The Last Temptation by Fireworks

“Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice: It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.”
-William Jennings Bryan

Even after five years since he had left Andúnië to make Rómenna his home, Anárion always felt a wave of homesickness every time his family's ships docked into port. The why of it was not easily explained, for he had always been fond of Rómenna with its winding streets and strong scents, its people's leisurely ways, and the murmur of the sea lulling the heart wherever one went. Things had changed since he was a boy, true enough; but, he refused to acknowledge that the ways of Rómenna had changed much--at least, not yet.

"But they are wont to," his grandfather, Nuriandil, would be quick to remind him. "Too much animosity now, and the King's Men still refuse to see why the Faithful would have been thrust here, out of all places in the island. What they want is to breed trouble, and trouble will breed easily enough: everyone mistrusts everyone. When friends are pinned against each other over strange loyalties, there is but little to do."

Anárion knew the truth of that, but his natural steadfastness could not comprehend how one people could so easily allow themselves to be torn asunder. For a while men would toy with the forbidden, but deceit and darkness could not always hold a man's heart. Once a man saw for himself the evil fruits of the path he was pursuing, was he not wont to change it? It held to reason!

But, neither of his grandparents saw things as he did, and both warned him in stern terms to guard his heart as zealously as ever, lest they ensnared him too.

Anárion knew better than to boast of his immunity to temptation, especially the current ones of wealth and power. Great men were as prone to fall as lesser ones; what he did know, as certainly as he knew his own name and that of his father, was that he could not lay idle when so many people were erring the way.

The way was clear in his mind: like his fathers before him, he remained Elf-friend to the end. But, as a man--and as a man who was first learning to see and recognize the suffering that so much excess had brought--he could see the lure of the other side, and why so many succumbed to it. Which was why he believed, like his grandsire, Amandil, that there was always something for their family, something for himself, to do to help stem the tide until they all changed their ways, or help came.

That the Dúnedain would change their ways seemed every day more unlikely. As he waited for his brother's ship to finally make berth, he could see and hear the throng around him, all full of naught else but the King's revels that whole week, to mark the Summer rites celebration. What used to be the Erulaitalë had turned into nothing more than an excuse for drink and revelry. The worst of it was that, if his family was to maintain appearances, they all had to attend. And, what was more, appear cheerful.

"Brother!"

The familiar tenor of his brother's voice reached him amid the crowd. He descried Isildur as he jumped on deck from the mast, waving at him. Anárion rushed to his family's dockyards, anxious to help however he may, but there was nothing for him to do, for Isildur had allowed his second-in-command, Ciriandil, to make the maneuver, and thus freeing himself sooner to alight and join him.

"You have turned lazy since I left, brother!" Anárion said, slapping Isildur in the back once they had greeted each other and had made their way back to the streets. "Or you can hardly wait to be dancing in the streets, as this merry crowd here."

"Neither," Isildur said, forcefully slapping back. "Though the temptation of dancing may prove overwhelming, I think I may hold back for an hour or two. Have you seen him?"

"Who?"

"Well, this King from Middle-earth! Sauron!"

Anárion's hold on his brother's forearm tightened. "Is that why you are here two days early? To see that flatt--"

"Hush!" Isildur cried, steering Anárion away deeper into the crowd. "Truth is not for all ears, brother. You, city-lad, should know that best."

"Forgive me, Isildur, but if you were to succumb to that honeyed tongue, I would fight you to the teeth until you saw sense."

"I know better than to trust a vaunted enemy, Anárion. Which is why I am so curious to see this one. For all his bluster, Pharazôn seems rather foolish to me."

"No news there, but I think the danger is worse now. Worst, at that. There is something about that man..."

"So you have seen him!" cried Isildur, as he let himself be steered by Anárion along the market's cobbled streets. "What is he like? Come now, Anárion!"

Anárion bit the inside of his lip, as he always did when he felt impatient or frustrated, and held back a grunt. "It would be too hard to describe him to you, so you will have to wait and see--"

"Describe who?"

A familiar grin met him head on, but it was his brother who reacted first.

"Emeldil!"

In their eagerness to get out of the market's busiest corner, they had not been very attentive, almost colliding with their good friends, the sons of Erador.

"Where to so fast, friend?" cried Emeldil as he embraced Isildur. "If we had planned to meet this afternoon, it would not have happened quite as neatly as this."

For his part, Emeldil's brother, Eranion, reached for Anárion and clasped arms with him.

"I hope," Eranion said, "that if we engage your company for today, that still means that you both will dine with us tomorrow." Then, shifting eyes to Isildur, "And your parents as well. I understand you expect Elendil and Amandil some time tomorrow?"

"Aye. I came a day earlier, for I needed to satisfy my curiosity on one particular count."

"You are not alone there," said Emeldil, snorting. "Did you take a good look around you when you arrived? The place looks like a sheep-yard, rather than shipyard. He is impressive, to be sure."

"So you have seen him too?"

Anárion grunted at his brother's eagerness, which made Eranion laugh.

"Worry not, my friend. Emeldil is as eager to discuss him as is Isildur. We shall let them get to it while we play a game or two, eh? Was is it going to be this time: a contest of sport, or intellect?"

"I will let you have your pick, since I won last time."

"Easy there, that was a tie!"

"Not by the rules," Anárion said, feigning sternness, but rather amused; it was always easy to feel at ease with Eranion.

"Whence were you going, Anárion? Have you any plans for today?"

Anárion shook his head. "I was just leading Isildur back towards home, trying to keep him away from the streets today. He is both strong and cunning, but pickpockets are cunning, too, and need their strength less. I was just aiming for a quiet afternoon spent in conversation with Isildur. There is much to tell."

"Come with us to the beach," Eranion suggested. "It should be nice and private; everybody seems to be here, anyway."

"If it is all right with Isildur, I should like that very much." Anárion said. "Should we set out now? What were you doing here? Were you waiting for something?"

Eranion shrugged his shoulders. "Just Wen. She had placed a dress on order for the celebrations and we came with her to retrieve it--we were not about to let her come out here by herself on any account. She should be out any minute."

At the mention of Elenwë, Anárion saw Isildur cast a quick, sidelong glance at himself, which he tried to overlook to no avail. Once he had seen it, it made him irritable and self-conscious. There was no way of getting out of the trip to the beach now, even if Elenwë should be there also.

"How is Elenwë?" asked Isildur, making himself oblivious to Anárion's discomfort. "I saw her the other day; she was in Andúnië a month or so ago."

"She has not been back two weeks," said Emeldil. "She was gone too long this time, if you ask me--"

But, just then, the lady in question came out of the establishment, another young woman in tow.

"Let us go. Now," she said, brushing past them, sparing one quick--and Anárion thought, slightly alarmed--glance at himself.

Without question, they all marched out right behind her; but, soon enough, the reason for their departure became apparent. A few other people were coming out and started screaming at them.

"Be quiet and do not look back," Elenwë said.

"I am a Númenórean!" the girl cried, stalling. "I have a right to defend myself when I am accused and discriminated against!"

Anárion could see Elenwë's arm tighten on her friend. "Yes, you do, but do think well where you make use of your rights. It is not worth to insist on them in front of an angry mob."

"They can hardly be called rights if I have them at some times and not at others!"

Elenwë looked back, pleading; it was becoming difficult to drag a feisty friend out of trouble and, behind them, the shouts of the crowd were becoming louder.

"Trash!"

"Elven trash! Do not come back!"

"Not even with money!"

Yet somebody else was crying, "That was the lady Elenwë, you fools!"

"I would not be back, even if this were the last store in Elenna!" the lady cried to the mob behind them, trying to shrug off Elenwë's restraining hands.

"Please," Elenwë urged her friend, but her glance turned back and met briefly with his.

That was enough for him. Stepping forward, he took the lady by her free arm, urging them both to keep on at a faster pace. The lady hesitated, looked up at him, then at Elenwë, but Elenwë still moved on and, seized as she was, the lady could not but comply.

They walked a while, Anárion leading them out of the Market through a few shortcuts that drew grunts from the men behind him, making it painfully clear that he would be called upon to explain how he had become acquainted with some of those streets. It would be a hard call to come up with a feasible excuse, as he had never thought he would be in such a pinch as to make it necessary for him to deliver one, and he cursed himself for his carelessness. But then he glanced beside him to where Elenwë still held on to her friend, moving on single-mindedly, without so much as glancing at him. What would have happened if he had not been there to help? Her brothers were there, but it may not be too much conceit if he thought that he had been there for a reason and was glad of it. With a hint of worry, he realized that, if he were in that same situation again, he would do the same thing.

He could not tell how much they had walked but, eventually, the women began to drag along, and he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“I can walk by myself now.”

He turned to meet the gaze of the lady they had rescued, and was surprised to find that she did not seem grateful nor relieved, only profoundly angry. The lines of her face were beautiful and delicate, but marred by the frown that creased her forehead and the purse of her lips. Her cheeks were rosy from the walk, and a fine coat of sweat dotted her countenance.

Before he complied with her request, he searched for Elenwë’s approval, which made the lady laugh, and made him bite the inside of his lip for his foolishness.

“I am perfectly capable of choice, thank you very much, both of you. I do not need to be discussed as though I had lost my sanity.”

“No insult was intended, lady,” he said.

“I am certain not, lord Anárion.”

“You know me?”

She laughed again, a nice tinkling of bells that would have been pleasant if it had not dripped with mockery.

“The lord Anárion, son of Elendil?” A quick glance at Isildur, “And his brother? You would be hard-pressed to find someone in the whole island who does not know either of you. I did not know you had such prominent friends, Elenwë, or else I would have been more prone to take your hints before.”

“Anárion and his family have been good friends for many years and many generations of our families, Lassilenwë,” Elenwë said, averting her eyes. “We will walk you home.”

“I should think I am perfectly capable of finding my own house.”

“Not for your sake, but for mine. It would not be right to leave you alone after what happened.”

“Nothing would have happened if you had not intervened,” the lady Lassilenwë said, advancing one step on Elenwë, which made both her brothers advance on her in turn.

“Hold one moment,” Emeldil said. “From what I saw, my sister saved you from a beating, or worse. Those pigs would not have cared that you are a woman.”

Lassilenwë looked up at Emeldil, defiant, drawings hands immediately to hips. “Let them come! My father has friends that can defend me from King’s Swine!”

Once more, Elenwë stepped up and pressed a gentle hand on Lassilenwë’s shoulder.

“We are friends, and that is why we stepped up to help.” She cast a glare at her brothers, it seemed to Anárion, to make them retreat. “I apologize if I made matters worse, but I thought it best to run away this time than to risk making a scene that would help nobody. Sometimes, one must pick one’s battles.”

"And be branded a coward! My father did not raise me to run away at the merest difficulty," she said, accompanied by a meaningful glance at Elenwë. "I am a Númenórean and have some dignity!"

Anárion could have said a thing or two about that, but Elenwë's eyes were threatening anybody who dared interfere.

"It is precisely your Númenórean pride," Elenwë said without any trace of amusement, "that should prevent you from engaging in a market brawl."

At that, Lassilenwë seemed rebuffed. She huffed and looked about herself and, seeing herself outnumbered, stalked away, Elenwë following close behind, then the four of them.

When Lassilenwë realized that they were all coming behind, and that Elenwë did not need her lead to find her way, she asked, “Do you know where I live?”

Elenwë smiled and nodded.

“How?”

Another artless smile. “I have seen you before. I think I know where your house is.”

Anárion noticed the color that sprang to the lady’s face. “Since we had to relocate,” she offered by way of explanation, “Father has not been able to purchase adequate dwellings.”

“Why, I thought your house perfectly adequate,” Elenwë said, matter-of-factly. “You have a lovely garden; do you tend it yourself?”

Anárion felt a surge of pride—undeserved, but pride, regardless—at the tactful way Elenwë had steered the talk away from painful subjects and into everyday matters that Lassilenwë could handle in her present state.

After a longer walk than he had anticipated through some of the most idiosyncratic streets in Rómenna, they arrived at a small, two-story building, with a garden at the front, and a cobbled pathway leading, through the shrubs, to the door. Elenwë looked a question at Lassilenwë, and the lady nodded.

“If you would wait here a moment,” Elenwë said, following Lassilenwë through the pathway to the door and disappearing behind it shortly thereafter.

They waited a while outside for her to be done, which gave Anárion time to assess the house itself, and the possible reasons for Lassilenwë’s seeming embarrassment. It was a perfectly lovely house, made of white stone, with a small porch to one side. It was missing the inner courtyard typical in most Numenorean houses of the time, he could see from the outside, but it was in no way lacking in any other particular.

“Wen is likely to be feeding her tea and pastries, to make sure that she can digest them,” said Emeldil, leaning against the fence.

“It was a very brave thing your sister did,” said Isildur, looking at each of them in turn, letting his gaze linger on Anárion a moment longer. “I wonder how she met this lady.”

“It is easy for women to meet,” said Eranion. “They have sewing societies, and concerts, and archery competitions, and things of that like. Lassilenwë is the daughter of a very prominent man, Galador.”

“Galador?” chorused Anárion and Isildur, looking at each other. “Galador, the captain?”

“The same. Do you know him?”

“He had house in Andúnië, but had not dwelt there in a long time,” Isildur said. “I cannot believe this is his daughter. She was a small thing when I saw her last,” and he made a gesture with his hand, signaling a height to the middle of his torso. "We have had to dance with her before; she was pretty even then, and opinionated."

"That she still is," said Emeldil. "Comes from having a father who indulges her. Some people have said the same of Wen, but I never saw anything of it." It was Emeldil's ill-timed pause that let them all hear Anárion's snort. Emeldil glared at him before resuming the train of his talk. “They had lived in the colonies in Middle-earth and returned to find their house appropriated; they had to move here with the rest of the Elendili.”

That made an impression. Anárion frantically searched his mind for that fact, ashamed that he had let it escape him. Yes! He remembered.

“Nigh on six months ago, was it not?” he asked, eagerly.

“Sounds right,” said Eranion. “How do you know of it? I only heard through—” but then cut himself off, for which Anárion was grateful beyond words.

Isildur saved him from further awkwardness by saying, “It was quite a rumor in Andúnië, but people are afraid to speak aloud nowadays. I can see why it would have been hushed here.”

"Or why the family would have been anxious to keep it quiet," said Eranion. "It has turned nasty, since the Elendili arrived--" but he was interrupted by the door opening and Elenwë coming out.

In their haste to flee, Anárion had been unable to look at her more closely; but, as she joined them outside, he was painfully struck at the difference a few months had made, making her even more womanly, while restoring even more the old spark that had always drawn him to her.

He knew she would not speak to him, for which he was grateful; he would have been hard-pressed to form a coherent thought now that Lassilenwë's competing perfume was not masking Elenwë's fresher scent of gardenia and lemon.

From this part of the city, the walk to the beach would not be far. Assuming the lead, Emeldil walked ahead with Isildur, followed by Eranion and Elenwë, with himself trailing not far behind.

A soft, cool breeze was blowing, which dried their sweat and brought them the murmur of the sea that they all loved so well. Even though he lived close to the harbor, he kept always so busy that he seldom visited the beach for pleasure. His work with his ships was oftentimes limited to the drawing table, and his other... occupations left him but little time for himself. He would enjoy this reprieve, though his mind was awhirl with many thoughts, the least of which was how he would get through so much as an hour without fighting with Elenwë close by.

Looking ahead, he saw her lace her arm around her brother's.

"You are tired," he heard himself say. "It was a long, fast walk."

She gave an unladylike snort. "I am ashamed to say that the list of appropriate activities for women does not include much exercise beyond a few arm movements. I am sorely out of shape."

"I would not have thought it by the way you kept up with us," he said, mentally cursing himself for a futile course of action. Elenwë turned then to look at him, opened her mouth to speak, only to be forestalled by Emeldil.

"She had to keep up, else it would have turned into a fight. Nice work saving a lady in distress, but that just made it harder to keep appearances for all of us."

"I had to do something, Mel!" she cried, balling hands into fists. "If they had killed her and I had done nothing, my conscience would have been tainted; I would have been just as guilty as them."

"In Wen's defense," chimed in Isildur, "the lady Lassilenwë made her peril even worse by all that muttering. Wen just mediated amidst the commotion."

"What really happened, Wen?" Eranion asked, finally giving voice to what all four of them must have been secretly yearning to know. "If I was going to be called upon to draw fists for the lady Lassilenwë, I would at least like to know why."

"Hear, hear!" from Emeldil and Isildur. Elenwë then turned a question to him, expecting he joined the others, but he only shook his head, stretching his palms out to her, signing peace.

She sighed. "Lassilenwë is not very good friends with me, or with anybody that I can tell, but she is determined to be accepted here, without hiding she is an Elf-friend. I thought she did not know that that would not garner much friendliness here, but she was always rude in putting me in my place whenever I suggested it. Until today, I did not know just how scared and confused she must have felt..."

"Scared?" Emeldil asked. "How so? I seemed more scared than she did."

"Well, think about it, Mel. When people are scared, sometimes they become aggressive. Everything she knows has been taken from her, and now she needs to adapt as a despised minority. She has a right to be angry, no matter that the fight she chose is one she is not likely to win."

"Nor is she likely to have many aiding her. She was haughty and ungrateful, despite all you risked in her behalf."

"Well," Elenwë said, dragging the word, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Those are the kinds of things one does not so much to help others, but to help oneself."

Silence settled between them as they walked the distance to one of the few beaches fit for bathing in the bay. A consequence of increasing sea-traffic was a proportional increase in quays and docks to house all the new ships; it gave Anárion good work, and much-needed experience, but he still grieved at the slow but steady disappearance of the beautiful beaches of his home. It troubled him well, and he could see no solution to it: Númenor was, after all, an island. Had they outgrown themselves from the Valar's home for them? And, more importantly, was he aiding his people's downfall rather than helping stall it by his chosen line of work?

"Every thing that rises must, perforce, fall down..."

"What?"

A few pairs of eyes turned to fix on him, and it took him a while to understand why. He had not been aware that he had spoken aloud.

"It is nothing," he said, looking away, as he began to roll his sleeves to enjoy the breeze more fully. "Just an observation. It is hard not to lament progress when you can so readily see what is sacrificed in turn. To have to walk so far to find a beach in an island--"

"So you see, Wen," Emeldil cut in, with a wink, "things here are as bad as anywhere else; no need for you to be sailing all the way to Andúnië to find people to help or things to fix."

"What were you doing in Andúnië, anyway, Wen?" asked Isildur. "I was gone most of the times you dined with Mother, and neither her nor Grandmother could tell much of your errand there."

Elenwë shrugged her shoulders. "That is because there was not much to tell."

"And with most of the Elendili here in Rómenna," said Emeldil, "you would do best to stay around, lest all the eligible men be taken or, worse, turned to darkness."

"Cease this irreverent talk at once, Emeldil," she cried. "Men should not be swayed as easily as that."

Noting her failure to retort to the other half of her brother's assertion, Anárion could not help but ask, "Are you looking for a husband, then?"

"I am not looking, if by that you mean actively striving to find one." Then the pitch of her voice lowered just slightly, wistfully, he thought. "It is natural to want companionship, be one a woman or man."

"I have no words to dispute that," he said. "I have seen what marriage can do to a person. Provided that you find the right person."

"Is it your advice, then, to look actively rather than wait?" she asked. There was no mirth in the question.

Neither was there mirth in his answer, "Waiting cannot hurt, if you do not mind waiting long, or if you are certain that your judgment will not be clouded by impatience."

"Are you looking, then?"

"I am a patient man."

"Or conceited," said Isildur, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. They had arrived at the beach and, already, impatient Emeldil had taken off shirt and shoes and was making to shore, crying behind him for someone to watch his clothes while he took a swim. "You two address each other as if you we perfect strangers rather than friends from infancy, and it is trying in the extreme. I will take a swim to rid myself of all this animosity."

Eranion was left, but far from uncomfortable, he looked like he had enjoyed Isildur's reprimand.

When he looked a question at her, Elenwë rolled her eyes. "Yes, you might as well go, too. If I had known I would end up here, guardian of all your clothes, I might have instigated a brawl myself."

"Do not even joke about it," Eranion said, as he removed his shoes and left them at his sister's feet and, with a wink at Anárion, cried as he made to shore, "Thanks for staying with Wen! I owe you one!"

It would have been impossible to describe the awkwardness that followed. Elenwë moved swiftly to gather her brothers' discarded clothes before the wind carried them out of reach, and he did the same for Isildur's, placing them in a pile by her side.

"I would not mind it if you wanted to go with them," she said.

It was tempting. She was offering him the chance to escape instead of having to stay to face the many ghosts of things, both said and unsaid, that lay between them. But another desire within him had greater pull: she had been avoiding saying his name.

He shook his head. Thinking it safe to sit beside her with the clothes pile in between, he sat and took his shoes off.

She did not look at him for a long while.

