm sure you have had a week's fill of this kind of talk, after this morning."

Elendur only shook his head. "I do not mind. Father says that I need to understand the ways of the kingdom. I'm only five years away from my full age, and will lead the family, one day."

A half-grin spreads across his face, "True enough. Your task is far more onerous than mine will ever be, oh son-of-the-eldest-son. My own family is enough for me to rule. I cannot imagine ever leading the entire house, or a province!"

Elendur tilts his head quizzically, "You would not want to be Lord?"

Anarion's eyes narrowed slightly in thought and he folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose if the need ever presented itself, I could lead, though I cannot imagine what kind of a Lord or King I would be." He spoke softly, almost to himself, "Can you imagine that? King Anarion." At that, he threw his head back and laughed heartily and gaily. "What kind of world that would be, I care not to imagine. Now, I think it's time you showed me what you've learned about that blade you hold there, lad." He walked to the edge of the yard, taking out a blunted blade meant for more advanced practice, not sharp enough to cut without care.

As he turned, returning to the center of the yard, his very stride seemed to change. He seemed to walk with a flowing gate, like a prowling cat, and the image of a lion once again came to Elendur's mind unbidden. Anarion held his weapon easily, almost casually, in his hand. His golden brown eyes flitted over Elendur once, then settled on his eyes. "Whenever you're ready. Attack."

Elendur knew how this would go; Uncle Anarion was a master swordsman, and he had been on the receiving end of some of his 'lessons.' While he never went out of his way to be cruel, he also never let Elendur have a victory. 'A victory is not a victory unless it is earnestly won,' he would say, after soundly thrashing him. He also showed him the errors of his technique, of his gaze, of his stance and footwork. He was, in fact, a better teacher even than his old sword-master, Avalozir, but Anarion was frequently busy with matters of family import, and so had no time to teach him consistently.

Anarion smiled, even as his eyes kept their deceptively at-ease focus, "Remember, the technique is only the beginning. You train the technique into your body so that it becomes part of you, and then you look past the technique. See the foundation upon which the technique is built, and use that to improvise your own style in the moment. If you can do that, no student with memorized forms and pretty flourishes will ever defeat you."

Elendur said nothing, and formulated his first strike, before he could move, however, he heard a loud knock on the door set in the wall surrounding the courtyard, and a booming voice shouting, "Open in the name of the Queen!"

Both he and his uncle turned to the door as Halon rushed past them, his long black hair worn in the fashion of the folk of Haleth swishing behind him in his haste. Elendur watched the servant open the door a crack and speak to the man in hushed tones. Though he could not hear Halon, the response was still more loud enough to be heard throughout the courtyard, and likely in the house.

"I'm on the Queen's business, and will see you thrown into the city hold if you bar me entry to this property. I said move, boy!"

At this, Anarion's lip curled, and he handed his blade to Elendur. As he walked toward the door, his back straightened and his shoulders seemed to broaden, and he called out in a booming voice that matched the attempted intruder's, "And whom, may I ask, so ungraciously dares to enter my family's property without our consent?!"

Halon opened the door, and several men in black cloaks with silver trim entered, led by a tall mustachioed man with short brown hair, wearing a red and silver cloak and carrying a black rod tipped with a golden knob.

The leader of the group gave a slight bow to Anarion, giving a sidelong glance to one of the men standing behind him as he did so. "Please forgive my subordinate his discourteous manner, but he is correct; we are here on the Queen's business. I am Belzagar, son of Lord Adûnabel of Romenna and Captain of the City Guard. Are you the master of the house?"

Elendur makes his way slowly toward his uncle. He sees Anarion shake his head, "No. You seek my father, Elendil."

The man hesitates for just a moment, and answers with what seems to be the slightest reluctance. "Yes, Elendil son of Amandil. And you are Isildur, or Anarion?"

His uncle answers flatly, "I am Anarion, son of Elendil of Andunie."

The man's tone showed some slight annoyance with Anarion's lack of courtesy,"Then, I must ask you to take us to your father immediately; we have business with him, your brother and you that cannot be delayed."

"I pray you, please follow me." He turned and led them past Elendur without a word. Belzagar nodded to him as he walked by, and the other city guards ignored him completely.

Elendur ran through another archway and up the wooden stairs to the second floor to his parents bedroom, and was about to knock when he heard their voices, hushed, but heated, carrying through their door. He considered listening for a moment, but decided his news was more important and pounded his fist on the thick oaken door. "Father, mother, I have urgent news."

Their voices suddenly cut off, and a moment later his father opened the door. "Elendur, your mother and I are-"

"Pardon me, father, but there are men from the city guard here. They want to talk to you, Uncle Anarion and grandfather."

His father's face paled slightly for a moment, and then flushed. His jaw set and his eyes glittered. He opened the door fully, and took a deep breath. "Altariel, Elendur, please follow me." His father set off down the hall, taking the stairs to the solarium, where they had spent much of their time earlier this morning.

As they approached the sun room, Elendur could hear Belzagar's voice from in the hall, "- can imagine, Lord Elendil, this is no easy task for me. Our families have ever been… cordial. You have never given my father cause for concern, and your family's service both to Romenna and to Numenor is without question… but these charges must be answered."