But he knew she wanted to. She arranged and rearranged the clothes by size, then by color, then folded them the way that seamstresses do, with the sleeves behind, tried to guess which socks matched which shoes. In the end, she took her slippers off, as well, and let her feet feel the soft sand, pulled her left foot to her to rub it, and finally looked an apologetic smile at him.

"When I said I was out of shape, I did not mean it as idle talk. My feet are throbbing."

"We came a long way."

"How you found your way through the maze of that market, I shall never know," she said, looking sidelong at him, unwilling to ask more, but curious. For a moment, he thought that he would be called to task for knowing the underground quite so well, but after a brief hardness on her face, its lines melted into a soft smile. "I thank you for stepping up to help me. I thought she would break free from me and throw herself at them. When I felt you were pulling us along..." she was clearly embarrassed to go on; a blush colored her cheeks, and the telltale dainty frown right between her eyes had made its appearance, but she rallied enough to say, "Then I knew we would make it."

That was more than he had been prepared for, coming from her, and it took him a while to recover from the impact it made on him. That she could bridge years of awkwardness and relative estrangement to say something like that warmed him like not even the sun ever had on the coldest day. Unwilling to let the mood fade, he frantically thought for something to say, not realizing how hard finding surface talk could be, even when there was so much that he longed to say.

He settled for, "The lady Lassilenwë does not know how fortunate she was today, nor the kind of friend she has in you. Isildur was right: it was a very brave thing to do; it put you in all kind of risks. She would have shown her gratitude in a different way, had she realized it."

"Could you blame her for being so angry? I deserve it, for skulking about, trying my meager hand at easing suffering as vast as the sea." She then turned to look at him full in the face; he could see lines of shame and worry around her eyes and mouth, grieved for being unable to wipe them away. She leaned forward, just slightly, eager, to ask what he suspected had been on her mind for a while now judging for the breathless way it came out, "Do you think it cowardice, biding one's time?"

Anárion knew what she meant; had known, even when Lassilenwë made her accusations earlier, that they would bother Elenwë for her kindness and her sense of moral uprightness. He had struggled with those same questions for years, had suffered under their weight, letting the elusive answers wear him down until it became impossible to be of help to anybody. He could never reveal to her how he had come by the answers that made sense to him, but he could try to help her find her own.

As fast as her question had come, she had looked away, eyes fixed on some undetermined point in the horizon, further from where their brothers played. He moved just a little closer and, leaning forward in turn, said, "Entirely by chance, I met a family of eight, all Elf-friends, down to the six-year-old, living under a bridge for a roof." She turned to him, horrified. "The father had been a seaman off Andúnië's ports, until the King's law came into effect that sailing the western seas was banned and all the Elendili found were to relocate. They lost everything. No one would give him work here. The King forgot to consider housing for the poorer of his Faithful subjects. They had run out of all the savings they had when I met them, but he was too angry and ashamed to beg for money."

"What happened?" she cried, seizing his cuff in a swift motion of despair. Their eyes met; hers were bright with unshed tears and other things he did not know how to read anymore. It was brief; embarrassed, she withdrew her hand, but too late. Her touch had branded him like with a searing iron.

"When he realized that the children were going to starve, he bit back his pride and took a job at a cobbler's, cutting leather for shoes. It paid him a just enough to buy food for home, but enough. He had to withstand insults and the coarse treatment of himself and all Elf-friends, but he needed the work. When his boss realized that he was a fine worker, suddenly his being an Elf-friend was not quite so important."

"Who found him the job?"

Anárion ducked his head to hide a small, rather unwitting smile.

"You did!" she cried, clapping her hands together in delight.

"Do you think I would have been able to do so, had I been known to be one of the Elendili from the start?"

She shook her head.

"My friend also realized the value of avoiding and resisting provocation. In the end, it might be a question of the ultimate reasons why we revere the Valar and Ilúvatar; they have no need of worship, but we do. It brings hope, fulfillment, order to our lives. It is the friendship and regard this island was founded upon. Would we do best by getting ourselves all killed, or by trying to stem the tide until this path most people have taken is proven to lead nowhere? If we are all dead when that happens, what hope would there be for the world?"

Anárion had not realized how much he had needed to say those things until now that they were out of his chest, nor had he ever considered the possibility of them being poured onto Elenwë's. He felt self-conscious, but strangely at peace.

It was her turn to look away to hide a smile of her own. "You have thought about this quite a great deal."

"Avoiding a decision only made the weight greater. Once I knew what I believed and what path I thought I should take, many things fell into place; not everything, but many important things."

"What about all the other answers you need?"

"I wait for them."

She gave a small sigh. "I am not--have never been--as patient as you are. Most people are not. Watching the world around me, I fear that everything will crumble to pieces before anything can be done."

"You mean you want a hasty solution for a problem that has been years in the making. People most usually learn from their mistakes."

"That type of learning might prove fatal now."

"The Valar might accept true repentance. We see, in the lore of our fathers, that they have in the past."

"You assume that people will want to repent."

"Why would they not?" he asked, leaning forward. "When one errs, honor demands that one make amends for his failure if one has offended, and change course. It is as simple as that. A man would not--could not--do less. It would not be right. Moreover, it would be shameful--"

"Anárion," she said, laying a gentle hand on his forearm as if to restrain his enthusiasm. The sound of his name on her lips was not as sweet to him as it could have been, for it came tied to a rebuke. "That is the code of honor you live by, but not all men have been taught likewise."

"One has no need of teachers to know that, when a path fails, one must take another one."

"I think some people are deliberately blind. Take Lassilenwë," she said, staring up into his eyes, unaware that she had not moved her hand away and the pressure of it on his arm was tantalizingly maddening, "would you not say that she is blind, for all that she is an Elf-friend? In the name of the Valar she insults and ridicules those who do not think like her. I fear that, before long, she will cease to see the error of her ways and then not even the Valar will be as important to her as her being right."

He had to think about that for a moment, not only so that he could ascertain himself of his own opinion on the matter, but because her touch, after so long an estrangement, was both painful as it was delicious. He hated himself for such thoughts, but could not prevent them from springing unbidden.

"Suppose," he said, at length, "that your scenario came true. Once something happened to alert her of her mistake--it would have to be major enough to bring her to a halt, make her truly ponder about her ways--would she not repent and redress?"

"Nobody can say but Lassilenwë herself. And, who would send these major pitfalls? That is not how things work in life."

"No. We are agreed, then, that one should be more careful from the outset."

She nodded.

"And that, generally, the Faithful might be considered to be in more danger from pride than the King's Men."

"No. That was not what I said."

"But you brought up Lassilenwë."

"Only to use an example that was common for both us."

"I think you made an excellent point by using her as your example. Self-righteousness may be a major downfall for most of us," he said. "The thought occurred to me after we parted ways with her that, not knowing the danger she is in, she will not be watchful of it."

Elenwë finally withdrew her hand and looked away, and Anárion was finally able to breathe easily again.

"Are we contradicting each other?" she asked, "Or are we, in truth, agreeing on different words?"

There it was, the reason why being close was not a good idea anymore. A bitter smile played on his mouth.

"We agree that one must be watchful and stay as away from sin as possible. Once a transgressor, however, I think men may repent once their wrongdoing is made apparent, whereas you think that unlikely in most cases."

"That was not what I said."

"That is what you meant."

"How can you know that?" she asked, kneeling on the sand, her hands balled fists against her thighs.

"That is the logical conclusion from your argument."

"We will never find out who is right," she said, relaxing her fists and looking down at her hands.

"Not unless we set out to prove it, which would be wrong and unethical."

The small, dainty frown was back, as was, he noticed with vexation, his biting of the inside of his lip. By the time Isildur and her brothers were done, he had begun to despair of the silence that had settled between them ever being broken. It was an uneasy calm, full of things left unsaid, that made him abject and despondent. Isildur brought back his good humor, but not another word from Elenwë just for him.

Dinner the following evening was a sad affair. With so many people nearby, there was little chance of engaging her again in any sort of meaningful conversation, or even try to renew the subject from the previous day as a last resort, as he had purposed. She was utterly out of reach, as she had always been, and though she was delighted by his grandfather's jokes, the consolation was but a poor one to make up for the vanishing of the intimacy they had shared at the beach.

Unable to explain to himself why he wanted such a renewal, perfectly aware that those bouts of good will between them were never long-lasting, he began to look forward to the celebration of the Erulaitalë. Then he would, at least, be able to claim a dance and have her hand in his once more.

“Send danger from the east unto the west, so honor cross it from the north to south.”
-William Shakespeare

Erulaitalë, as such, had ceased to exist. Ar-Pharazôn had neglected the offer of prayers to Ilúvatar a long time ago, and some of the Faithful--and Anárion had even heard it of some of the King's Men--claimed that was why the seasons were turning and the rains were not tempered on their behalf any more; the heat was too hot; the cold was too cold; and crops were dying, as were those who tended them.

Tonight's festival was, therefore, a lie. It was not even held in Armenelos! There would be no Meneltarma! What were they even celebrating? But Rómenna had been the first port to welcome the King as the Great Conqueror of Middle-earth, and the celebrations had been so magnificent for the occasion that, in his elated state, the King had promised the people that all festivals would be held in Rómenna that year, for their pride and trouble.

Erulaitalë. Midsummer, they called it now, after the fashion of the colonies; though, from what he had heard, their own version bore little resemblance to the celebrations--the real festivities--held in Middle-earth. Still, the family of the Lord of Andúnië could not be seen not to attend, for all the mockery of the situation. At least this year they could stay at their grandfather's house and pretend they were on holiday; that might soften the sting of ignoring the real Three Blessings as they were intended to be.

Anárion surveyed his reflection in the mirror. The white garb made sharp contrast with the dark of his hair and made his eyes look washed out and pale, but he would have worn no other color this day. He wondered how long it would be before the wearing of white for Midsummer was banned as well, and what would his grandfather's policy about that be. It was tiring, pondering every choice so carefully between what was right and what was necessary. Feeling guilt for wishing that those days would end during his lifetime, knowing that he should not wish for more or less than had been allotted him, he turned to leave, when he came face to face with his brother as they both tried to open the door.

"Well, that was a struggle," Isildur said as he came in, brushing past Anárion to sit on the windowsill. After surveying him a moment, he said, "You look well. Rómenna's sun has given you a most becoming tan. I look like a pale sheet with a crown of iron on top."

Anárion let out a laugh. "If you do look like that, then I must look a shrimp with a sheet."

Both brothers let their mirth get the better of them, joking like they did when they were young; but, after a while, silence settled between them again, and Anárion moved to sit beside his brother.

"Will we all meet afterwards at Grandfather's, for the blessing?" Anárion asked. After it became apparent that the Kings would not honor Eru again, the lord of Andúnië had determined that his family should not be deprived of the chance to know where their loyalties lay. For as long as Anárion could remember, they had met after the harvest celebrations for a minute of silence which they called the blessing.

Isildur nodded. "Though, I think, they want to meet at your house this time."

"My house? There is barely room for both of us together in that room!"

"But Grandmother wants to see it, and it is more private and secluded than Atarinya's ship, or Grandfather's house."

That was true, embarrassing as it was to let anyone in his family see where he lived.

"Maybe Father should consider purchasing some land here," he said, wryly.

"He may purchase some from you, but the King would wonder why he wants it."

"Why, so he does not have to come to my house but his own."

"It is not so very bad, Anar. Be proud of what you have wrought for yourself. I am."

"For which I thank you, heartily, brother, but it is really nothing, and certainly nothing for which to be proud."

He felt Isildur's keen eyes on his and could not make himself look back to meet that gaze. Lately, when they were together, he felt himself examined, and it was difficult to know whether he passed the test. Or what test he was taking. At length, Isildur must have looked away, for the heat he was feeling suddenly subsided.

"We will leave when the bell next tolls," Isildur said, casually. "I must admit to be quite impatient!" That was followed by a gleeful laugh and rubbing of hands that alarmed him.

"Have a care, Isildur," he cried, grasping his brother's hands in an attempt to stop them. "Sauron is a viper. There is nothing so remarkably grand about his person except for the fact of his being here at all when, a few months past, he had styled himself Lord of Men and the King's greatest foe."

"Things do have a way of changing, do they not?"

Anárion became positively worried at that. "Isildur. Tell me not that you do not see the danger."

"It is precisely because I see the danger that I am curious. Or, should I say, the mystery? There may not be danger yet, only the potential for it."

"Why would that fool--" Anárion stopped himself before he became too carried away with name-calling. "Why bring him here at all? He is a dangerous man, even if he is not a danger to us yet."

"I have heard that he speaks very fairly and correctly."

"Flattery, you mean. Where did you hear this?"

"From our own Golaran. He said that the lord Sauron had been granted permission to begin a school for underprivileged young men who would, otherwise, find themselves in the streets."

"Then Golaran will have no need to become a pupil, for Atarinya always saw to it that he was well-instructed and well-paid."

"Perhaps that is why such conduct recommends itself to him, being used to it by our family. Do not be hard on poor Golaran; he would not know how to judge such a mighty person."

"Would you?" Anárion asked, almost a whisper. Isildur's face hardened at that, his jaw tensed.

"I may not study as much as you do, brother, but I am not a simpleton."

"I doubt that anything I have ever read would help me judge in such a matter. There are choices that are done only with the heart, from things you can only feel inside."

"Which is why I want to see him," Isildur said, relaxing, glancing outside at the courtyard of their maternal grandfather's home. "To know the truth for myself."

"What truth?"

"Of why this man is here." Used to Anárion's puzzled frown when a question plagued him, Isildur clasped his shoulder and said. "Surely it may be that this--his coming--will prove fateful for Númenor. But, just as surely, could his coming not be a sign that... that some things are at an end?"

Anárion did not have to think about it to know what his brother meant. He looked outside, where his Grandmother's lemon trees swayed by the breeze. No one was around.

"Would you trade one tyrant for another?" he asked. "A foreign tyrant"

"You misunderstand, brother," Isildur said, eyes bright and willing Anárion to look into them. "I am merely pointing out the convenience of his being here, and of his being a foe. Someone else could end what he begins."

"Or end himself."

"Or end himself, and us all, if that is the weaving decreed for us in the pattern. But, what is clear to me is that things cannot long continue as they are. I am more sheltered in Andúnië than you are here for all that I am supposed to rule one day, but I have eyes to see, and a heart to feel injustice. Pride is the downfall of men."

"And I beg you will remember that, brother, when we see him today, for he is fair on the eye--elvish, even--and that confuses people."

"Do you think me as shallow as that?"

"I am afraid, Isildur, even of my own reactions to him. I would stay as far from him as I could, just to make sure I am never deceived."

"But you say people can repent," Isildur asked, brow raised.

"Only after much suffering. And I hate to suffer."

Isildur answered his smile with one of his own. "We need to learn the truth for ourselves. All we know is what we have been told of Sauron, and who has told it but Pharazôn's men? Who knows but that we have been deceived in this also? Pharazôn could have lied to further his own purposes; we know him to be an expert at that."

Anárion shook his head, slowly. "You will see when you see him."

Since there was no climbing atop the Meneltarma, the celebrations did not officially begin until later in the day. They walked to the feasting hall--one of the King's palaces in the city--in a procession that had become tradition for such occasions and found, as expected, the city in an uproar at the upcoming feasts and dances and at the chance to get a glimpse of the new Middle-earth vassal.

"They call him Vassal now. I thought he came here as a slave," said Elendil, glancing briefly at Anárion for confirmation.

"He came here a pledge for his good conduct," Anárion said. "Apparently, he is being rather well-behaved; might be promoted to ally next."

"Maybe in all but name," said Amandil. "Pharazôn is proud and would never acknowledge his dependence."

"Let us hope," said Elendil. Pinning his sons with a stern glance, he warned them to be ever watchful and, taking his wife's arm, moved into the palace, followed closely by his parents.

"What he meant was 'be careful,'" Amandil said before disappearing amid the crowd.

Isildur and Anárion were left at the entrance to the hall, wondering what, exactly, they were supposed to do now that they were there.

"It is rather difficult to have fun when one is supposed to be watchful and careful at the same time," Isildur said. Then, tugging at his sleeve, "Anar... Anar... Anárion!"

"Ssh! What?" he asked back, only half-listening for an answer as he searched the crowd.

"She is not here," he heard Isildur say.

"Maybe you are right, but I see Emel--Who do you mean?"

Isildur turned him around to face him and began to straighten his shirt collar and smooth his hair where it had been tousled by the breeze. It made Anárion feel much like a boy, but Isildur held him by the shoulders and would not let him move without much awkwardness and ridicule.

"You are lying too much, lately, brother," he said, "to others, as well as to yourself. And, I suggest that if you wish to engage Elenwë for a dance, you better not think so much about it and set out to it; she is one of the most eligible ladies here tonight, not to mention one of the most beautiful, and is sure to have many invitations."

"Why are you telling me that?" Anárion asked, mussing his hair anew and surveying the room briefly before fixing eyes back on his brother.

Isildur only shrugged his shoulders and turned around. "I see Emeldil," he said and, with that, walked away, leaving Anárion to brave the crowd by himself.

Lips curled in annoyance at his brother, but he set out to try to spot Elenwë in the crowd after he had gone--if he had seen Emeldil, surely Elenwë could not be too far away?

Regardless of what Isildur thought, it was not out of selfishness that he wished to find her, only to make certain that she stayed away from trouble, and that trouble stayed away from her tonight. Court life, as he knew it, was something to be avoided rather than anticipated; although Elenwë was as used to it as he himself was, she could not know its subtleties and secrets, not as he had the occasion to do.

It was thus that he had decided he would be vigilant of her safety, and that of her family, as well as his own. There was good reason to entertain misgivings regarding tonight. Pharazôn would like to parade his majesty and power for his guest and there was no telling what form that particular display would take.

As he was about to give up on finding her inside the hall, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Your royal person is blocking the entrance, lord Anárion."

Eranion. It was hard to suppress a grin, or the snide remark that accompanied it.

"As is yours," he said as he turned, but the comment died on his lips when he saw Elenwë standing beside her brother. Her composed, almost stern face was indication enough that she had far from forgotten their argument from two days previous, but when he looked at her, she extended a flower garland, bidding him to lean forward so she could place it on his neck. That surprised him, and she noticed it, for she said, "Arguments between us are easy to come by, but this is tradition."

"I thank you," he said. "I--"

"No need to find anything to say; I am content knowing that you receive it."

"I will always receive anything you give me. I hope you will do the same."

That made her smile, a small and playful grin that made him smile with her. "Anything but an argument."

"What have you seen?" asked Eranion, nudging them both inside the hall. "We were here earlier but left when it began to get crowded and the King and Queen had not made an appearance. Do you suppose that we will all have to be officially presented before the King tonight?"

"I would not doubt it, though I wish we would not have to do it in front of Sauron."

Eranion frowned and whispered to him between clenched teeth, "I heard that we should not be surprised if the King seeks to ingratiate himself with the foreigner. What do you think he would do? I can think of a few things, none of them pleasant, nor desirable."

The glance they both gave Elenwë did nothing to appease Anárion's misgivings. That Eranion's thoughts were running along the same path as his own was indication enough of their fulfillment's feasibility, for, how does a King display wealth and munificence best than through riches and women? And, if it was true that Pharazôn's intent in bringing Sauron to Númenor had been, as was claimed, the ability to watch him closely, what better way to tie him to the land than through a Númenórean wife?

The thought of it gripped his heart as if with a cold hand, for Pharazôn had no daughters to give and, though there were other eligible kinswomen with closer ties to the King than Elenwë, none possessed the wealth nor the influence that Elenwë's family held in the island.

Halting their advance, he turned to face the siblings. If Eranion could read his thoughts, he gave no outward indication of it, but he nodded when their gazes met. Taking that as permission to proceed, he said, reaching out to seize Elenwë by the wrist lest she ran away before he had finished what he was about to say.

"This whole week might prove to be a trial of our patience and forbearance but, whatever betides, you must promise me that you will stay away from trouble. Both of you."

Eranion was exacting an equal promise from him, but Elenwë frowned, asking what he had meant, and whether he thought it likely for her to create trouble for him, when the trumpets blared, the doors opened, and the King's procession of esquires and pages and court ladies entered the room.

He seized Elenwë's wrist as they moved away to make room for the newcomers and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "There are things about these people that you do not know and that would chill your blood were you to hear of them. Trust me at least this once and stay away from anything that the King were likely to approve, and everything likely to kindle his wrath."

She seemed hurt, but nodded her promise to him without a word. He could see the puzzlement in that look and a slight widening of the eyes that told him he had frightened her. At the moment, he could not bring himself to regret it; this way, mayhap she would be more likely to listen to him.

Galdir, the King's herald, announced that all courtiers would be presented as groups of families and they were usually one of the first to come forward. Searching the crowd, he sought to find his father, but did not see him until Galdir announced, "The Lords of Andúnië!" and Amandil came forward, followed closely by his son. The herald slowly named them all, "The lord Amandil, eighteenth lord of Andunië, in direct descent from Silmariën, daughter to King Tar-Elendil. His wife, the lady Issilomë of Andúnië, daughter of Insilsar of Andunië. Their son, Elendil, heir of the lordship of Andunië and Captain of the ship Foamstar, of the tradesguild of Númenor. His wife, the lady Nessilenwë of Rómenna, daughter of Haldor of Rómenna. Their sons, Isildur, second in succession to the lordship of Andúnië, and captain of the unincorporated ship, Sea Star; and Anárion," and there was the slight hesitation that overcame all when they sought to put a name to his seemingly discordant occupations. Galdir cleared his throat, glanced up from the parchment from which he read to look at him--maybe hoping for clarification? But he gave him none, advancing, instead, to join his brother a few feet away from the King and his beautiful and sad Queen, Zimraphel. To the King's right, he did not look.

"Welcome, lords," Pharazôn said and, though he clasped not arms with Isildur and himself, he did so with his father and grandfather. Looking at him he said, "Anárion, what do you do these days, as my herald seems to be at a loss?"

"I build ships, my lord."

A puzzled brow rose on Pharazôn's face. "Are you working with the carpenters and builders?"

"No, my lord, I work with the engineers."

"I see. Have you studied with the guild and passed your test? I do not remember signing your license."

"I have, my lord, though I am working on my final project. I have not received accreditation yet."

"I will make sure you do," Pharazôn said, and turned to explain to Sauron how the guilds worked and how profitable for Númenor to be organized in this manner--a painful explanation that he had to hear because the King had not dismissed them. When he was done, he turned once more to Anárion and said, "Lad, then, what is your final project? Share it with us!"

Uncomfortably, he noticed that Sauron's eyes had fixed, with interest on him. The King's condescension and complete disregard of propriety and privacy disgusted him, but Sauron's invasion of it seemed completely unwarranted and unwanted under any circumstance. Trying to appear unruffled, he summoned a smile and, ignoring Sauron, looked at the King and said, "My lord will forgive me if I decline; I would not want the wrong ears to hear of my work before the guildmasters have had a chance to examine it first."

Pharazôn seemed taken aback but, when Sauron began to laugh, so did he. "You do not want someone else copying you! Good, good, Anárion. I shall personally make sure that your work is examined as soon as I hear word it is ready. You are both dismissed, enjoy the celebrations."

Anárion inclined his head and was forced to include Sauron in his bow, lest the man saw through his displeasure and began to harbor negative thoughts concerning him from the start.

As they withdrew to a corner to watch the rest of the proceedings, Isildur whispered to him, "That is what any hard-working man could wish: to have the King promise, within hearing of the guildmasters and patrons, that he will personally ensure you pass the test. What a start to anyone's career!" And he would have laughed to that, but the herald was calling Eralmir's name then, and he turned where he was to see how the King would receive Elenwë.

Eralmir's family was, at least, twice as large as his own, but their sires having passed out of the circles, Eralmir and his siblings had more preeminence within their own family circle than he himself had within his. Pharazôn, therefore, was bound to clasp arms with each of them, and the customary kiss of the hand for the lady of the house--Lalriel, Eralmir's wife and, he saw with dismay, one for Elenwë, also. At once, Anárion's eyes went to Sauron, who came forward and kissed both ladies as the King had done. From where he was, he could see the falter on Lalriel's step and the coldness in Elenwë's curtsey, but could not distinguish anything of note in Sauron's demeanor that bespoke his interest, nor disregard. It may have, simply, been too early to tell the King's intentions in the matter of his guest.

The introductions continued and Anárion was somewhat relieved and able to watch with a certain degree of indifference. But, when all the nobles had been presented and the King rose to speak with Sauron at his right arm, he felt a quickening of his heart rate that he always felt just before his misgivings were proved true.

"...Conquerors we are! Conquerors of the world! And our wealth and wisdom will extend to all coasts and beyond, where there are men living in the darkness of ignorance. And, that the majesty of the Sea Kings be known unto all, I have brought Sauron here to bear witness of our power and the wealth and ease of our kingdom. As a token of my goodwill, I have offered him two coffers of silver and gold each, and a necklace of mithril from my mines in the Blue Mountains. And, today, I also offer him whatever woman he desires for his own." Pharazôn stretched his right arm to take Sauron's and clasped it in token of alliance, gesturing toward the hall with his left. "You will have all week to observe them as they join my celebrations, and you shall have your pick of the choicest maidens of Númenor. This honor is rarely bestowed upon any vassal."

Anárion thought he saw Sauron's smile tighten at that, but, otherwise, he seemed pleased and meek as ever. Anárion, on the other hand, felt to cry in rage at the King's insolence and daring in pretending to give away what had never been his. Some physical sign of his discomfort must have shown, for Isildur wrapped his left arm around his shoulders as if to restrain him, and he was in the act of shrugging it off when the King spoke again. "I will further honor the young men of some privileged families of the realm with the honor of presiding over a night of dancing with me, and choosing a Queen for the night to be their partner. The first of such shall be Isildur son of Elendil, a man both strong and wise!"

It was difficult to tell whether Isildur felt more astonished than he himself did, but when the horns and drums played once more, Isildur left his side to join the King at the dais.

"Tell us, who shall be your Queen tonight?"

Isildur's face would have seemed comical with its widened eyes and gaping mouth, or the way the eyes darted every which way trying to find a way out of the scrape he was in. The women in the room were in a flurry; cleavages were adjusted, makeup was checked, pearls and jewelry rearranged as they awaited Isildur's announcement that was, already, taking over-long.

When it finally came, Anárion's heart rose to his chest and plummeted down to the pit of his stomach.

"Elen--" someone's gasp blurred the sound of Isildur's words, but his heart knew what his brother had said before the herald announced it to the crowd.

"Elenwë, daughter of Erador, from the house of the lords of Rómenna."

Anárion did not drink for pleasure. He disliked the tartness of wine and the mellow sweetness of ale, and despised the fools men became when they had had their fill of either; so, he decided that he needed not drink. He was considering to break his vow tonight.

Anger boiled through him so fast and so hot that, at times, he felt himself not angry at all. Mayhap it was not anger that he felt for, in his experience, it was difficult to experience the emotion without its having an object, and hard as he tried, he could not say who angered him, or why.

It was thus he sat outside, hidden where the light of the torches could not reach him in the balcony, far enough that the music from the hall was as faint as the murmur of the wind. Giving himself to extremes was wrong, and he knew it, but at times he was weak, and tonight he felt no wish to explore the whys and wherefores of it. When he heard footsteps approach, he sat as still as he could so as not to be discovered and disturbed, but the person advanced, nonetheless, and sat beside him.

"If you are going to hide, you should make it easier to be found."

He glanced at his grandfather, glared, looked away.

"If I did so," he said, knowing that by his speaking, Amandil had already won, "there would be little point." As there would be little point in playing immature now. "How did you find me?"

Amandil looked at him, smiled, looked away.

"I used to hide here, sometimes, when we were visitors and Inziladûn was alive. We came often, were at odds often, all of us. But, you know I like to do my thinking alone, and there is no better place here for that, as I am sure you have found."

Anárion looked from the stars to the ground and began to fiddle with a boot lace.

"I am surprised you are out here when you could be conducting observations in there."

A grunt. "No matter how close I come to their table, I am always too far!" Hearing himself sound like a boy, whining, he softened his tone, but the frown tightened around his eyes. "Dancing is about to begin and I could not well interrupt every one of her dances when I think it might breed trouble. Let us hope that Isildur's selfishness eases tonight and he does his duty by her, as he should."

"She will have to dance with the King. And Sauron, too. You do not want to watch?"

Without intending to, he snapped his lace in two. "No."

"Why are you angry, Anárion?" Amandil asked. Anárion felt his grandfather's eyes on him, that look that demanded he look up, but he fought against it. "Are you in love with that girl?"

That made him look up. He did not have to think about his answer. "No. And it is not about love at all but duty, and friendship; you should know: you are the one that swore to her grandfather."

"Erassuil is the dearest friend I have ever had, and I would swear again were he alive to bleed with me. Your fierceness in wanting to keep her away from harm does not speak of friendship, or even duty. When anger clouds your eyes, there is always more, Anarinya."

That made him rise and, as forcefully as he could, he threw the lace away from him and turned on his grandfather. "Being wife to an unkonwn adversary from the East is not a fate that I would wish upon any Númenórean woman, much less her. She was a friend, a real friend to me for many years and, apart though we have drifted, her kindnesses to me are burned in the heart. I will not see her wed to Sauron for Isildur's selfishness."

As he stalked away, the wind carried to him a whisper of his grandfather's words, "Isildur's, or your own?"

He was just beginning to feel some semblance of quiet to the throbbing in his head, when a knock at the door brought it back with violence. The force and character of the knock, its complete disregard of time and the implicit demand to be answered--he knew that knock, and it made him groan.

"Open the door now, I know you are awake!"

"Go away, Isildur, I have a headache."

"Of course you have a headache, and likely heartburn also; I shall make you tea."

"I already had tea."

"I will make you more. Come now, Anárion, open the door!"

Anárion rolled in bed, clutching the pillow tightly against his ears in a vain attempt to block his brother's noise away, but Isildur insisted and progressively became louder. With the prospect of having to deal with that racket all night, it was not long before Anárion relented. Partially opening the door, he peered outside to face his brother.

"I came home because I did not wish to talk to you," he said, digging a heel to his temple.

"I know," Isildur said, pushing hard on the door and letting himself in, "and Mother is going to notice it. This may be your home all year, but not this week. Go back, at least, before Mother throws a fit and blames me for driving you away."

"If you had not left as well, she may not have noticed."

"Everyone noticed you left!"

That made him panic for a moment, but he forced himself to remain calm and pursue his argument, since it was clear that argue they would.

"Everybody was too busy to notice I was gone. Believe me, I saw that much."

"Elenwë noticed."

That made him look up from the bed where he had thrown himself.

"Did she say anything?"

"She would not stop glancing about the room, looking for you."

"She could have been looking for anyone, for all you know. How could you do that to her?"

"I did nothing to her! Any other woman would have been pleased at the distinction."

Anárion rose, angered, and stroke with his hand on the table where Isildur sat crushing tea leaves.

"The distinction of being paraded as a prospective bride for Sauron's benefit?" he asked, regretting his outburst for his throbbing hand and Isildur's astonished look. "Undoubtedly, that is what Pharazôn is doing and idiotic men will put their love interests forward and the King will snatch one of them away," and he finished that with a snap of the fingers of his left hand, but then let himself drop on a chair across from Isildur and buried his head in his hands. "Why did you have to pick her?"

"I--am sorry; I did not know."

"I know. You were only thinking about yourself and how you did not want to give any eligible girl the wrong impression by choosing her to be your queen for the day."

Isildur stopped his crushing to run a hand through his hair, wiggled the stone he was using at him. "If the King picks other men's women for Sauron, he will become unpopular rather too quickly. Maybe I have protected Wen instead of hurting her."

Anárion lifted his head to look at his brother. "Are you willing to keep the pretense of interest in her permanently?"

"No. I have you for that. If you would stop arguing with her for two minutes together, you would be able to tell her how you feel and maybe she would believe you."

That made Anárion flinch. "You have no right to say that. No right! As if I would chose to argue with her rather than--" but he could not go on; he focused on the other half of Isildur's statement instead. "What do you mean tell her what I feel? There is nothing to tell that nobody else does not know."

"Right. Because everybody else has always known how much you love--"

"Stop right there," Anárion said, palms lifted and facing outwards, as he rose from the table. "I do love her, as much as you do, as her brothers do. How could we not, growing up together as we did? By the light of Elbereth, sometimes I feel like I know what she is thinking just by watching her tilt her head or blink her eyes twice."

"Because you do! Do you think I have ever noticed she blinks her eyes twice?"

"It was just a figure of speech, Isildur. I would protect her as fiercely as I would any of her brothers, and I know so would you."

"It is not the same; it will never be the same!" Isildur said, rising from the table and dropping the stone in his abruptness. "Be honest with yourself before it is too late, even if you will not be so with everybody else."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what you heard. You may blame me for my selfishness if she gets snatched away from you, but it will be no one's fault but your own."

"How so? I am not the one who parades her among a court of vultures."

"If you were so worried, you should not have left--who is selfish now?"

They both had risen and now they both sat back, despondent, fearful, of the future and, Anárion suspected, of each other. These were dangerous waters for them to navigate through; never had they not known what the other thought about something, and never had they pretended that they knew better, but they were doing so now. He had accused Isildur of selfishness and, in as many words, Isildur had accused him of dishonesty, an accusation that cut deeply because there were so many things that Anárion kept from Isildur, and from everybody else, and it made him feel tainted, even though he knew why it had to be so. But to presume that he knew his feelings on the matter of Elenwë better than Anárion himself did, to dare give him advice, was more than Anárion could bear to hear.

He lifted his head from the table to look at his brother, who was looking back, undecided between a glare or a look of pity.

"You are right."

"Of course," Isildur said. "You do lo--"

"I should not have left."

Isildur sighed, leaned on his forearms and pressed his forehead to Anárion's. "I know why you left; it would have been too painful to watch and not be able to intervene, do you think I do not know you? Worry not, you did not miss anything; Sauron seemed more interested in me than in her."

"What?" Anárion moved so abruptly that he bumped heads with Isildur and had to sink back onto the table, clutching his head to stop the fierce throbbing. "How so?"

"He asked all kinds of questions about Andúnië and our Grandfather, questions about our trade and our fields, the guilds that we belong to, why you chose to become an engineer and not follow the family trade, what degree of kinship we held with the King and Queen, why we had not manned any ship during the conquest..."

"What did you answer?"

"What I could. It was horrible being questioned in such a way, having to fight with this overwhelming urge to be unscrupulously truthful--"

"Say that again?"

"It was horrible--"

"No, no: an overwhelming urge to be truthful." Anárion rose from the table, walked to his small window that overlooked a small patch of a garden that he could not see in the darkness, turned back on his brother. "Was it different than any other conversation you may have had?"

Isildur bit his nail, a ridiculous habit for a grown man, but one that relieved his tension when his physical energy could find no other outlet. At last, he shook his head. "I wish it had been you and not me talking to him; you know what you are hoping to find best."

"I am not hoping to find anything in particular, only that--" and he let that trail for he did not quite know how to continue. "I am simply mistrustful of him. He styles himself the King of Men, yet suddenly is best friends with the man with the greater self-regard? I am missing something and, by the Valar, I am going to find it. What is his purpose in asking all those questions?"

Isildur shrugged his shoulders. "Get to know the enemy?"

"Do you think he would cause trouble for Atarinya Amandil?"

"How should I know? He seems so entirely harmless that I am forced to mistrust him; people are generally more nuanced."

"So you did not like him?"

Isildur let out a bitter laugh. "No, I did not, and for entirely selfish and immature reasons: He is richer than I, handsomer, the better speaker, and a superior dancer; not to mention that he possesses impeccable manners, will get a wife without having to go through the trouble of courting one, and is the owner of two coffers of gold and silver each."

"And a mithril necklace," added Anárion, ruefully, as he looked at his unadorned palms. The only jewelry he ever wore was his signet ring, and that was plain and understated. "So you could not find a legitimate reason to dislike him."

"None other than the fact that there was none. He was too careful to please everybody all throughout the evening, and never once volunteered any information about himself except when coaxed."

Anárion snorted. "Who coaxed him?"

Isildur looked away and coughed before he said, "Elenwë."

“Faced with the choice between changing one's mind and proving there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof."
-John Kenneth Galbraith

Dawn found the brothers sprawled upon the floor of Anárion's house, cups of tea half-drank, and a mess of leaves on the floor where Isildur had dropped the stone during their quarrel.

Anárion could not snatch a half hour's sleep together, but he did doze, minutes at a time that were cut short by nightmares and heartburn.

"We have heard much on the praise of Númenor, but naught of your own home, lord Sauron," Elenwë had asked.

The fool, headstrong woman! Why would she goad Sauron so, provoking him into disliking her so early on his sojourn here?

"Isil... Are you awake?" he probed into the twilight.

"Who could sleep with all the tossing and turning you have been doing?"

"Tell me again--"

"I have told you at least ten times!"

"Tell me again!" he insisted, partially sitting up. "Did he look at her differently after she asked? Did anyone remark upon it?"

"No. If anything, he seemed pleased by her question, and as though he tried to hide it for the King's benefit."

"And what did the King do?"

"Kept on eating."

"You see, that does not add up! A rebel exalting the praises of his land in front of a captor with whom he seeks to ingratiate himself?"

"Or at least he wanted us to think so."

"What does he want? What does he want?" Anárion asked, rising. "what is his purpose here?"

Isildur turned onto his other side, back to him. "If you act like a grown man and stay for the celebrations, you might find out more."

Anárion groaned.

If anything, the evening displays were even more lavish than the previous night's. To the tapestries that adorned the hall were added hundreds upon hundreds of flowers of every color imaginable in clusters and arrangements dotting the hall. There were more lights, louder music, more food, and more guests, if that was possible.

Rumor that the King would give a bride to the King of Middle-earth had spread, and entire families had flocked to the palace with their hopeful daughters to try their luck at catching a King for a husband.

"He was prisoner, vassal, and all of a sudden King again," Amandil laughed, though he was unsuccessful in disguising the bitter edge to his laughter.

"I wonder what Pharazôn will make of that," Elendil said, and added before disappearing amidst the crowd, "Try not to get a headache tonight, Anárion."

He had been forgiven for missing the blessing, or so he had been told, but he knew that nobody had believed the excuse he had given as his reason, and they would not let him forget it.

Just as well, he thought. If they will not believe me when I tell the truth, at least they bear it well. Let it be so for yet a while longer.

All day he had worked with the thought of Sauron at the back of his mind. It was wrong to let thoughts simmer so without firsthand information to nurture the flame; his imagination had conjured all sorts of terrible scenarios with different people falling victims to Sauron's malice, yet he had never exchanged word with him. From the accounts he had managed to collect in his wanderings through the city, Sauron was a tyrant. Fairness and objectivity demanded that he admit to the possibility of reformation; but, without punishment, where was Sauron's motivation for change? If he could not trust in his own theory of repentance, what could be hoped for of his people, when they tried to change? Still, he could not risk trusting an asp, and letting him harm those he cared for.

The festivities began on an interesting note: Emeldil was chosen to receive the honor of dining at the high table with the King and, for his lady, he had chosen Ríanwën, daughter of Talmacil, a lady both proud and lofty who could not stop looking around herself to see who was looking at her, and who, as fate would have it, did not even glance at Emeldil after he assisted her onto her chair: she was too busy fawning upon Sauron.

Every once in a while Emeldil would catch his eye and wink at him, clearly entertained; and, though Anárion could not approve the use of a lady in such a way and with such an object in mind, she was using Emeldil in turn.

Tonight, however, he had an important task to complete, and one that was likely to prove difficult despite the obvious rewards. Unsuccessfully, he thought now, he had tried to prepare by telling himself that he could not control the actions of others and that he should not try, that he should not pay so much attention to things outside of his control, that he was used to reading too much into things and that lines had to be drawn between his work and his life; but, as he caught sight of Elenwë dancing with the son of Hirgon, his resolve crumbled to naught.

He cursed under his breath, but he walked to her nonetheless, and tapped on Halador's shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said, forcing through a good-natured smile. Then, turning to Elenwë, "May I have this dance?"

"After I am finished," Halador was saying, but by the time he had finished, Anárion had whisked Elenwë away and out of his reach.

"That was not polite," she said, as she tested her hold on his shoulder.

"I will give him a biscuit and milk later."

"Neither is this."

He bit his lip, hard. With vexation, he realized that even her glare seemed delightful to him, which could explain why he went through so many fights with her over and over again, despite his many self-reproaches over them.

"I do not feel badly enough to apologize," he finally said as he whirled her about before starting the steps on the other end of the room. He thought he saw a small twitch at the corner of her lips. It was fleeting; he could not be certain whether it had been a smile or not.

"There is that, with you," she said, when the next twirl brought her back against his chest. He had to spin her around on the next move and their eyes met.

"What?" he asked, breathless.

"The absolute certainty that you will be truthful."

That made him miss a step and fail to catch her on the next twirl. Trying to make up for his lack of coordination with an increase in speed, he stepped fast and turned her twice, sending her on a fit of giggles. Contagious, delicious giggles.

"I am sorry," he said, as he took her hand again. "Misjudged... You used to not be embarrassed by these sorts of things."

"Still am not," she said, eyes alight. "You used to enjoy them yourself."

"Still do."

"But there is no time for such diversions?"

"Things are different now," he said, regretful at the sober turn their conversation had taken so quickly.

She smiled this time, a small, bittersweet smile that touched his heart with pain and longing.

"That is why you came, is it not? To dance with me... You have something to say to me."

He hated that she was right, and reluctantly nodded his assent.