He heard his grandfather's reply, in the frosty tone he reserved for those who had offended him, "You still have not explained what those charges are."

As they entered, Belzagar turned. He seemed suddenly even less comfortable than he had sounded from outside, and cleared his throat. "Well, sir, I'm afraid that information is privileged."

Elendil loomed over the man, seemingly even taller than his nearly two full rangar, and was silent. Grandmother, however, who Elendur had not noticed standing at her grandfather's side until this moment, spoke with a voice as heated as grandfather's had been cold.

"We are the heirs of the second most honored family of this kingdom, no matter what the king has stripped of us. We are of the line of Earendil, descendants of the eldest line of Elros and have served this kingdom, as you so graciously admitted a moment ago, dutifully and faithfully." Her voice lowered, but was, if anything, more scathing than before. "With all the Powers in witness, you will tell us for what reason you dare to take my husband away."

The man swallowed, obviously frustrated, and puffed his chest up in an effort to appear unintimidated. "Very well, my lady. Your husband, and both of your sons, have been charged for conspiring to commit regicide, and will be tried in Ar-Minaleth for facilitation the death of Ar-Pharazon in ten days time."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Elendil's face was unlike anything Elendur had seen before. His grandfather's eyes were terrible, and seemed to smite the man in front of him. Indeed, the man took a step back from that gaze, against his will.

Anarion exploded, his voice filling the solarium and echoing in the small space, "This will not be countenanced! How dare you accuse us of slaying our own kin?!" He came within an inch of the man's face, his blond hair flying wildly and his cheeks flushed with anger. One of the guards drew a short sword and lunged for Anarion's arm to protect his lord, but Anarion smoothly sidestepped him, spun him by his wrist, and disarmed him of his weapon. Two more men drew their swords and shouted, when another voice filled the room like a crack of thunder.

"BE STILL"

Everyone in the room was silent, and Elendil stood, his face darkened like a storm head, his mouth twisted in withheld rage and his eyes like a pair of bitter dagger points. He seemed a true giant in that moment, and not a person in that room dared to make a sound.

He turned to Belzagar, "My sons and I will go with you. We are innocent of this disgusting crime, and we trust that the tribunal will deliver us justice." his voice carried a weight of authority that brooked neither interruption nor disobedience, and from the manner of his tone, it was clear had spoken to his sons as well as the captain. Both Anarion and Isildur bowed to their father, and stood, waiting. "Pray give us a moment to bid farewell to our families; we will not see them for some days, and must needs take care for the management of the household."

Captain Belzagar bowed as one fully answered, said simply "We will wait in the courtyard, my lord," and left, his guards filing out behind him.

Once they had left, Lindomie, spoke with a cold fury, "If you think that you are going to receive any kind of proper -"

Elendil held up his hand, and said, "My wife, this must be done. If we attempt to escape now, without preparation, we will be destroyed all." He turned to each of his sons; a silent communication seemed to go between the three of them, and then he turned his face to Elendur.

His dark eyes seemed at once ancient and familiar; he had known them all his life, but had never seen them with this necessity, this intensity.

"Elendur… son of my son…" he took off his ring. Elendur's eyes widened. "Though I have known you well in your lifetime, there is much that I would have said before now, had I foreseen this day. I know not what lies ahead, but I do not now believe that the king's death heralds better days, but worse. While I, your father and your uncle are gone, you are the head of the House of Andunie."

Elendur's mouth was dry. His grandfather took a step towards him, and he realized that he was nearly as tall as his grandfather now. Despite this, he felt as if Elendil towered over him like some vast monument made of marble, his pale visage carven as if from the living stone of a mountain. How could he act in the stead of such a being?

"Your grandmother, mother and aunt will advise you, and will act to guide you while we are… away. You are still not of your full age, so you must heed their guidance, but you must also trust your own judgment." Elendil blinked suddenly and his eyes shifted to his left, where Isildur stood, but then he turned to Elendur once more and took his grandsons right hand into his own, placing the Ring of Barahir on his finger.

He was silent for a moment. "There are things I wish I could -" he cut off suddenly. And then turned to Isildur. "I beg your pardon, my son. Please…" He stepped away. Elendur, somewhat numbed, turned to his father.

Isildur stepped to his son, looking up at him. "My son." He smiled. "You carry a heavy burden now." he looked down at the ring on Elendur's finger. "For some reason, I always hated the idea of wearing that ring. It was as if I saw my doom whenever I looked at it, as if that ring were the very bane of my existence." He shook his head. "Worry not, my son; have hope. These charges are false; all who know us will know such." He embraced his son tightly, for a long moment, and Elendur clung to Isuldur as if to a rock in a heavy stream. When it seemed as if the two men would crush each other if they held any longer, they released.

Somewhat disoriented, Elendur looked for Anarion, "Where is uncle?"

Isildur answered, "I imagine he went to speak with his daughters…"

The girls were sixteen and ten. Silmarien, the eldest, would understand the necessity. Itarilde and Alcarian, the little twins, would likely be inconsolable...

"Why don't you go find them, my son. Your mother and I must share words that only a husband and wife should share, and your cousins will need you."

He nodded and turned to go, leaving the room with a heavy heart.