"Well, let us get on with it," she said, with an air of resignation and custom that he found galling, "so that you can put this unpleasant task behind you."

"You willfully misunderstand much of what I say," he declared, stung, and letting it show. They turned the last time and, upon the halt in the music, she would have walked away, but he held her still until the dancing began anew and she could not leave without disturbing the other couples. She saw what he had done, and glared at him, but he received it without retort.

"Sometimes just asking will be enough to get you what you want," she said.

"Will you listen?"

After a moment's thought, she nodded.

"Then listen carefully, and try not to forget," Anárion said, mentally rephrasing his request in light of her stern agreement. "I want--No. I would ask you that you keep your guard up, try not to let people provoke you, while you talk to people unfamiliar to you."

"Whence does that come? I am sure I do not understand what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Think about last night," he said, holding her gaze before she spun around, away, in the pattern. It was her turn to falter, but he held her tightly before she fell, yet they missed the next turn. "Why did you ask him questions about himself, about his home? If he had not offered any information of his own accord, perhaps he wanted not to share any, and you made him do so. Men sometimes do not like to be gainsaid; they see it as humiliation."

"Does the act itself bother you, or the fact that a woman committed it? What would be the harm in my asking?"

"Naught, except that now you have marked yourself out for him a person of intelligence, and he will be unlikely to believe any further pretense from you, should it be necessary." A pause. "Why did you do it?"

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, yet she looked away. "He provoked me, with his sweetness and flattery and his incessant questions, as if I were one of those people that only want to hear themselves speak."

"He misjudged you, at least," Anárion said, holding onto her once more as the last chords of a faster-paced shanty died in the applause. "I wish you had not done it."

"It is done. Perhaps he will not want to talk to me again."

"I doubt that," he said. Their third piece together was just beginning and he led her in the steps once more, a slower, stately dance designed to exult the glory of the dancers. "Given the influential status of your family and the fact that he now personally knows two of you, I think he will want to find out whether you will be an asset or hindrance."

"To what?"

"To whatever plan he has."

"How can you know that? Maybe you need to stop thinking that everybody has a plan. That is what gives you heartburn."

"Oh, he has one," he said, but then, "How do you know that I have heartburn?"

"Eranion."

Anárion bit his lip in frustration. "I have things to worry about at work that cause me unwanted anxiety. Be it as it may, could you not hold your tongue for a half hour together?"

"Perhaps you should hold your tongue now," she said, with a glare and a sway of the hip, and then, under her breath, "I have a feeling that this will turn into something neither of us wants."

"I heard that."

"Good," she said, seemingly emboldened by his reticence and unwillingness to come back at her with a witty reply. "Good, indeed, for you always have much to say and to advice, and never bother to explain why, only assuming that you will be heard for the talking."

"Does it bother you that I know things, that I have opinions? Would you have me be like Halador, a cozened puppet who does nothing except when told?"

"Of course not!" she cried, stomping with her fist on his chest. "I love your strength and courage and your concern for other people, your wholeheartedness and your wrath before injustice, but you are too condescending and quickly angered when your half-explained commands are not carried out exactly how you wanted them, and--"

"I asked you! I asked you nicely to refrain from calling attention to yourself."

"I never call attention to myself."

"You do it all the time."

"I could never tell."

"Well, begin realizing it now," he said, holding her, perhaps, a little tighter than he should have, as they moved across the floor. "You always have someone watching you, wanting to be close to you, maybe even wanting to take advantage of you--"

"That is why I can think, and do it continually! I am not the dullard that you think me, Anárion."

"I never thought you a dullard, but you are obstinate and willful."

"Stop right now," she said, ceasing her dancing, struggling to break free from him and, frustrated by her lack of success, resorting to step on his foot with the heel of her shoe. He released her, bit back a gasp of pain, but she heard it, nonetheless, and her anger blurred quickly into worry and concern.

For a few minutes they stood thus, wills clashing into and against each other as she offered silent apology and concern, while he refused to take it, making himself oblivious to the hurt. He could have still have her within the circle of his arms, for all she moved. Finally, she rubbed at her frown. "You are absolutely right: It takes an obstinate woman to pursue a friendship that does not work anymore; a willful, stupid girl to think that she can be an equal with you--" and with that she turned around and walked away, towards the doors.

He followed closely behind, wending his way amid dancing couples, parents, chaperones, servants, trays of food and drink, and was able to reach her at the steps leading outside without any major incident.

"Where are you going?" he cried. "All alone? There is danger in the streets--"

"Yes, danger that I do not know nor can ever dream of--"

"That is not idle talk, Elenwë!" he said, trying to outrun her. Whatever he did, it worked, for she stopped running and turned to face him. "When I say those things, I do so because I care for you, because I want you safe!"

"And what am I supposed to do? Take it all in stride without wondering how you come by such knowledge, without worrying about how you know? Without wanting to find out more?"

"Find out more, for what? That is not what I ask of you, I never wanted you in danger."

"What you ask of me? Never mind what I want!" Something seemed different with her, akin to the olden days when they ran together in the meadows of her house in the Emerië, wild, beautiful. "Yet, I tell you, I have never been in danger, though I would not mind it if it helped--"

"Is that why you turned Sauron's questions back to him?"

"He kept on asking about you and your family, what you did and why, how old you were, your inclinations, your dreams... Why did he want to know? It was the price of his harassment, and a small one at that. He is a prisoner; he has no right to make himself a lord."

"Listen to yourself, Elenwë, I know you do not mean that! You do not believe in prisoners nor slaves."

"I do not believe in slaves, but I believe in prison if one is a danger to others."

"Is he a danger?" Anárion asked, daring to come close to her and take her by the shoulders, softened by the touch of silk he found there. That was what was different! Her hair was no longer prim like her Aunt wanted to make it these days, but it was coming lose and dangled in tendrils round her face; it took all his restraint not to reach for one to tangle around his finger. If anyone ever hurts her... Valar, I truly do not know what I would do, what I would be capable of doing! The thought made him thrum with suppressed agony. "Did he do anything to frighten you?"

She looked away. It took him a few moments to realize that she was fighting to hold back tears. Tipping her chin, he tried to make her look at him, but she closed her eyes and shrugged him away.

"Elenwë..." he insisted, aware of how vital to his well-being it was that she told him what was wrong, at the same time certain that he was going the wrong way about it. And, unsure of what the right way was, he did what his heart urged him to do: reach to dry the tears that should escape unbidden. Taking her face in his hands, battling against the sensation that the soft skin created under his hardened fingers, he leaned in to say, "If he, or anybody else, ever does anything--"

That made her turn to look at him full in the face, eyes bright but determined, and a hair-breadth away from his own. "Do you think I would tell you, knowing what you are likely to do--likely to risk--without telling me about it?"

That was a bold stroke that made him physically flinch, and she took that chance to run away. Once more, he followed her, and was able to reach her at the corridor that led to the gardens.

"If he ever does anything to hurt you, I will make sure he never has a chance to do so again," he said, managing to hold on to the ribbon in her sleeve in his attempt to hold her arm. "What did he do?"

"Nothing!" she cried, again rounding on him and shrugging his hand away. "He did nothing, but his look is such that I do not doubt he would, should he have to. I do not like him one bit, and I cannot wait for him to leave the island. The longer he stays, the more time he will have to know and to sweeten people to himself, and there is something about him that seems dangerous and foul."

"What--what do you mean?"

"Oh, I know not what I mean," she said, for once doubtful and irresolute, jaw aquiver in frustration. "If one seems to be too perfect, would you not suspect imperfection?" She looked around her, where people thronged about them in hopes of getting inside, then looked at him with that frightened, confused look he was not used to seeing. "I am sorry I did not do as you asked... No, I really am not, it would be dishonest to ask forgiveness for that, but I am sorry if I hurt your feelings; that is the last thing I have ever wanted to do, though it seems I manage it quite well."

She ducked away and ran down the stairs, her hair finally aflutter behind her in a cloud of midnight. Anárion ran after her, but people coming in made his progress slow, and he finally had to cry to call her attention.

"It is not about me!" he said, trying to make himself heard above the crowd. "It does not matter what happens to me!"

"Not to you, stubborn, selfish man that you are," she cried back, without stopping. "We shall never agree on this, so we better leave it at that."

"Selfish, stubborn! I am not--Why?"

"Because your condescension frustrates me and my stubbornness irritates you. I will not change, so I cannot expect change of you."

"Elenwë--"

"Goodbye, Anárion," she said, and disappeared behind the outer wall as a carriage drove right in front of him, separating him from her. When he reached the gates, she was gone.

He walked to her house, but not once did he see her on the way, and he dared not seek a visit so late, nor try to climb up to her room like they all had done so many times when they were children. Somehow, it seemed inappropriate now, forbidden.

Back at the palace, when he first lost sight of her, he had bent low to retrieve a hair pin--one of the few she must have lost in the wake of their argument. It occurred to him now that perhaps, should he retrieve the lost pins, it would give him an excuse to see her again, to make things right. With that thought in mind, he retraced his way to the palace, all the while aware that it was all but impossible that he would find them again, lost in the crowd, taken by stragglers who recognized the value of the pearls, yet something compelled him to try. He managed to find seven.

Hair pins in hand, he returned to her house and there waited outside her window many hours, hoping for he knew not what. When it became clear that she had not come back here, and that he was a fool to wait, only to hide when she did appear, he decided to leave.

He did not go to his own home, either.

"I am not selfish!" he cried as he soaked his hands into the paste, crushing the random bits and pieces of old, used things that would become his paper. "If I were selfish, like everybody seems so bent on telling me, I would not be here keeping company with inks and quills and nightmares that might come true." He crushed harder. "If I were really selfish, I would not care to denounce any of the injustice, any of it! Would not care to save any of them! Let them all go to darkness! Whence they are headed, anyway..."

His hands stopped, head hung over his chest as he worked on the implications of what he was wishing, even merely in anger, upon his people, and it filled him with shame.

Nigh on four years ago, he had discovered what real toil and suffering were, where was his people's foolishness leading them all. And his conscience had demanded that he found a way to fight it, to prevent it, to help preserve at least a remnant of something worth-saving against the storm--for the aftermath. He struggled against the thought for days, to the point of weakness. He knew that his family disapproved of the government but would not seek any active measures beside the attempts to sway the King's mind. He could not wait for that unlikely event, at the same time that he understood his grandfather's need for secrecy: should he be revealed an Elf-friend, and in opposition to the King, how many people would lose the chance of help that Amandil's influence provided? Anárion was but a student, his sphere of influence as limited as his means, but he was smart: he could sacrifice some of his time to inform all who would read of what the King and his government were really doing to Númenor.

That was how The Star was born--a clandestine collection of random information gathered through carefully guarded sources, and as carefully distributed once a month, among all the Elf-friends he was sure were still loyal to the Valar. Alas, it was so very hard to be sure of anything now. Elbereth, even he was a pretender, kinsman to the King by day, feeding fires to the division by night. What was he, in truth, doing, and why?

Angrily, his hands began to move, crushing at will, only barely aware that, should he crush too hard, the paste would be ruined. It angered him that, even know, he suffered bouts of doubt and despondency over his choice.

"It is wrong to betray one's country!" he cried to the early twilight. And yet, was not Pharazôn the traitor, willing to run over his people and his country for his pride and greed? No matter what people thought, a King was not his kingdom--the people were! If Pharazôn threatened his people by creating division among them, policies that created inequality and strife, diverted the channels of wealth to support war in the colonies and establish even more tyranny there, enslaved his own fellow citizens and as nearly as enslaved others, changed laws arbitrarily and without support, swayed the loyalties of the Númenóreans to the unknown, and had now brought a tyrant into their midst--

The image of Elenwë's face as she spoke of Sauron came to his mind, how the corners of her lips had curled in distaste, how she had let him hold her through the recollection. He had not been as close to her since they had faced her father's wrath for failing to secure the rafts back at the ship whence they had taken them--rafts that, for their lack, could have endangered the crew of the Swift Swan, going on twelve years ago. Even now he cursed his thoughtlessness that could have killed some of the sailors had they met with a storm at sea. But, deep within his heart he also held the memory of Elenwë's glittering eyes, the tinkling of her laughter as they raced each other off the quay; and, later, the feel of her body next to his as she recoiled from her father's wrath, the way his arm had rested protectively around her shoulder when he faced her father and took the blame before she stood between them to take the blame herself. It struck him that, even then, his efforts to shield her were thwarted by her own attempts to shield him in turn.

He heaved a grunt as he came across a large clump that resisted his efforts and set his will to crush harder. Why could she not be quiet and let him care for her?

The old door creaked, startling him into action. He seized a mace that he kept nearby when he was here, working on The Star, but his hands were wet and slippery and the mace fell on his foot.

"Fire and ashes!" he cried, in time that he leaped to the door to bar the intruder's entrance. "State your purpose!"

"Light of El--'Tis only I, Anárion!"

"Ah," he said, striving to curb his anger at this unexpected jumpiness that had cost him a bruise, likely--hopefully not a limp! "Arandar... I would not have expected you so early today."

"I could say the same of you," Arandar said, but the slant of his eyes told Anárion that he had been fully expecting to find him here.

For a while, they said nothing. Arandar quietly set about retrieving the pages they had set out to dry the last time they had been here, then to ready the red ink and quills to add the titles. When he had begun work on The Star, Anárion had not foreseen that he would ever have someone to help him, had not wished for it, thinking that it would upset the balance of secrecy that he needed to maintain to keep it afloat. But, Arandar's accidental discovery of his activities had opened a new, deeper friendship to them both, filling many voids in his life that he had not been aware were there, and creating new possibilities for the paper's distribution, at the same time that it allowed them both to maintain the face they needed to present to the world if they hoped to continue running this underground web of information.

Every once in a while, Arandar would steal a glance at him, only to look furtively away when he saw himself caught. It soon managed to irritate him quite thoroughly, enough to make him say, "Speak now, before I grind you to a pulp also."

A brow rose, more in amusement than vexation. His eyes fixed on the small heap of pearls by Anárion's water table, and Anárion knew himself discovered. Heaving a sigh, he brushed hair away from his face.

"There is something to be said for having hair long enough to be pushed back with a twine," he said, casually.

Another of Arandar's glances to the pearl pins. "Perhaps you could use one of these to secure it away from your face," he said, lifting one up, perfunctorily examining it before offering it back to him. "Pearl and sapphire, dotted with diamonds. Did Eralmir gift these to you?"

Anárion realized that he was baring his teeth like a savage, and forced himself to close his mouth.

"Eralmir and his house do not own the right to the use of those three stones together."

"Do you mean to tell me that you were out last night carousing with someone else?"

Swift as lightning, he snatched the pin from Arandar's grasp. "I do not carouse."

"Oh. So it is something serious. No wonder Elenwë left in such a frightful hurry."

"What?" he said, dropping the pin onto the paper paste in his astonishment. "Curse today!" he cried, quickly setting to find the hair pin in the rubble of pulp. Contrite, Arandar put hands to work to help him.

They were not finding it.

"Like everything of its mistress!" he cried, stumping with his fist and making a splash of the water, "Always eluding me like a fool."

"Not a fool, but a--"

"Do not dare say anything further," Anárion said, raising a warning finger.

"I would not, friend," Arandar replied, laying a hand on Anárion's shoulder, squeezing in a reassuring way, "but I can see how much this quarrel has affected you. Is there naught that can be done?"

"Did everybody see that?"

"I saw that you left running behind her and, when I went out to find you, I saw you both arguing."

"Did you hear aught?"

"Very little. There was too much noise drifting out from the hall."

Anárion felt himself sag. "If Sauron overheard, he will now have a weapon to wield against me! The only reason why--"

But Arandar's gentle shake prevented him from pursuing the thought. "Do not be eager to see spears were only reeds sway in the breeze. Sauron may be cunning, but he is still tethered."

"Did Isildur tell you what he thought of him, of what they spoke?"

"Not much, but he did say that arm's length was not distance enough to be away from him. He was worried that Pharazôn had brought him here. Of course he had read in The Star the accounts of some of the soldiers who were there in Middle-earth, how Sauron had embarked for Númenor constrained, and could not reconcile it with the obliging guest he saw at the King's high table."

"If Pharazôn himself does not see it..."

"We still do not know what may happen. Let us wait."

"I cannot wait while I have such awful misgivings. Reading and writing all these accounts of betrayal and peril has made me mistrustful and fearful. I cannot trust that things will straighten themselves of their own accord; certainly not when Elenwë could be used a bait for Sauron."

"Do you think the King would prefer to offer her to a vassal than to allow Eralmir to make a more advantageous alliance for both of them? The King himself would receive a better tax for the transfer of property, and for forfeiting his rights to the land as kinsman; besides, they have neighboring property somewhere, do they not?"

"The Emerië," Anárion said, cocking a hip against the table. "I think that the King would use whomever he thinks he can control the best. If he thinks Eralmir will play into his hand, he will doubtless pursue the match. If Elenwë tickles Sauron's fancy--"

"I admit that she would tickle any man's fancy," Arandar interrupted, pausing briefly to clear his throat, "but, so far, I have not seen Sauron display any inclination toward any particular woman. If you ask me, it is rather the men--" Anárion raised a brow at that, but Arandar only shrugged. "What I meant to say was that I doubt Sauron to be the kind of man who would allow emotions to get in the way for him. Honestly, I do not think he is pursuing any sort of match, yet."

"Then all I have to do," Anárion said, after a long silence marked only by a snort at Arandar's meaningful yet, "is make sure that no one thinks Eralmir's family important." He then gave a rueful chuckle at his own suggestion. "Easier said than done."

Arandar drew himself down onto a chair and flattened his palms over his thighs, eyes fixed on Anárion's face. Anárion did not know whether to feel uncomfortable or offended, but he found that, if he looked away, he would concede defeat in whatever game they were playing, and that he was loath to do.

"Could I speak to you, as a friend?" Arandar finally asked, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Anárion nodded, folding arms across his chest.

Arandar sighed, raked both hands through his hair, then folded arms across his chest, mirroring him. "Even though I was always Isildur's friend to you when we were young, I have grown to esteem you as my own, and I thank the Valar for opening my eyes to your worth, for I would still look upon you as Anar, Isildur's little brother, were it not for this," he gestured around them, "that brought us together. Not only for this, but for the love I bear you and yours do I venture to say what I am about to say; I sincerely hope you will not take it amiss."

Arandar waited long enough for Anárion to give his assent before stretching his hand to take one of the hair pins. Anárion had to restrain himself not to prevent him, and Arandar saw it, for he set it back with a small, apologetic smile.

"Elenwë is a fully-grown woman, Anárion," he said, eyes once again fixed on his. "Being older than you, I remember watching you both, partners in mischief and play alike, thinking that there was not a fonder friendship, no matter that she was a girl. Hitting those awkward years was no deterrent to it, not even maturity, for which I rejoiced, for I thought that she was good for you, and you for her: she gave you the attention and consideration that your youth, and a charismatic brother always denied you, and you gave her the same, denied to her by her being born a strong woman, and the youngest in a house of strong men. Whatever happened between you to tear the companionship, whatever you do now to mend it, I need not know about it; but I tell you this: she is strong and capable and does not need to be shielded by you. From watching you both, I believe she is growing to resent it."

"But she does not know--could not possibly now--the dangers out in the world, and I cannot tell them all to her," he protested, springing on Arandar like a coiled snake. "Do you think I have not thought long on it? Warning her, pleading with her... It is the only way."

"Or leaving it alone."

"That I could never do. Do you not remember that story we received, of that guildmaster who had lost his station for selling rotten fish to the King's Men and who blamed the lords of Rómenna for his misfortune? Do you not remember how we could not print it all, lest we reveal our source, but how it was known that he sheltered near Eralmir and how a fey mood seized him when he looked the way of the house of Erassuil? I nearly undid myself with worry; I could not sleep; I confess I took to stalking Eralmir's house until the man had been seized and tried for his murder of his accuser." Anárion left the table and moved to pace the room, so small and cluttered that five strides one way, three another, were all he could manage.

"It was all unnecessary, Anárion," came Arandar's voice, small, tentative, to his right.

"I would have done it even had my Grandfather forbidden it as the head of our house," he said, leaning forward to look at Arandar while he removed pulp that had stuck to his fingers and tossed it back onto the pool. "Physically, I think it would have been impossible to restrain me."

"Which is why I wonder whether you yourself know what you are doing."

"And what may that be?"

Arandar rose, offered him a rag to wipe his hands, laid the other hand on his shoulder once more but, this time, it seemed to Anárion that he was being restrained. "It is not your right, Anárion. Fathers protect children. Brothers protect sisters." Then, haltingly, "Husbands protect wives."

Anárion understood it, or thought he did. "You mean to say that I am none of those things, but I am her friend, though we be estranged now. Will you look me in the eye and tell me that friends do not protect friends?"

"Listen to yourself. Yes, friends do protect friends in a relationship of equals." Anárion felt Arandar's other arm fall heavily on his shoulder, seizing through cloth until it found muscle, then gripping tightly. "Equals, Anárion, where both would risk for the other alike, and be grateful, grieved, but accepting of the sacrifice. Is this what you offer Elenwë?"

By now, Arandar was gripping so tightly that it had begun to bother him, or, at least, that is what Anárion told himself. He shrugged off the hold and moved back to the water table, Arandar an insistent presence behind him.

"If," he began, a little uncertainly, "If what you offer is something more, mayhap Elenwë does not know, is uncertain how to understand you."

"What I offer Elenwë is what I have always offered her."

"If so, friend, then you must cease your selfishness and allow her to grow."

"I have had enough of that word!" he cried, tossing the wet rag to the floor and advancing to meet Arandar. "I must be rather mentally deficient, for here I thought I was making a great sacrifice when everybody else sees me as the greedy, selfish character in the play. Since I decided to step forward and speak about the many injustices I saw, I have been steadily losing things that were important to me--the only thing, the only thing I have gained has been your friendship, and for it I would lose it all again. If, despite it all, I am still a selfish man--"

"Anárion. No one who knew could deny how great a sacrifice you have made, but in this matter, at least, you are selfish. Like you hoard those pins, you would hoard her light--"

"Elenwë cannot possibly be hoarded. She is too strong for that, too magnificent. I only want her safe, like I would want you safe, or Isildur."

"But you would allow us to do the same for you, yet you do not allow it of her. As you are consumed in your anxiety on her behalf, so is she consumed in her anxiety for you, anxiety that you selfishly prevent her from relieving, only because you fear she will come to harm."

"What is wrong with that?"

"You have no right. As her friend, you cannot demand such meekness from such a strong character. It is selfish to--"

"I am not selfish!" he cried, dipping both hands forcefully into the pulp.

"Well," Arandar said, dragging the word, slapping his thighs as though to say he had done his part. "Clearly, an argument against you cannot be won. Your pride in yourself is not ill-placed for, Valar knows, I have never met a keener, cleverer, yet more kind-hearted person in my whole life. But, for all your shrewdness, you do not know everything."

"I have never set myself for such an honor," he said, taking his hand out from the pulp to shake it at Arandar. "And, if you must know, I do not hoard those ridiculous pins. She dropped them last night and I merely gathered them to be returned. If I do not find the missing one..."

"Your worry is clouding your judgment. Do you not know that we will find it quickly enough once we pour the pulp through the strainer?"

A groan escaped him. "I will make sure Elenwë knows she has you to thank for that."

"So the pins really are Elenwë's? Oh, Anárion, Anárion, do not--"

"I am not selfish," he cried, desperately clinging to a futile, ridiculous, immature argument, solely because, if he did not, he felt himself close to tears of anger and frustration. "I am not! If I were really selfish, I would not be here crushing pulp while my brother and every other bachelor in Númenor are still sleeping off an entertaining night; I would not be struggling against a tight, clustered, over-proud guild of ship-builders, to let them see why they should make room for me among their ranks; would not care to carve me a future--my Father should take care of that, should he not?--would certainly not care about the futures of other people. Let every man fend for himself!"

"What would you be doing now, then?" Arandar asked.

Anárion chose to ignore the tinge of amusement that colored his friend's question to reply, after a slight pause. "I would be getting married."

"Why, marriage!"

"Before the world ends."

"Our thoughts are a little dark today," Arandar said, and added, as an afterthought, "Pray, to whom?"

"To whomever," Anárion answered, in a tone that broke no argument nor comment. The next time either of them spoke, it was to bid each other farewell before they traveled home to ready themselves for the evening feast.

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”
-Mother Teresa

Disturbing thoughts still bothered him when he left the shop, and he found that he felt quite reluctant to go home and face his family's questioning regarding his whereabouts and his strange behavior of the past few days. To answer to them, he would have to lie, and he hated doing that. Well-aware that his humble push to strengthen the Faithful could cost him more than he was ready to lose if he also estranged himself from his family, he decided to make his way to the shipyards.

Shipyards, used loosely, for these were merely a place where the shipbuilding masters allowed the students to test their skill and work on their projects--rather, scramble to finish with the crude tools they could find. A real shipyard was a meticulously organized operation, where even the meanest of materials was carefully inspected--shipbuilding masters allowed no mistakes, and were little tolerant of interruptions once their work had begun.

The student yards, on the other hand, were a disarray of wood and iron and cloth and all kinds of garbage that accumulated, and where people swarmed in and out in search for something useful, sometimes even work. But today, it was nearly deserted. Except for the figure in the dark green dress that stood precisely in front of Vinyelotë. His heart began racing when the familiar thrill of awareness swept over him.

"Elenwë," he called as he stopped a few feet away--a mere whisper, but the wind must have carried it to her, for she turned abruptly, eyes wide, and took a step back.

"I never thought you would come here today," she said, defensively, avoiding his face.

"I am not sure why you would think it," he said, taking one step forward. "This is my ship."

"I know."

"How could you possibly know?"

She looked back at Vinyelotë; when she faced him once more, she surveyed him with a raised brow and folded arms. "It is the only organized corner in this... wreck."

Later, when her cheeks were pink-stained and she could not stop wringing her hands together, he wished that he could have controlled his outburst a little better, but it was difficult, when Elenwë stated her critique to his face and in such a blunt, straightforward way, to control his laughter.

"Forgive me," she said, in a too-certain tone that was easily belied by her nervous fidgeting. "The feat is that anybody manages to get anything built here. There are remains of old food lying about, did you know? And dogs."

"How long have you been here?" he asked, looking around him to see if anybody had left any old food about his corner.

"Long enough," she said, turning from him to look at his ship. Watching her there, tall and straight amid the rubble of the shipyard, it was hard to tell what emotions assailed him then--surprise, certainly; but, there were other things: embarrassment, curiosity, relief, anger, fear... Of late, every time she brushed against his life, he was hurt in some way, if only by watching her leave it yet one more time. Isildur had once accused him of leaving Andúnië to be closer to her. Now, standing beside her, trying unsuccessfully to still the emotions she always provoked, he wondered what could have possessed him-- He relished his control and self-possession, and she made it hard for him to hold on to either.

He was just about to ask her why she had come--this was the first time since his move to Rómenna that she had sought him out--when she turned to him and said, "I want to understand."

That took him by surprise. "Understand what?" The ship, the construction, my choice to become something when, materially, I need it not?

"You." She looked back at the ship. "Your motivations, your fears, what drives you now. When Sauron asked me, I was angry that he presumed to pry; but I think, now, that I was angry because I did not know the answers." A quick, fleeting, sorrowful glance that barely touched him, outwardly, but managed to wreak havoc inside. "I thought I would find my answers here."

"And?" he made himself ask.

She shook her head. "Although now I know why you spend so much time at work," she said, trying to quell a small smile. "It must take you at least half the day to find a hammer."

He managed to control himself better this time, so as not to embarrass her. Offering her his arm, he watched as she changed the object she held from her right to her left to take it and, when it caught the sunlight and glimmered, he stretched his hand and took it from her.

"One of your hair pins?"

"I dropped it, by mistake."

"But you are not wearing blue today." Realization hit him and, predictably, his restraint gave way. "You came here last night--here, of all places!"

"If it were unsafe, they would not let any of you work here."

"It was dark, and you alone!"

"Hardly," she sighed, as she began to make her way toward the steps, assuming, surely, that he would follow. "This place is rather crowded at night."

"You could have been robbed."

"I made friendship with a nice young couple, from Andúnië. He is here to apprentice with the builders and was here, showing her his work."

"You cannot believe everything people tell you--they could have been deceiving you."

"Anárion," she said, with a hint of a glare, "some things you just know with your heart."

The mood grew thoughtful then, and he took this chance to try, if she would let him, to help her up a difficult patch of terrain, all the while biting back his dread at her having been alone there the previous night. She sensed it, however, for she said, "I would never risk myself in a foolish way, Anárion, but I had nowhere else to go. All the streets were full of people in festival attire, and a group of Elendili were dancing just beyond there," she pointed to a spot where the remains of a bonfire had been left, perhaps waiting for tonight.

"You could have gone home." I waited for you there.

"Where everyone would have been waiting for me to demand explanations for our argument."

"Did they not demand them today?"

"Today, I was ready to give them." A pause, a sly, sidelong glance. "Did you go home?"

He was forced to shake his head in denial and see, with vexation, a slight curling of her lips where she tried to suppress a smile.

"What are we doing?" she finally asked, flinging her arms beside her in frustration, a gesture he had not seen from her in a very long time, and which put him in mind of the old days. That tiny frown between her eyes had surfaced, and her head was tilted in that perfect angle that seemed at once shy and defiant. "I hate fighting, but it seems like the only thing we can do. Why?"

Because it is easy. Because we are used to it. "Because it keeps us from thinking about other things," he said, suddenly dropping her arm as he helped her up in his surprise to hear his thought spoken aloud.

She was taken aback, too, and turned searching for the support of his arm at the same time he withdrew it. He tried to rectify his mistake, too late; she had turned from him and was trying to clamber up by herself while holding onto her shawl and fighting the winds as she went--fighting him away from her.

"I am sorry," he said, hastening beside her. "I know not why I said that."

"No need to be sorry. I know well what you meant, what your other things are," and she said it with such a clipped, hurt tone, that he had but to think that, in truth, she did not.

The steps up this way had become quite steep and narrow and, with her skirts getting in the way, she found herself having to use her arms, as well, to be able to remain standing. As always, when Elenwë was concerned, a certain tenderness bubbled over him, even at their most stubborn moments. He caught her by the waist and elbows as she stumbled and pressed her back against him in a completely unexpected gesture for both of them.

"I am glad you did not drop me just now, like you did earlier," she said, "startled."

"Do not speak of what you know not. I know I am many things, stubborn and persistent among them, but if I ever urge you to do something, to avoid certain places or people, it is because I know that they can harm you."

"How do you know?" she asked, trying to turn, but finding it impossible without losing her balance by his hold on her and the narrowness of the steps.

"Is that all that bothers you? How I know, and why you do not?"

"Yes! No! Oh, do put me up at once! I tire of the many ways you make me stumble over what I feel and what I try to say."

"If it makes you happy."

The gasp of surprise that followed the now-forgotten words made it useless for her to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes, so she did not try. Dutifully he helped her up the steps, and not without emotion for, in truth, Anárion could not say what brought to mind the familiar refrain he ever regaled her with in the days of their youth together, and it made him wistful, and bitter, and resentful of whatever it was that had driven them apart.

There was no gratitude for his help with the steps beyond a backward self-conscious glance and a blush. They were up on the main road, surveying the shipyards from the top, and it seemed like, once again, they had exhausted their stores of things to say to each other, when he heard her whisper, "Oh, it is no use," and then, looking slightly up at him, said, "What I really should have said is that I am jealous of this mistress that keeps you away from us all. Jealous, I say..." and there she stammered, covered her mouth with her fingers, "I think it must be the right word."

Because he had to strain to hear the last, he could not give credit to what he heard. "Mistress?"

"It may not be a woman," she said, and it sounded to him doubtful, seeking reassurance, "but something does drive you away, does not let you speak, makes you fearful and mistrustful... Oh, Anárion, will you not tell me what it is? I thought you sought to curb my freedom, and I could not understand why when you had always encouraged it. I grew resentful because you would not treat me with the truth, and I began to see the hints and the admonitions as the problem, when they were only symptoms of it. What is wrong? Please, tell me; let me help." She took his hands earnestly and, conscious of the sudden passion that flared in her eyes and in her voice, looked away as if to try to steady herself to finish as she had began. "If you will not let me help when the real crisis comes to the fore, how can I ever call myself your friend?"

If a man had ever felt himself powerless and ready to succumb to a force greater than his own will, it was he, standing before Elenwë as she pled with him to do the one thing he knew he wanted, the one thing he could not do, for it meant revealing all the truth about this Mistress that she named, and that he could not do. To do so, would mean to thrust her into all sorts of risks that he would rather die before placing her in them; even if, to refuse, meant the possibility of losing her presence in his life forever. Feeling undone at the prospect of the bleak future before him, he did what he could: taking her hands back in his, he looked straight into her eyes, pouring all his earnestness into his glance.

"It is Númenor I serve," he said, revealing infinitely more than he had ever hoped to do, even knowing that it was too little, "or at least I hope one day it will be proved so. Númenor, and my conscience."

As he had expected, that did nothing to assuage her fears but, rather, increased them. She moved closer to him, to study him better.

"That is all I can give you, Elenwë , no matter what I want."

"And what do you want? I do not think you would tell me, even if you could." She sighed and looked away to where the sun was lowering in the horizon. "I wish we could go back to the simpler days before being grown and having things to prove--before that beard and before prim dresses and gowns, before all this turmoil--"

But he could not let her go on, for she teetered on the brink of something that bordered on finality, and for that he was not prepared.

"So do I," he said, hoping that it sounded earnest but knowing that it had come out a whisper. "I do wish it with all my heart, but let us stop now, for to go on requires time and energy which we do not now have. Elenwë, do not dismiss me yet," and he took her hands in his, and kissed them on impulse. Her breath hitched and there was something hopeful in her glance that filled him. Maybe things would go well, after all.

For all that he had hurried, he was late. Late enough, he saw, for his family to have been presented, as the herald was already reading the introductions from the bottom of the parchment. He had insisted on seeing Elenwë to her house, despite her negative on account that he would not have time to make it back to ready himself. Of course, she had been right, but how could he let her go alone when they had made more progress in that half hour than they had in years of fighting and snapping at each other? He had missed her, and wanted to hold on to the warmth he felt for as long as he could.

Anárion cursed under his breath, searching the room to find his family, to gauge their mood at his tardiness--there would be much questioning and reprimanding when they finally got their hands on him--but could not find them among the sea of color; what he did find was Sauron, regarding him curiously from his place beside the King. The familiarity of the glance made him stiffen, for, even though he knew that he should be disturbed at his daring, he felt charmed instead.

Sauron sat at the high table, oddly, ominously, to the King's right. When their gazes met, he inclined his head and sent him a smile--a warm, friendly, complicitous thing that seemed misplaced, given that they had never conversed together, and had never shared a single secret, but there it was. Anárion found himself smiling back, bowing his head before he had had a chance to think through his response, unsure of why that smile had felt like a boon and not an insult, and deciding to lay the blame on the almost contradictory emotions of excitement and anxiety, added to the strain of not having slept.

Lack of sleep would not be a problem for him tonight, he thought. Quite unconsciously done, he knew, but the earnest way Elenwë had spoken and looked at him had filled his whole being with hope of something, he knew not what, but it was deliciously thrilling, and he had felt so worn and wary of late.

He decided to leave the matter of Sauron be for a while, determined that tonight, for a change, he would do something to please himself first. Striding down the stairs into the hall was not difficult despite the throng--he had not felt so confident and exhilarated in years! And then, the heightened awareness he felt when Elenwë was near made him turn to his right, where she stood near one of the columns to the side, a little aloof a cluster of girls who were laughing and looking around them, waiting. At that precise instant, she turned to him, their eyes met, and something did travel between them, for he saw his own emotions mirrored on her face. She had done her head in that lose, glossy style that she had favored all those years ago, with no other adornment than daisies and lissuin to set off the loveliness of her raven hair. He liked it. He found that he liked it extremely, and moved to tell her so at once, but it was she who spoke first.

"The beard," she whispered, half-giggling, half-gaping.

"Do you like it?" he asked, touching his beardless chin as if realizing, for the first time, what he had done.

"I liked the beard too--I only meant... This is nice, Anárion."

"You look nice."

She looked at herself, gave a tiny, becoming shrug. "Crimson. You have always liked crimson."

"I like it on you," he said, feeling bold, for once, but suddenly discomfited as the trumpets blared and people made way and some man--Menelvagil son of Mardil, as it turned out to be, the King's esteemed secretary, son of the King's chief of staff--walked to Elenwë and stretched his hand to her.

She was frozen to the spot, both numb and deaf to what went on, and only able to look from the outstretched hand before her, to Anárion at her left. He was as perplexed as she, and paid dearly for it; for, just as he moved to seize her away, Menelvagil reached for her hand and whisked her to the high table.

It seemed Fate had dealt him a cruel hand today.

Isildur found him, for, as he realized later, after Elenwë had left he had been so stunned that he had not moved. His eyes followed her up the dais where she exchanged curtsies and pleasantries with the high folk before being seated two seats away from Sauron. Anárion had the sinking feeling that Sauron had the wit to look at him instead, and tell the reason for his numbness, even if he himself could not, and cursed himself for his weakness. If he wanted to preserve the chance to protect Elenwë that his instincts told him he might need, he needed to rally and move away, but he could not do it, until he felt Isildur's hand on his shoulder.

"There is no way that would ever progress to anything," Isildur said, nodding to the dais. "Elenwë could never care for that idiot."

"In this world, what women care for rarely matters."

"Eralmir would not be such a fool."

Anárion had to laugh at that. "There are ways to persuade people to do even the most unthinkable things."

The comfort of Isildur's hand on his shoulder withdrew, and his brother stood regarding him with a keen, disapproving glance that he found hard to withstand.

"You have become very cynical and mistrustful since you came here. I am all the more sorry, for I miss my cheerful brother."

"When you have seen as much as I have, it is hard not to let it weigh you down."

"Then do not see it."

"I will forget that I ever heard you say that, Isildur."

They could have stood there, glaring at each other until the party was over, but Eranion and Arandar joined them. Arandar clasped hands with Isildur, but his eye went to Anárion, instead, as did Eranion's. Why that should irritate him like it did, he could not say; but, he did know that it felt stifling to have so many people worrying and pitying him and not knowing why.

"I am sure Eralmir had never considered that option," Eranion said, with a sidelong glance at him, followed by a longer one at his sister. "It must have been the flowers; she looks so fresh and different today, was almost happy when we set out. My Aunt had a fit, but she would not change nor undo her hair."

"Elenwë is too old to be ordered about," said Isildur. "But she does look beautiful. Some girls here could use some of that fresh glow."

"I should hope so," Eranion said, with a frown. "That way, the men would get distracted with them and they would leave my sister alone. I am not too fond of Menelvagil, though Eralmir seems to be; he is always too much bent on what is right and proper, and never has any fun."

"He is a grown man, Eranion. And so are you," said Isildur.

"Sometimes it does one good to forget that. Did you know that he forfeited the races last spring because he could not afford to waste any time with training? Business was going too well, he said; but I think that he could not put a team together. He makes himself the boss too often."

They went on talking in this manner for a while, but Anárion only half-heard any of it. When he could not withstand the tension of words unsaid, or said too carefully, or the disgust at his knowledge that it had all been his fault, he turned and spilled his mind to them. "You can say it, for I know you are thinking it, and by the light of Anor, I do not know what it has to do with me. She is so beautiful and full of spark that it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed it. I knew that. What irks me most is that you three think that should be something mentioned with care when in my presence. Well, it is out now. Menelvagil is a family friend, and he would not have asked if he were not interested. There. We can all discuss it now." But, when no one made any reply, he asked, impatient, "Well?"

"Well?" asked Isildur, losing his restraint in turn, and aware of it. "We would believe you if we could, but all this irritation makes that rather difficult. And this is not your only problem of the evening--Father is furious you were late and exposed the family to some impertinent remarks. I hope you have an explanation for it, for he did not believe mine."

"Yours? What explanation did you give him?" But Isildur was drifting away in time with the music and, seizing the first arm that became appealing, inserted himself and his partner quite beautifully into the circle of dancers. When he turned to Eranion, he found him also gone.

"Well," he said to Arandar, "so much for the support of friends."

"You said you needed no support."

Anárion glared at that, but said nothing, aware of the sacrifice Arandar was making to show such tact and restraint on his behalf for, until now, he had said nothing, and Anárion knew that Arandar always had plenty to say. Feeling guilty for childishly creating such a need for care, Anárion said to him, "You can speak what is in your mind, and scold if you wish, but I could not possibly have prevented this."

"No; or, at least, not by any measures taken today."

"I am sure I do not know what you mean."

"You do not, or would not, but no matter. The question is, what will you do now?"

Anárion surveyed the room, eyes falling back on Elenwë at the high table, laughing at something Menelvagil had said. His rational mind knew that he had urged her to blend in and not call attention to herself; yet, he also knew that Menelvagil's family was noble and that Menelvagil had always looked at Elenwë with a special tenderness that was reserved for her alone, and women liked to have that kind of power over men.

He took a deep breath and said, rolling up his sleeves because of the sudden heat, "I came here with a mind to enjoy myself, and I think that I will do just that."

Amusement seemed to be proportional not to the physical energy employed in its attainment, but to the mental engagement in the task. After dancing for a full two hours, he found that he was not more relaxed but extremely tense and wound up, instead. He also discovered a very interesting fact: he did his work better when he was not trying to spy on Elenwë. Dances were occasions where many people mixed, and much could be discovered when one applied oneself to being agreeable and watching other people as they went about their business, whatever that may be, and there were a surprising number of possible objectives that drove people to attend such events.

His own objectives, besides pleasing his grandfather, were still unclear to him; for, while he found himself glancing at Elenwë every once in a while, he also found himself increasingly absorbed by the stray bits of gossip he heard here and there, and which had led him to overhear the highly interesting conversation of two older sea-captains who had served many years in the Middle-earth campaigns.

That it was Arandar to whom he came with these new pieces of information, and not Isildur, saddened him. His brother sensed that he was different, resented it, and would begin to withdraw from his confidence, while Anárion was powerless to stop it--yet another comfort he would lose--but practicality won over sentimentality and, discreetly, he tapped Arandar's shoulder and withdrew with him to one of the more secluded terraces.

"What do you recall of the circumstances leading to the War of the Elves and Sauron?" Anárion asked in a low voice.

"Not much, except that most folks here seem to have forgotten it," Arandar said with a shrug. But, after a moment's thought, added, "I was always puzzled by the little information that was passed on to us, even after the great part we, Númenóreans, seem to have played."

"The Kings began to prepare in secret to aid the Elves in Eriador. At least, that is what I remember from stories I heard when I was young."

"Why do you want to know?"

Anárion's hand went to his beard, to scratch it; when he remembered that it was not there, he folded his arms over his chest. "As with everything else surrounding Sauron, it becomes quite easy to forget exactly what is involved and how ancient a time we are talking about here. Do you suppose he is an Elf?"

A quick flash of the dark eyes was all the evidence of Arandar's surprise. "That would explain the smug, lofty expression with which he surveys everything, like he knows more than we do. Not to say Elves are proud, but they are wise, and their eyes tell it, even if they themselves do not. Perhaps he is a corrupt Elf?"

"Perhaps." Anárion waxed silent as a couple strolled beside them, waiting until they had walked a safe distance away before asking, "Have you ever heard of Eregion?"

Again, Arandar had to think his answer. "An Elven kingdom?"

Anárion nodded. "Wiped out earlier on the age, according to the reckoning of the Elves. I overheard two old sailors saying to each other that this was turning into a modern Eregion and who knew but that Sauron might prove a new Annatar. Have you ever heard that name before?"

"It is easy to translate the meaning, but I have never heard it attached to a person. Have you any ideas?"

Anárion shook his head.

"Do you think it will prove important? Old men's speculations may not amount to anything in the end."

"The comparison intrigues me, and the fact that it is so obscure to us. It may not do harm if we pursue the meaning, merely to see where it leads. Who knows but that we might uncover anything important?"

After his curiosity had been piqued, it was difficult to go back inside and pretend that he cared about the dance, but he owed it to his family, and to himself and his cover. Deciding that dancing was beyond his current capabilities, he committed himself to conversation here and there, and, every once in a while, he would feel Sauron's gaze on him, as curious as his own. It was impossible to explain the unusual--and unwarranted--gratification that he felt to find himself the object of that gaze, nor the steadily growing feeling that there was something wrong and perverse about that, and he had to find out what it was.

And there was also the matter of this other feeling that oppressed him from within. From the floor gossip, he found that Elenwë had danced with Sauron, and not only with him: her rear has barely touched a chair this evening was the crude way in which the lady Eliriel chose to put it to him. Why that should upset him like it did was more than a simple puzzle, for only that afternoon he had begun to feel like the rift between them might yet heal if he knew how to begin the process.

His eyes found her amid the dancers; it was easy, she had always had a glow about her that drew one to her, regardless of where she was. With clusters of flowers in her hair, she could have been dancing at her wedding. One day she would wed, no matter what he said or did, and what would become of him? With another man in her life, he would have to lose her inevitably. Did he know how to live without her?

The possessive nature of his thoughts surprised him, for all that he was fully conscious of them. They sounded woefully akin to jealousy, and that was an emotion that he had never allowed himself to feel about her. Looking away to dispel the awful cloud, hid eyes met Sauron's, looking a question at him. Anárion frowned back at the perceived intrusion, and saw Sauron laugh! He rose from the King's side and made to walk to--

"Not if I get there first," Anárion said in a low voice, making his way to where Elenwë danced in a circle of couples. Inserting himself into Menelvagil's place, he was in time to turn her at the next spin in the pattern. Her gasp of surprise at finding him, instead, was followed by a small smile. At least she did not ask for Menelvagil, neither did Anárion see what became of him until later, when he saw him conversing with Arandar. Sauron had not intended to move to Elenwë as he had believed but moved, instead, to converse with some captains standing close by. Had he imagined it all? Had Sauron manipulated him into revealing himself to him, or had he wished for this dance?

Looking back to Elenwë, flushed and slightly disheveled, a sudden burst of anger flared through him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, and it must have come out quite nasty, for the smile in her eyes died.

"I do not see why it should upset you so; friends are made happy at their friends' happiness. I came tonight with a mind to enjoy."

"I can see you succeeded. You have been going from arm to arm tonight."

She stopped dancing then, utterly horrified. He knew what he had done, but something inside him held him tightly back from saying what he really wished to say. She took up the dance in the next turn, and he followed, but she was tense and aloof from him, and silent.

"Have you enjoyed your taste of royalty well enough?"

"If it were up to me, I would be dancing in the woods with no more company than the stars, and you know that well, Anárion, but I will forgive you because I know you could not possibly mean those horrible thoughts. I have enjoyed it, because I found out some interesting things for you."

"For me?"

"Since you are not in a position to make this sort of observations, you cannot object to my doing so."

"I asked you to leave it alone," he said.

"I did all you asked, but I could not help noticing a few things."

"Not here, Elenwë. This is not the place to speak of it."

"Good," she said and, lifting her chin, focused once more on getting through the dance. It was harder than he had thought when she was so rigid and he so angry, but they managed somehow. No sooner had the last chord died in the applause, that he seized her hand and led her out onto the terrace where lovers strolled quietly, or held each other, or men drank and laughed at each other's expense. An awkward place for them to be, but at least they would not be noticed out here. He led her to a corner where there was a small bench, partly concealed by bushes of roses, and he sat her there, kneeling beside her.

"This ends tonight," he said, trying not to clench his teeth. "Again, I will ask you to, please, avoid being in places where you feel tempted to do more than you should."

"You have no right to ask me that; but, even so, I did what you told me and held my tongue, even though I was tempted to say much. It was like fighting against a hidden will that required me to hang prudence by the toes--"

Something about that struck him. "Isildur said something like that--an overwhelming urge to be truthful. What do you suppose it is?"

"I do not know, he is so engaging, you find yourself saying more than you ever thought was proper."

"Did he trick you into it?"

"I hope not, I tried very hard to seem unimportant, but I could not tell you whether it worked or not. So many topics were discussed that I cannot recall them all, but I remember feeling listened to, interesting, when he spoke to me. Is that now awful?"

"Why?"

"That is entirely too much power for one person to have. What could he care what I have to say? A woman, not even fifteen years into her majority... What did he hope to find out from me?"

"So you did not like him."

"He frightens me very much."

"Why would he frighten you and not others?" Anárion asked, more to himself than to her, and likewise she answered.

"I was not thinking of him when he spoke to me." Her hands went to her cheeks, as if they were suddenly hot. "I was trying hard to remember what you had said so you would not be angry."

"Elenwë, I am not angry at you, but at the needless risk. I can find these things out by myself without endangering you."

"I doubt that you know this: he wears a ring."

"Many mean wear rings. Why is that so remarkable?"

"This is a plain, thin, golden band, so plain that I had not noticed it until today, and I have sat in company with him once before. Do you suppose he is married? If there were a Queen of Middle-earth, we ought to have heard, yes?" Anárion leaned on the bench beside her, thinking, but she used his silence to go on with her thoughts. "I have observed that people usually surround themselves with things that define or move them. You, for instance, wear your family signet as your only piece of jewelry. That tells me that you are very proud of your heritage, and self-assured, and do not need unnecessary bedecking to take charge of your life. Or, that you despise artifice, which is also true. Or, that you care not to bring any unnecessary attention upon yourself, which is also true--you have always been a rather self-effacing man. Isildur wears no ring. Why? Is he trying to define himself outside his family's influence of him? Does he find jewelry cumbersome? Why does Eralmir wear a bracelet? Why does Menelvagil wear golden cuffs? Do you not think it odd, Anárion, that this one man would chose to wear the plainest ring when he owns a mithril necklace?"

Anárion ran hands through his hair, tried to scratch his beard.

"Do you always analyze people so thoroughly?"

"This is not about me. Tell me what you think."

"It suddenly strikes me that he feels confident enough of his power that he does not need to display it like the rest of us, and that he knows power does not solely rest on money, but on controlling people."

"But how best to control people than with money?"

"You said it yourself just a few moments ago: you felt interesting when you spoke with him. Surely that would make more of an impression on you than a gift of a pair of earrings?" He shook his head. "Loyalty is power, and it is not bought with money."

"What is it bought with?"

"Only he knows how he buys it," Anárion said, suddenly fearful that he was stumbling upon something grander than even he had the wits or skill to handle. "If it is with people's minds with which he plans to play, he is more dangerous than I thought, and you should leave him alone."

"But if we try harder, get closer--"

"There will be no more getting closer for you."

"But there will be, for you? I do not think so; you will need my help if you want to find out more."

"You help me more by acting in such a way so I do not have to worry about you."

"Anárion, listen to yourself! As your friend, it is my duty to help you in all I can--"

"Elenwë, please," he said, taking her hands, looking up into her eyes, "I want no harm to come to you," conscious that he needed to say more and uncertain as to how much, "I could not go on if I knew you were hurt--"

"And do you think I could? Even if you choose to keep from me the reasons why you feel like you need to find out--the reasons why you cannot just let it go--as your friend, it is my right, my duty to do all I can--"

"I am tired of hearing that," he said, letting go of her hands and rising, turning away to look back into the hall, Aradan's words haunting him. Friends protect friends in a relationship of equals.

It takes an obstinate woman to pursue a friendship that does not work anymore; a willful, stupid girl to think that she can be an equal with you--

"You are not my equal--you have no obligation--"

The entire world seemed to grow silent after that. It had been the wrong thing to say, only half-thoughts of yet another half-thought that was barely taking shape inside his head. Elenwë was not his equal, but his superior--the only treasure of his heart. He did hoard her! He was selfish! He had no right! And, as the sadness of it washed over him like rain, he knew, he felt in every fiber of his being that he could never be friends with her again.

Through that odd awareness of each other that they had always shared, she must have sensed some of this, for she rose and stood in front of him, close, but not looking at him.

"You cannot mean that," she said in a low, fearful voice, more to herself than to him. "I am almost forty, and there has not been one day in all those years when I have not either seen you or thought of you--even after all that fighting and being apart, I never once doubted your friendship. Was it all a lie then?"

"I have never lied to you, Elenwë; even now I wish I could tell you that nothing is wrong, that things will be fine..."

"But you cannot, and even though I do not understand it, I accept it, for I believe in you. Let me help; surely there must be something I can do with the limited knowledge I have. In the name of all we have shared, Anárion, will you not let me help you shoulder this burden?"

She had now turned to him with her heart in her eyes, and he had never found it harder to stand firm. A word from him would keep her close a little while longer... while the dangers he braved daily would encircle round her also. What if Sauron, or Pharazôn himself wanted to hurt her, to get to him, should he find out about The Star and the Faithful and everything else he did to keep the movement alive? Would the knowledge he gave Elenwë so selfishly be her death?

The thought of it was so horrible to him that it made him shiver, but it finally resolved him. If the only way to protect Elenwë was to push her away, that was what he had to do, even if he died doing it.

Shaking his head, he took one step back--the hardest step he had ever taken.

"Do you mean..." A sort of serenity came over her. She glanced quickly at him, must have seen something that convinced her for she nodded, tried to smile, "yes, I suppose you do mean that."

"Trust me still it is for the best, if you can," he said, though he knew not why.

"I will always trust you, Anárion, even if you never let me back into your life." With that, she turned around and made her way back into the hall and the light, leaving him in darkness, taking with her all the warmth and casting a chill, a numbness on him that could not be undone.

She was gone. Gone from her life. Forever.

When Menelvagil put his arms around her as she walked in, he thought he wept, but could not be sure--something blurred his vision and he could not tell.

“Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honor.”
-Ernest Hemingway

He went home that night. Home to his grandfather's house where his family were staying for the week, intent on submitting to all they could say while he was weak enough to keep silent. His father began to scold, to ask questions that turned more intent when it became clear he did not presently have the power to defend himself.

"What happened, son?" Elendil finally asked, kneeling beside him, desperate. "Has someone hurt you?"

Anárion shook his head. "I hurt myself, but no matter. Things should be better tomorrow."

He heard Isildur say something or other to their father, whereupon Elendil left.

"Thank you," Anárion whispered, a dry croak that hurt his throat. "It seems that, after all, I could not have dealt with that tonight."

"Do you want to talk?"

Anárion shook his head. He had driven Elenwë away already; it would be easier to do so to Isildur while he was still in the mood for it.

"You cannot get rid of me so easily, even if you tried," Isildur said, arms crossed and legs apart as he glared down on him. "One day I will find out what is doing this to you, and I will fight it."

"You do not want to do that, brother."

"And why is that?"

"Because to fight it is to fight me."

"We will see," said Isildur before he set a cup of tea in front of him and walked away.

For a moment, Anárion stared at it, the steam rising and making patterns in the air. The next moment the cup lay shattered on the floor, tea spilling all over, mingling with the tears he was finally free to shed. How could he ever go on without Elenwë and Isildur? How much longer did he have to live--one, two hundred years, if he was unlucky? Maybe he would be discovered and killed. And his family ruined. And his part in the resistance remain unfulfilled and all those people he could have helped remain helpless.

The overwhelming reality of his situation crashed upon him like tossed waves crash upon a ship, to break it, and he felt himself sink onto his knees, almost toppling the table over along with him in his wake. The last thing he remembered before collapsing was that he had not had the chance to return the hairpins, and that he would have to face them every time he went back to the shop.

It was impossible for him to tell how much he slept. He hoped it had been a month, the festivities over, his family gone... But it was not to be: His pants were still wet from the tea. It had been a cramp that woke him, and a sharp something that poked him right under the ribs, which turned out to be a piece of the saucer. Seeing what a mess he had made, he set himself to gather the shattered pieces, his grandmother's favorite tea set that had been gifted to her own grandmother by the same Elves who had given the birds to the lady Erendis upon her wedding.

That brought a bitter laugh; he would never marry now, who would he marry if Elenwë did not want him, and how could he marry her if that meant her peril and risk? To his surprise, he found that the loss of that innocent, unconscious dream ached in his body; the loss of a companionship of two minds that knew they were not equal, but complementary, and did not begrudge it but rejoiced in it; the loss of his youthful self that had been, blissfully, unaware of needs that she alone could fill, and that had unraveled into holes as he reached adulthood and found himself estranged from her soothing presence.

She had been right, about everything: their friendship did not--could not--work, anymore, and it was solely his doing. Elenwë, hurt, innocent, angered, still demanded his friendship, unaware that he could not offer it in return for he longed, yearned, craved for a right he did not have, and neither of them had known what it was. So much became clear to him now that it was too late; he had wasted so much time trying to understand why, when it had been so easy before to lay beside her on the sand, to lead her in the measures of a jig, to fling arguments and quotes back and forth until neither of them cared that he was too young to be accepted at a scholarly discussion and that she was a girl and would never be accepted--why, of a sudden, so much as looking at her made him feel like burning, saying a simple sentence like walking on splintered glass, at once challenging and dangerous and exciting? When had he begun to notice that her skin was velvet and her hair like silk and to hold her in his arms a bliss the likes he could not aspire to?

Such revelations do not come without their share of physical toil. For the certainties of a lifetime to be shattered in such an abrupt way, a powerful emotion must cause the change and must carry it to one's consciousness. What was it for him? It felt like a strange bereavement that seeped through to his bones like winter. Why? Anárion felt weak, drained, crushed, beaten every bit as the pulp for his paper. Rattled to the core.

It takes an obstinate woman to pursue a friendship that does not work anymore; a willful, stupid girl to think that she can be an equal with you--

It tormented him. That she would consider herself less because he had failed to show her more was unbearable to him; and, all this time, she had been hurt by his mistreatment of her, thinking that he did not regard her worthy of his friendship, when he had been beside himself with worry over her needless risks, her defiance of everything he proposed, precisely because he placed her welfare above his own. How could he have failed to see what he was doing?

Feeling beneath the pain of the loss of innocent, easy companionship, he searched for more, but found only confusion--anger, fear, anxiety, apprehension, all vying for dominance while he felt a wreck without a steering wheel. What would he do now? What could he do now? That a relationship so basic to the pattern of his life was undone was inconceivable, but there it was. What could he do now?

Anárion raked hands through his hair and tugged at the ends, finally letting his head be buried between his hands. Oh, Elenwë... If he could find that look, that gesture, that word that began it all for him, would he take it back and change their tale together?

Terror coursed through him, primal and vicious, telling him that he would not, could not be other than he was, for that would make her other than she was, and he loved everything about her.

Love.

For him, it ended as swiftly as it had begun. It ended before it had begun, for that day when he decided that staying mute before injustice was a betrayal to himself--the worst kind there is--that day, he sealed his fate. And for the better. Even if all happiness goes away for me, at least I can find comfort in the knowledge that my silent kept her safe, and that was the end of it for him. He would die a thousand times before he saw any harm come to her, and he could not lay idle if the King's foolishness was leading them all to death.

Holding on to that thought as a castaway holds on to bits of wreckage to stay afloat, he understood what the new purpose of his life would be: he would live to make sure that she had life to enjoy, and a place to do so safely. When he remembered the agony of being uncertain whether he could stop himself from falling if she ever got hurt, the lengths to which he would go to see her safe, he finally understood that he could never have her--he could never deserve her, if such thoughts lived in his heart--but that was the only way to protect her in the times they were appointed to live, and that he would do, even if it cost him his life.

Fueled by this new resolve, he gathered the last of the shattered pieces and began to draw a plan.

"Eregion. How can I find out more?"

For two days he poured himself into the task. It felt good to get his mind off complex things for a while to focus on a concrete task that could be managed or, at least, put into a plan. Libraries were closed for the holiday, but he was too impatient to wait for their re-opening, felt the familiar pricking behind his neck--like an itch--one gets when something is about to happen, and knew that he had to find out as quickly as possible, even before it was too late. So, he began with the books they had on hand at the house under the excuse that he was looking for examples of ancient seafaring models for his project. His family would look at one another, roll their eyes, and smile in the knowing way. This was Anárion, after all, and this a new fancy, and let him continue undisturbed. Isildur saw more in it, he felt, but, kindly, said nothing.

What surprised him the most was the little information he was able to gather.

Eregion. An Elven kingdom off the Hithaeglir, famed for the unusual friendship that developed between Elves and Dwarves, in view of their mutual love of craft and discovery. Destroyed during the War of the Elves and Sauron, SA 1697.

Anárion put the quill down and flexed his knuckles. "No mention of Annatar anywhere, or causes of the kingdom's downfall. How could a Númenórean scholar's view ever be so skewed?" He could draw his own conclusions from that--guesses, at any rate--but the only thing that seemed truly clear was that the Elves had wanted that information to remain a mystery. Now, why would that be?

That evening, and the one after that, he committed himself to an attempt to find out more information. It was hard to veil his hints, and it would be harder still to fit some sort of ancient seafaring device or technique to Vinyelotë to cover for his inquiry but, in this fashion, he could discover little. The older Captains could have told him much, but how does one burst into a party and accuse the main guest of treason in an inconspicuous way?

At the end of the fifth night of festivities, he discovered a few things. Sauron was interested in him, or his family. He followed them with his eyes, bowed his head to them occasionally, and went so far as to take up a glass and toast, including Isildur in the act. His unease about Sauron increased, at the same time that his gratification at this generated interest in his family did as well, and he found himself twirling his signet ring more than once throughout the evening. That would always put him in mind of Elenwë and her last warning to him, and the fancy would instantly disappear.

Two things then became clear: Even in parting, Elenwë had done him the greatest service of putting his pride in the proper place, like she always so artlessly did. The second was disturbing, but none the less true: he had to find a way to speak to Sauron himself. And he could not do that if he did not have a clearer idea of who, or what, he would be facing.

After much thought and much indecision, he determined to speak to his grandfather. Amandil would surely know what Anárion needed, but would also withhold judgment on him and not ask questions that Anárion could not answer. He hoped it would not prove a costly mistake for his grandfather, whom he loved dearly, and decided that he would leave the ultimate choice with him from the start.

He found Amandil sitting under the shade of a small lemon grove that his grandmother liked to keep for fragrance, cooling off in the pleasant breeze that had finally begun to blow after an unusually warm couple of days. His grandfather smiled when he saw him approach, beckoned him closer, but he could not bring himself to be quite as cheerful at the prospect of what he was about to do to his grandfather, and the older man saw it at once.

"Is aught the matter, senya?"

The attempt at lightness made Anárion smile, for his grandfather well knew that something was wrong with him; but it was this restraint, this unassuming attitude that had always won Anárion's heart.

Plucking a lemon from a low-hanging branch, he sat on the grass beside the older man, and began to peel it.

"I love this scent," he said.

"Hmm. It was Erassuil's wife's favorite fragrance. They gave your grandmother the seeds from which this grove sprang, and to Issilomë and I the ones we keep in Andúnië."

Yes, he knew that. Elenwë also loved lemon and lemongrass.

"I need to ask you a question," he said, recalled to his purpose by the bitter reflections, "but I am not sure where the answers will lead--whether it is a place where we can, or want to go."

"Ask, and I will tell you if I can answer."

"If you find that you cannot, do not feel badly about it--I do not want to cause you trouble. There are always other ways to find out things, but I thought this would be faster."

Amandil raised both brows and presently put away the book he had been reading without bothering to mark his place. "Do you think," he began, leaning forward slightly, "that I would leave you alone, up to it, if it were a dangerous topic? May I ask you why you want to know?"

"You may, but I am not sure that I can answer," said Anárion, frustrated. "Have you ever had a cause, a reason so important to you, to your sense of morality and justice, to your principles, that its betrayal felt like a betrayal to yourself--unthinkable?"

Slowly, Amandil nodded. "Yes," he said in a low voice.

"Well, this is something like that."

The older man took a deep breath and put his palms flat on his thighs. "I knew that one day you would find your cause, though I hoped it would not be quite so soon. Ask away, Anarinya; I hope I shall be able to help you."

"Promise me you shall do your best to forget I asked."

"I can promise you I shall not do anything rash with the information you give me. Does that suffice?"

Anárion nodded and, seeing that there was nothing to be gained from dawdling about--Amandil liked straightforwardness as much as he did--he went straight to the point. "Who is Annatar, and what did he have to do with the fall of Eregion?"

Amandil's surprise at the question was evident in the sudden flinch, the minute shake of the head, then the long pause. "Gift-giver? Where did you hear that?"

"Have you heard it?"

"In Middle-earth, an old legend of a man who taught much to both Elves and Men; hence the name Giver of Gifts. He did live in Eregion for a time; taught them much craft. Why do you ask?"

"Why did Eregion fall?"

Amandil snorted. "Greed, I surmised, and misjudgment. That tale was ever distasteful to the Elves, so I never pressed for details."

"Why would it be?"

"What do you think? Over the years, several possibilities have occurred. Why would you want something kept secret about yourself?

"It is either sensitive, dangerous knowledge; or it reflects badly about yourself."

"Very good, Anárion," Amandil said, surveying him with interest. "There are those who would call you up for treason if they heard you."

"Traitors themselves. Elves, like Men, have natures and judgments sensitive to error. It would be unfair to think an Elf infallible, only because he is an Elf."

"I am proud of this assessment; it shows you have your head in the right place. But, tell me, why so interested in this obscure branch of history?"

"A couple of nights ago, at the festival, I happened to listen in on the conversation of two older men who, by their complexion and the way they talked, seemed to be retired sailors. One told the other that Númenor was on its way to becoming a modern Eregion and Sauron a new Annatar."

"And you happened to overhear?"

"It was not difficult with such a big crowd, you could not walk two feet without happening in on a conversation; but that was especially interesting. What do you think it means?"

"I wish I knew who the two sailors were, and how they know of this."

"Two Elendili, to be sure, though without much prudence nor good sense to be talking of such things at the King's doorstep," Anárion said, and added with a small smile, "I would not tell you who they were, even if I knew, lest you get yourself into trouble."

"There cannot be too many people on the island who can claim to know the secrets of the Elves," Amandil said, in a light tone, but the slight frown could not be quite concealed.

"Why does it trouble you, sir?"

"Obviously this Annatar must have had something to do with the fall of Eregion, and the comparison does not bode well. Tell me, Anárion, would you find out, for me, who these sailors are?"

"No. I do not want you involved in this."

"But it is all right for you to be?"

"I am not in the King's Counsel, nor am I the King's friend."

"Neither am I. That is all pretense."

"All the same, Atarinya! Many people's well-being depends on the success of your pretense."

Amandil gave a low grunt and clenched his fist over his thigh. "If you do not find out who they are, I will have to do it."

"What will you do, once I have?"

"Well, talk to them, of course! Find out how they know."

Seeing that his grandfather would involve himself, even if he tried to keep him away, Anárion thought it would be best to keep his involvement to a minimum. "All right," he said, hoping to sound earnest. "I will try to find out, but you must not interfere lest we give ourselves away. In the meantime, I will need you to do something else, a favor."

Amandil raised a brow. "And what may that be?"

"Keep an eye on Elenwë for me, since I can no longer do it."

"No longer?"

"It is a long story, and a sad one."

"Is that what has made you so... Touchy?"

Anárion tried hard not to frown, but could not help it. "She is stubborn and persistent and will get herself into trouble. And, if you can, try to sound out opinions on Sauron, as discreetly as possible."

"What are you going to do?"

"There is only one thing to do. I have to find a way to talk with Sauron myself, to see what he is really about."

Now that he had committed himself to be his grandfather's spy, he felt--unnervingly--like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He despised himself for his weakness, but there it was. Anárion loathed dishonesty and deception, hated himself for having to resort to it so frequently, but could not help being embroiled in it over and over again. Those who said, Be sure you have your cloak on before setting out on the journey, truly knew what they spoke of when they said so, he thought, bitterly, as he tightened his boot laces at the entrance to Nuriandil's house.

There was something that had puzzled him about the two men and, though at first he had not known what it was, the talk with his grandfather had given him a good clue. Since he had shaved, lord Âmrazil could not make his appearance for a while, but the lord Anárion could go to many a place where Âmrazil could not, hopefully with equal dignity. Bearing that in mind, he made his way along the winding, colorful streets, until he saw, at the corner of Merchant's Wares Road and Menelvagor Way, the white, two-story house he had been looking for.

He pulled at the bell and had to confess himself surprised when a maid answered and ushered him to a very tidy, though slightly cramped parlor. Everything was in its place, yet there were so many things that it was difficult to appreciate any of them properly. Anárion saw statuettes of Beren and Lúthien, a model of the night sky with the stars made of mithril (he had one just like it at home), flowers of many colors and scents and so many other curiosities that he was hard-pressed to pick one to notice; but, he was spared the decision, for the maid had not been gone a few moments when the door opened again to reveal a beautiful, regal, smiling Lassilenwë.

She laughed when she saw him, a sound that he knew should have pleased him, but somehow fell short. Lassilenwë, daughter of Galador, then looked straight at him, curtsied in a somewhat becoming way that also conveniently managed to expose her cleavage, and, with an expression that tried to be both innocent and playful--and consequently was neither--advanced to him with a sway, and took a seat beside him. He could not fail to notice that Elenwë would have sat opposite him, ready to engage him in a conversation of equals, and the comparison sprung unbidden. Lassilenwë was a beautiful woman, with a beauty as different from Elenwë's as light is from darkness, and a perilous one, for she knew what beauty often did to men, and enjoyed it.

Anárion bowed to her, but did not move away.

She noticed it. Folding her arms just below her breasts, she tilted her head to look up at him from under long lashes. "Did Elenwë send you?"

The question must have discomfited him, for she laughed again but, thankfully, seemed to drop some of her artifice.

"I was sure she would have sent you for, from the four, you were the one who looked the least, though you were closest."

"Looked at what?"

"Or perhaps you were too busy thinking of Elenwë's little sway of the hip close by, to notice mine?"

"Elenwë's hips do not sway on purpose. That is," he tried to amend when her smile turned from amused to predatory, "she walks with purpose. The sway is a consequence of the length of her legs and the amount of fabric on women's skirts."

If anything, that made it worse. Lassilenwë seemed ruffled and ready to fight him until either gave quarter out of tiredness. Leaning just a bit too closely, she looked up at him again. "She sways, all right. She's a woman! And not altogether oblivious to her charms, as she believes herself to be. Did you think," she asked, putting her hand on his forearm, just where his muscle bulged, "for a moment," she squeezed lightly, "that that delightful little laugh was done without artifice? Obviously, she knows that men like her dimples, and her style of laughing displays them to good advantage."

He allowed himself a laugh, then, which ruffled her even more. She released his arm and leaned back, with distaste.

"Actually," he said, resisting the urge to smooth the crease she had left on his sleeve, "the reason she laughs like that is because her Aunt always scolded her for having a free, unrestrained laughter that, to her taste, seemed too masculine, though it was perfectly delightful. I assure you, she did her a disservice, lovely as she looks now. Every once in a while the old laughter will surface, but it is rare."

"Have you come to discuss her with me?"

"No. You were the one who mentioned her."

A sly smile curled her lips then. "Good, for I am glad it was you who came."

Obligingly, he asked, "Why?"

"Elenwë's brothers are both very handsome, but a little too playful for me. You and your brother are also very handsome--and noble--but your brother is much too rowdy."

"Meaning that I am not."

"Meaning that you keep it in check, and I like that; it makes me curious as to why, and suggests to my mind all sorts of entertaining possibilities."

"Entertaining for you, or for me?"

"Need they be entertaining for only one of us?" she asked, suggestively. Anárion found it hard to believe that a girl could grow up to think only of manipulating other people, and the thought saddened, at the same time that irked him.

"Only if you enjoy reading and debate, for those are my favorite pastimes," he said, hoping to make it clear that he had no intentions of any kind.

He succeeded. That haughty glare, the sternness of jaw and lips, the squared shoulders, surfaced at once, and he was reminded anew of the two sailors from the festival, and why it had struck him as odd, more so than unwise, that they had been discussing such matters where they could be overheard. They had, in fact, wanted to be overheard! Just as Lassilenwë had when they dragged her away from the seamstress' earlier that week.

"What is your errand here, then?" she asked, chin up.

"I actually came to speak with your father."

"My father? Why?"

"He is a military man, is he not? A sailor?"

She shook her head. "Though he obviously has to sail to fulfill his missions, his specialty is land occupation and maneuvering."

"Really? I must have gotten my facts mixed up, somehow. I was hoping he would discuss some seafaring techniques with me, for my guildsmater project."

A delicate brow was raised at him. "I am sorry he will not be able to help. Now," she said, and her chin lifted even higher, "if you had to discuss siege strategy and military reconnaissance, or perhaps debate about the Elven notions of warfare, as opposed to Mannish ones..."

Again, he obliged, "So your father has a great friendship with the Elves?"

"We lived very close to them for many years, and helped them on many occasions."

"In truth, my lady?"

She nodded, pleased. "For a while, the land was dotted with refugees from the wars. We were in better position than many of them."

"Tell me something, lady Lassilenwë," he said, struggling to curb the eagerness and excitement he felt at what he had just discovered, "do you have a grandfather?"

"As noble and renowned as you could find. His name is Golasgil, and that is his picture."

There it was, on the wall: the oldest of his sailors from two nights ago.

The opportunity for the conversation he had been steadily desiring came much sooner than he had expected, and in the most un-expected manner. He had been ready to lie in waiting and invite Sauron for a drink--it seemed the most natural, inconspicuous way to get himself an interview. He was prepared to act a little drunk, a little too merry, a little too tongue-lose, if he must; in short, he was prepared to make himself a fool, if that got him any closer to his target. As it turned out, the complete opposite seemed called for and, when it happened, he was so stunned that he knew not how to react.

He arrived in time, with his family, impeccably dressed and groomed, for once. He managed to listen to all the introductions respectfully and call to mind more than a few names he had forgotten; managed to watch Elenwë be introduced with her family with merely a frown and a tightening of his fist to betray his inner turmoil; managed to watch Lassilenwë and her family be introduced, despite their anti-government sympathies, and that intrigued him immensely. He did not mention his discovery to his grandfather, though the man kept looking at him for confirmation every time military families were introduced. Why had Lassilenwë's father been so bent on being overheard? He thought that he should find that out before announcing the fact to his grandfather, lest he begin investigations of his own and they be marked. He also noticed a few more people acting stiffly and very uptightly--more Elendili, in disguise? To his dismay, Sauron noticed them too. It was imperative that he found a way to talk to this man as soon as possible. Noting who the potential new Elendili were for further identification, he was just about to leave in search of a couple glasses of wine when the trumpets blared and the King's voice was heard, "Anárion, son of Elendil!"

Turning at once upon hearing himself addressed, he was met with the King beckoning to him.

"Yes," Ar-Pharazôn said, a benevolent smile making him forbidding and frightful, "I shall honor you today, for a man with vision, as well as talent, despite his lineage, is always worth-honoring. Tell me, son, who shall be your Queen?"

“Dreams are the answers to questions that we haven't yet figured out how to ask.”
-Fox Mulder

Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly,
Lavender's green;
When I am King, dilly, dilly,
You will be Queen.

For a few moments--he never knew how long--he could only see himself and Elenwë playing in the meadows, twirling in the circle of children, singing the familiar refrain, laughing, running, falling...

Anárion found it hard to believe that any Valar or Valier could grant wishes as readily and neatly as what the King proposed to do for him--all he had to do was say the word, and Elenwë would be his for one whole night. One night--surely he could afford to enjoy one night before a lifetime of nights of loneliness? She would have to sit by him, dance with him, look at him, talk to him; no matter that he would impose himself upon her without knowing what she truly wished, surely she would comply for the King's sake? She would finally know what he felt, how he felt, if he chose her among any other woman in the kingdom, and others would too. Mayhap they would leave her alone for his sake! He had higher standing than Menelvagil and would surely be favored if they both pressed their suit. The King would know of his intentions. And so would Sauron.

One look at that intriguing visage and he was quickly, and gratefully, returned to his proper place and duty. The way he looked at him, so curious and almost amused, made Anárion's stomach burn anew with fright and revulsion. Could Sauron possibly know what he was thinking? Did he expect Anárion to blunder... but into what? He would never expose Elenwë to the King's, or Sauron's, clutches for any reason, certainly not out of selfishness.

No. She would ever remain his treasure, even if he had to give her up to a worthier man. Stepping forward, he knelt before the dais and, fixing a saucy smile onto his face, steeled himself for a bargain that could turn him either way: into a favorite, or into the dungeon .

"I would be honored if the lady Zimraphel would be Queen for tonight."

Murmurs instantly arose all around the hall. He heard ruffled women, indignant fathers, disappointed mothers, relieved suitors, for if the King's edict had done something, it had been sending every young lover from Rómenna to the Hyarrostar in search of betrothal rings. The Queen herself seemed vastly amused, Sauron intrigued and disappointed, and the King torn between delighted or irate. His good humor won, in the end, to Anárion's relief, and the Queen's name was hailed from every corner with double the emotion by some, double the animosity by others. Anárion himself would not sit next to her, for protocol did not permit it, but sat alone, by Sauron, to the other side of the King, and could not quite cease being astonished at the unexpected turn of events.

The honors the King offered were expertly calculated to go to a fellow's head and he wondered, more than once and with great admiration, at how Isildur bore it all in stride and could say with a straight face, when his turn was over, that he had not liked it. With blatant appeals to one's vanity, greed, and sense of self-importance, Anárion would have felt some worry about his own state if he had cultivated a shallow, indulgent lifestyle, or if he had objectives of the less-lofty variety. But the ache of Elenwë's loss was still too sharp, and the signet ring in his left hand reminded him of what he owed to his family and to himself, and the sacrifices he was willing to make for what he believed. But, he was grateful for the chance to watch Sauron so closely, and this he did at his leisure. Every once in a while, his hand would stray to his shirt pocket, where Arandar had placed the hair pin he had found while making the paper the other day. He remembered Elenwë saying that she thought of him while Sauron spoke to her, and wondered whether her assessment had been correct and if he would need such a talisman against the guiles of a crafty, world-wise flatterer. If so, the hair pin would prove to be just the right thing, and he was glad to have it nearby.

For his part, now that he found him close at hand, Sauron seemed to pay him no mind at all, and he wondered if that was part of the trick--withholding praise so that it would mean more once it came. They ate and drank in relative silence, and Anárion was beginning to despair of losing his chance as his dance with the Queen approached, when Sauron bridged the distance at last.

"You do not like wine, lord Anárion?" he asked, which surprised him, for he had done his best to keep up with the wine consumption going on around him.

"I like it well enough," he said, deciding that honesty in some things would help him conceal the important ones, though quite disliking revealing anything in front of this stranger, "but I do not drink often."

"Why ever not? I hope not health concerns?"

"No, not at all. It is simply a luxury I cannot afford."

Sauron would have seemed surprised, except for the slight curling of the lips that betrayed an undercurrent of amusement.

"Yes," he said, turning to study him more closely. "I hear from the King that you have decided to make your fortune designing and building ships."

Anárion smiled, though it quite irked him that the King should be discussing anything with this exile, let alone his personal affairs, yet he had to seem charmed tonight. "Not a fortune, perhaps, but at least a living."

"Because your brother inherits?"

"Among other things. A part of the inheritance goes to me."

"But not enough?"

Again, he smiled. "Sometimes, fortune and position are not all, are they? Someone with talents, like yourself, would know that best."

Sauron laughed then, the first outburst he had seen from him all week, and Anárion knew that he had blundered. "What talents do you think I have?"

"Well, obviously the talent to rule," he said, as innocently as he could, "but we hear from the King's friends that you also know much lore and craft."

Sauron bowed. "A little. Are you a scholar?"

"No, by any means. My only true talents lie in stubbornness and persistence."

"I would not say that; however, I see your point."

"Really?" Anárion asked, truly puzzled.

"I have observed you pursue a certain course of action this week..."

He could not possibly mean Elenwë, could he? Fearing that his alarm showed on his face, Anárion buried his head in his glass but, thankfully, the beginnings of a lively melody filled the hall, and he readied himself for his dance with his Queen.

"Until later," were Sauron's parting words when he left the table and, heartily, Anárion said to himself, You can count on it.

Tar-Míriel, for that was how they knew her in his grandfather's house, could still be called a beautiful woman, if she were not always so hard. Everyone knew the reasons why, though nobody remarked upon them, but Anárion knew something else about her: she was braver than any Captain in the realm, and more shrewd than all of them put together. He liked and respected her very much, and tonight there was such an air of loveliness about her that even Pharazôn himself could not help staring at her from time to time. When she stepped close to him for the dance, he finally realized what it was: Tar-Míriel, the Queen, was smiling. Pleased--in truth, delighted at the change--he smiled back, and that made her laugh.

"You are quite charming, my dear boy," she said, sounding exactly like his grandmother.

"It is hard to help it when my lady Queen seems so pleased."

I am pleased, it is solely your doing," she said, with a wink. "For a moment, I thought that Pharazôn would have you banished, but he seems to have found some humor in the whole thing, see?" and she nodded to the table where the King smiled as he looked at her. "Whoever taught you to be so sly?"

"If I have placed you in trouble, you must say so at once, and I shall speak to the King directly. If I beg to take your punishment, he could not deny me."

But she shook her head. "You might have done me a favor; but, tell me, why none of the pretty, eligible girls?"

All along, he knew that she would ask, yet how could he tell her? The pattern of the dance parted them, then reunited them, and after a double turn, he decided to be as honest as he could. "I am only interested in one girl. But, please, do not mention it to anybody."

"Could a word from me help?"

"Nothing can help now, and nobody knows, which is just how I like it."

"Do you mean that you will pine your life away?" she asked, mouth hardening slightly. "No matter what you hear, women do not respect nor admire men who do. I know one such man... Do not waste your life in this way."

Astonished, but aware that he would not learn more, he only said, "I have many things to occupy my days."

A sly look from her, then, "Have a care, then, for things are likely to get even busier." The Queen only shrugged at his raised brow, but added, "The King may find that his hands are fuller than his grip. See that the same does not happen to you. And tell that to your grandfather; you two are much alike, and both likely to misjudge in the same way."

After that cryptic speech, the song died and, to his utter surprise, it was the King himself who waited to claim the Queen's hand for a dance. Even stern-faced Míriel seemed taken aback and stunned; it took her a few moments to realize what had happened, after which she quickly allowed her husband to take her hand. Anárion withdrew with a bow, and made for the high table, but Sauron was nowhere to be seen. A sudden panic seized him. If, by his pride and folly he had allowed this opportunity to slip by him...

He ran outside to the terrace, thinking that Sauron may have walked out to get some air, but he was not there. He made the circuit of terraces with the same results, and began to be seized by a powerful anxiety that he had wasted his one chance to catch him at anything. How could he have been so careless? He was just about to turn back in and start asking people whether they had seen him--a last, desperate measure--when he caught the hint of a shadow at the entrance to the gardens, and made for it.

"Ah," the familiarly pleasant voice said. "It is impossible to have a conversation in that room--too much noise--and I perceive that you are a man who takes himself seriously."

"Do not we all?" he said, walking to him, aware that Sauron must have known he would search for him--then, why hide?

"Perhaps. But you are different. Different, even, than your brother."

"What makes me different?"

"You have great dreams, Anárion."

"Do I?"

And Sauron smiled, beckoned him to sit beside him.

"I know," he said, so confidentially that Anárion could not help but believe him. "I have dreams, too, and I recognize the signs. A man who dreams does not drift away, does not waste time. Dreams give one purpose."

Anárion nodded.

"What are your dreams, Anárion?" Sauron asked, tilting his head to look up at him.

He felt the smile curl his lips as he saw himself in that perfect, cozy spot where his grandfather's cottage was built by the bay, in Andúnië. Saw his own little white house close to it, with meadows of bright green grass not far off, and children playing on the surf while he sanded beams and Elenwë sewed sails for their new ship. She smiled and sang to him, then gathered the children for a lunch of bread, cheese, fresh milk, apples. They were simple dreams. Hard dreams. He looked at Sauron, and was frightened by the intensity of the eyes that stared back at him, willing him to speak. Not trusting himself with his own words, he gave a shrug and looked down at the stone floor, where moss had grown and made little zigzagging pathways amid the rocks.

"Do not fool yourself into thinking that your dreams are simple, for no dreams are," Sauron said in an almost paternal tone. "And, by and by, you will realize that, to achieve the loftier ones, smaller dreams need come true first. Tell me, why do you build ships?"

"I like it. It gives me a good outlet for a lot of energy."

"And?"

"I like to think that my ships will go far."

"But not you?"

Anárion did not like the sound of that, but could not say why. He shook his head, and waited.

"Well," Sauron continued, "If you do not mind staying behind while other people are making the travels you should have made yourself, then you must enjoy the good name your craft will bring you."

"Good name?"

"Well, yes. Prestige can get you very far--is that not why you do it?"

At Anárion's uncertain shake of the head, Sauron seemed to grow all widened eyes and gaping mouth.

"My lord Anárion! Surely you do not intend to forever live under your brother's shadow?"

That felt like a cold bucket of water poured down his back, leaving him with no words to counteract it but the horrible memory of his uglier self asking himself the same question.

"You are not like your brother," Sauron said, which was true enough; he had heard that many times. "Maybe you should have been born first; Isildur does not have the head for people that you have."

"Isildur has charisma," he said, feeling like he had to say something and hardly knowing what.

"Is that what they have told you?" A slow shake of the head, full of pity. "Yes, Isildur is full of charisma, but he lacks the basic understanding of what people want of those they serve, and it is not wealth, nor even promises of a good future. Do you know what that is, Anárion?"

"A cause. A purpose."

"Yes," Sauron said, a greedy hiss that made his skin crawl. "You know this, and have the capacity to get very far, my young friend, with proper guidance. I almost feel sorry that you were born in such times as these; there are those who could have taught you much. My masters."

"What are these teachings?"

"Lore. Governance. Have you thought of leaving your shipbuilding to commit to politics?" he asked, then paused, plucked a leaf from a bush at their feet, smelled it. "You could be a magnificent politician--you have what it takes to persuade people to your way of thinking. With such high standing, few things would be denied you. Think about it, Anárion."

Yes, he could see it very clearly. The companionship of minds like his own--clever, well-informed men and women who enjoyed listening to what he had to say. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more loneliness. Elenwë could not object to anything he did, nor could Isildur, nor his father. He would give them all a matter of pride, rather than the perceived oddities they always found ways to excuse.

"Do you see it, friend?" Sauron asked, daring to put his arm round Anárion's shoulders. "Think of your real dreams; there is a difference, you know. A nice little woman, an expensive house--any fool can manage his way to those, but you are no fool. What do you really want, son of Elendil?"

Son of Elendil. Nobody ever called him that. Yes, he liked it, and he wanted it, wanted the whole world to know that he was no fool but a genius. Why would Elenwë worry so much about him if she believed him, like she said? Why did Isildur want to meddle in things beyond his capacity to manage? Why did his father insist in controlling him, even after five years of independence? Why did his grandfather treat him with such condescension? Why did Arandar always think he knew better? By the island of Elros, he would never stoop again, never let himself eat from other men's crumbs! What had kept him so blind all these years?

"Yes," Sauron said again, hungrily. "I know you see it. See it!"

He did... Himself a leader of Men--House of Anárion sounded rather good--surrounded by the best the world had to offer brought to him through his cunning and craft. He would be a benevolent, magnanimous master, but he would be a master--rule belonged to those who could make the difficult decisions, and he had years of practice of doing that. He would redress the hurts done to the Faithful, avenge the orphaned children and widowed women and men; would give food to the starving; clothes to those who had only rags to cover themselves; and the more repulsive horrors... He would redress them all. The King would tremble at his ire! His father would know he was no coward! Elenwë would be proud to call herself his wife, but would be meek as a lamb with him... Sauron would return the way he had come--

That sounded wrong.

"Do not let anybody tell you that you cannot have it all, for it is a lie. You can have your proper place. You can have your woman all for yourself."

That sounded wrong; he was not aware that he had spoken his thoughts for Sauron to hear. "Woman?"

"She is a pretty thing, if spirited. You may have to teach her a few things, but I dare say you will enjoy seeing her meeker side."

What? Think, fool! "I do not know whom you mean," he said, striving as hard a he could so he could break from the fog and think of what to do. "The girl... she is back in Andúnië--how could you know how stubborn she is?"

Sauron seemed genuinely angry this time, and that snake-like expression was enough to recall Anárion to the present, where it was not the winds and the unconquerable sea that beckoned, but the murmurs of music and people. He longed to be gone and away from this wizard, but how? He had walked into the trap all by himself.

"So the lady Elenwë..."

"Elenwë?" he forced a laugh, knew it sounded fake. "Elenwë is a nuisance, but she is wealthy, and of a prestigious family. I confess I have thought about a match--they have several pretty properties around, but still no compensation for having to endure her sharp tongue. My other girl, however..." and he let himself trail off, desperately trying to see what he had done, what he had said to expose himself and those he loved; trying to seem wistful, lustful.

Sauron did not laugh, but looked at him as if he had never seen him before, slightly curious, but still lofty. "You are an interesting man, lord Anárion," he said, "and I should like to get to know you better. It would brighten my sojourn here, immensely. Maybe your grandfather, also?"

"Surely," Anárion said, vowing that he would keep his grandfather away at all costs. "I wonder why the King has not arranged an introduction?"

"The King is a very busy man, as is your grandfather. Neither can bother with a poor man like me."

"Poor, but clever," Anárion said, trying to sound conspiratorial. "The best kind there is."

Sauron did laugh, then. "Well, my lord. I am pleased to say that this island is filled with interesting people, and I think I shall enjoy making myself useful. If you feel like joining in the society of like-minded men, come and see me. Soon. I have much I should like to share with you," and, with that, he rose and made his way back to the hall, leaving Anárion cold and his mind in a whirlwind, unsure of what he had said and under the torment of what he had seen of himself.

He sat on the bench for a very long time as he waited for the shaking that had overcome him to stop. He was in a cold sweat, dizzy, nauseated, and utterly afraid. What had he done? Why had he been so weak, so proud and foolish?

When he was finally able to stand, he realized that he had been clutching the hair pin all along, so tightly that it had cut his palm, and he found his trousers stained with his own blood.

Heartburn made a wretched night even more unbearable. No tea of any herb he had available could wash away the disgusted feeling that was eating him up. He was a rotten being. He did not deserve to live, yet here he was, alive and conscious enough to know that his dark dreams could come true if he let himself be convinced and shown how. He had seen all his dreams, had seen them so closely that, for a moment, he was sure that he rose and turned about, expecting to see his wife come to meet him, children in tow; had heard the whisper of the sea and the tinkling of chimes as the breeze stirred his weathervane. So little work, so little struggle... Dreams that he had given up because he thought they could never be, had suddenly become as attainable as his finding scraps to make paper.

But the worst torture were the dreams he did not even know he had--Sauron had shown them to him with greater clarity than the others: respect, nay, adoration--how could he crave for that sort of meaningless recognition and worldly approval? All of his work to try to master himself had been useless, and he was worse than those people who drifted away because he knew he was doing it, and had allowed it! Wretched man... He did not deserve to have his dreams come true. But how it irked him that there were other men who were probably getting theirs without any work, without any suffering!

How could he be so dark and twisted? A worm. A snake!

And yet Sauron had known. Had seen. Had understood. Had offered to help. Who were these like-minded fools that he had offered to introduce to him? Fixing on that thought was the only thing that got him through the day and through to the last night of feasting, made him stand fast on the face of endless inquiries into his conversation with Sauron and his own taste of royalty. That there were other men as rotten as he made him feel a little less like mud, while with his own heart he knew that he should find them and warn them to run as far away as they could.

He was alone when the celebrations began that night, and deservedly so--who would want to be with him? When the moment came, and Sauron was announced as the honored guest of the evening, murmurs of approval were heard all through the hall. That brought the first smile to his face since the previous evening, for Sauron truly did know how to garner good sentiment. Had he bewitched all of these people at once, or separately?

But, when he announced that his queen for the night would be Lassilenwë, daughter of Galador, an utter silence fell over all present.

The King's vassal... and a self-proclaimed Elendili?

Watching Lassilenwë's pleased, yet determined, expression as she stepped up to meet Sauron did more for dispelling the fog in his mind than any other tormenting thought he had forced in it since that fateful conversation. By all the light, she truly did seem content! Elenwë would be scared to stiffness if the same had happened to her; what made Lassilenwë so proud about this unlikely turn of events?

At the forefront of the crowd were her father and grandfather, both stern-faced, but Anárion thought that he could detect that air of smugness and contentment that he had felt from them that night at the terrace. Clearly, they were pleased that their daughter had been so singled out, and Anárion had to wonder why. Were these some of the like-minded men that Sauron had mentioned? That Sauron was aware that these men opposed the King bore no question. What kind of game were they all playing, then?

From amid the crowd, he saw Elenwë's face, searching intently for his own. Pouring all the earnestness he could into his glance, he shook his head at her, hoping she would understand his plea to stay away, but he could not let Galador be lost without reaching him.

He was detained, however, by his grandfather's grip on his arm.

"Where are you going?" Amandil asked, a hard edge to his voice.

"I have to follow those two," Anárion said, nodding to where Galador and Golasgil were leaving the hall.

"Why?"

Anárion thought about his answer for a moment, decided that maybe his grandfather could help him to help them avoid disaster.

"They are the two sailors," was all he said, but it was enough for Amandil to grasp the importance of settling on the right course of action. Together, they followed out of the hall and into one of the terraces where the two men had found seats.

Anárion had hoped to have a chance to discuss matters with Amandil before they approached Galador, but it was not to be. His grandfather went straight to to Galador and said, with a smile, "I congratulate you for the honor."

Galador looked them up and down, and sneered. "I do not consider that an honor, but an opportunity."

"In truth?" Amandil said, and Anárion could not understand how he could remain so calm and composed. "For what, pray?"

Father and son looked at each other and smiled that smile that shows men are keeping secrets. "An opportunity to redress some wrongs."

"Will you be careful, Galador?" Amandil asked, kneeling beside the man who would not show him respect. "Do not involve your daughter in a game of men."

"Do not dare tell me what to do with my own child. Lassilenwë is brave and strong, and an asset to my house."

"Then keep her so."

"I will never listen to anything you say, Amandil," Galador said, through clenched teeth. "Where were you when they took my house? When they took my job? Where were you when they moved us out to this waste?"

"I was trying to undo your mistakes when you defied the King and declared that you would burn and see your daughter burn before you left your own soil."

"And I meant it!" Galador screamed, rising. "I would burn Lassilenwë myself before bowing to Pharazôn's whims."

"I doubt the wisdom in that," Amandil said, slowly coming to his feet. "Your daughter would probably be grateful if you did not speak for her in such matters."

"Lassilenwë knows her duty, and will see it through," Golasgil said, calmly keeping his place, as if he were at a park, feeding pigeons.

"Why do you want people to know you are looking for trouble?" Anárion asked, finally deciding that it was not a time for caution if he wished to have any answers from these men.

As if finally noticing him, Golasgil's gaze bent on him with interest. "What do you mean, lad?" he asked, amused.

"This outburst, in public, as well as all of Lassilenwë's... Why so intent on proclaiming yourselves? Are you not afraid of the King's wrath?"

Both men burst out into laughter, but it was Galador who laughed outright on his face.

"Is that why you came to see me yesterday?" he asked, his breath on Anárion's face.

Anárion looked a quelling glance at his grandfather before saying, "No. I had questions to ask you, about seafaring and ancient techniques."

"A pity that is not my specialty, yet Sauron said we might have more occasion to converse together?"

Amandil's hand tightened on his shoulder at that, but Anárion softly shook his head.

"Men may learn much from each other," he said, as casually a he could, "yet they must not forget to be themselves."

"Ha! Already cowering from the good things. A pity!"

"I have to think of my certification first. After that, who knows?" He said, with a smile. "I bid you good night. I shall try to catch a dance with your daughter; she proved a great conversationalist on my visit yesterday," and, with that, he withdrew, taking his grandfather with him.

"Are you out of your mind, Anárion?" Amandil cried when they were safely out of earshot of the mad pair they had just left. "Throwing yourself into the hornet's nest like that? Agreeing to commune with Sauron and his crazy crew? What were you thinking?"

"I agreed to nothing! You asked me to find out who the sailors were, and it was you who approached them."

"You would have approached them on your own, if I had not been there."

"With a little more subtlety, perhaps."

"Those two are past subtlety," Amandil said, raking hands through his hair and pacing away from him. "They are old dogs that do not even care about duty any more; all they are after is vengeance."

"Vengeance for what?"

"I wonder if they know. Coward... Would use his own child to do his dirty work."

"Believe me, Lassilenwë is more than up to it. Sometimes, she seems as fey as they."

"Why did you go to them, Anárion?"

"To find out if it had really been them speaking of Annatar."

"How did you know?"

He then explained about his first encounter with Lassilenwë, how the sailors' defiant, haughty manner had reminded him of her, how Elenwë had tried to give her hints that she would not take in her quest to defy the King.

"It is almost as if they did it on purpose," Anárion said, "to see who will side with them."

Amandil turned to him, thoughtful, made to scratch his chin just like he always did.

"I have been wondering the same thing," Amandil said, "since you told me about it. Clearly, it was a bait for whoever knew the code, or was foolish enough to ask about it. Did you mention this to any of them?"

Anárion shook his head.

"Good. Do not, on any account, tell anybody what you heard, nor what your suspicions are. I think it best that, for a while, we stop asking about Eregion. Until we see how it all plays out. And, one more thing--what will you do about this... invitation of Sauron's?"

(*Nursery Rhyme Treasury)

“Physical courage, which despises all danger, will make a man brave in one way; and moral courage, which despises all opinion, will make a man brave in another.”
-Charles Caleb Colton

"What will you do about this invitation of Sauron's?"

Like every other momentous question he had ever faced, this one settled on every inch of his body until he felt heavy with it, nearly mad. What could he do about it? The reckless part of him urged him to go on, to find out more about Sauron's plans, to expose him. And yet the prudent part of him screamed that he could never receive another word from that mouth, lest he become ensnared and lost. And yet another part of himself, the part he feared, the part he loathed, the part that could not shut away what Sauron had shown him, urged him to try, to go, to listen, to ask for help. Every time he went to the shop and saw the heap of hair pins in the corner by the ink bottles, his stomach lurched and his heart ached and he told himself that he would rush to Sauron and do whatever it took to make his dreams a reality. And, just as fast, his hand would stray to the one hair pin in his shirt pocket--the one that had saved him that night--and he would walk away from himself, horrified at what his dark heart could contemplate doing.

Months passed in this way. Sometimes, the agony settled to a throb, when he was busy, or when he finally collapsed from exhaustion and lack of sleep. At other times, he half-thought that he was mad, already, and would leave his house at night, wander the streets, go close to that place where he knew they met and discussed philosophy and politics and history and who knew what else? He was no fool to think that it was all done in the name of learning, even if it had been intended for that purpose originally. Deep inside, in a place that his darker self wanted to ignore, he knew that there was a purpose to it all, that Sauron wanted something. He had seen enough of the world to know that few people really helped with an utterly disinterested heart, and he had, as of yet, to see Sauron help someone in need, for all that was heard all through the island of his nobility and magnanimity.

Yet, if Sauron was dark, was he not likewise dark, or darker? How could Sauron have shown him what he had inside of himself? That had not been a lie, nor a vision--where else could it have come from but from inside? The thought of his pride and conceit, his twisted nature sometimes tortured him so much that he went out to the eastern wall of the palace where he knew they met, intent on joining them--what else was there for him to do? He could not look his family nor his friends in the eye, could not trust himself with his responsibilities... What was there left for him?

On one such night, Eranion found him stalking the palace, struggling with himself, and at once went to him, seized him by the shoulders.

"By the Valar, Anárion!" he said, drawing him close to search into his eyes. "Is it really you?"

"Do not let them catch you saying that here."

"Do not let them catch you here, period!" Eranion cried as he steered them both away. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Anárion glanced at him through veiled eyes; it was hard to look at anybody these days. "I could ask the same from you," he said.

Eranion thought for a moment; at length, he gave a tiny shrug, and said, "I will tell you, if you let me take you home and feed you."

"Not to your house!"

"Do you have any food at yours?"

Anárion lowered his head.

"I will not let Elenwë see you; though, it would do her good. We have all been worried about you, what with withdrawing from everything you have always enjoyed, slacking in your projects, not keeping appointments--"

"Not like this, Eranion; I am a mess." And he was; his beard was getting long and his hair dirty, his clothes rumpled. "She would not like to see me."

"We will talk about that later. Come now, brother."

The familiar title made him flinch--he was not a brother to anyone--but he had no will left nor the strength to fight, so he allowed himself to be led along.

They made their way in silence, coming across a beggar every once in a while, or a man rushing home, late from work. Before he knew it, he was devouring an entire loaf of bread and downing more milk than he could keep in his mouth as he sat at Eranion's worktable.

Eranion sat across from him and watched him eat; sometimes he would slide a piece of fruit closer to him, or pour him more milk or water, but never said a word. At first, Anárion was content with this arrangement of things; he had not realized how hungry he felt, nor how nice it was to sit with someone other than his dark thoughts. But, after a while, he began to feel self-conscious and ashamed under Eranion's gaze.

Wiping his mouth, and taking a last, long draft from the milk, he crossed his arms over the table and looked back at his friend. Eranion, in turn, pushed a tea cup at him.

"For your heartburn," he said. "You had better drink it now; it will start bothering you before too long after all that bread you ate on an empty stomach."

"Thank you," Anárion whispered, even more ashamed, as he complied with the request.

He drank the whole cup under Eranion's supervision. When he was done, Eranion nodded, scooped the tray away, and sat once more for the promised--and dreaded--conversation.

"Would you rather sleep first?" Eranion asked.

It was tempting; he was exhausted, and the fancy entered his head that, with Eranion nearby, he would not dream. But any minute he stayed there, he risked Elenwë barging in on them and finding him, and he could not bear that at present. So, he shook his head. The sooner they were done, the better.

"All right," Eranion said, flattening his palms on the table. "I promised you that I would tell you what I was doing at the palace. I heard rumors that an increasingly large following of Elendili was gathering there, and I wanted to see whether it was true."

"You were spying on them?"

"It was the only way to find out the truth."

"It is a dangerous game, Eranion."

"A game that you are playing also."

"It is different," Anárion said, irked at seeing himself so easily cornered.

"What makes it different? Experience?"

"Hold it right there," Anárion cried, rising from the table, unsure what to do, what to say; surprised at it being Eranion calling him on so directly. "Are you going to accost me like the others? I never expected it from you."

"I am not accosting you. We are simply having an honest conversation, for once."

"I never meant it to be like this! You know how I loathe dishonesty and deception, but there is no other way."

"If you are willing to risk yourself in such a manner, why should it surprise you that any of us be likewise willing?" Eranion said, slightly loud, slightly desperate, but it angered him.

"Have you been talking to your sister?" Anárion asked, "That sounds, surprisingly, like the accusations she threw at me."

"Did she talk about this with you?"

"She did not tell you?"

"Not a word," Eranion said, resuming the seat he had left in the heat of the argument. "I assumed you had quarreled because you did not choose her to be your queen at the Erulaitalë..."

"Please--"

"Yes, that was also her reaction. She said that she never expected you would choose her and that, if that was the only reason I could figure for the argument, I knew neither herself nor you." Eranion looked up at him, pleading. "What happened, brother? I think your falling away from us and this quarrel are related, but I cannot see how. Elenwë will not say anything, and I could not even find you to ask-- Elenwë is so distraught about it... What happened?"

"A distraught Elenwë?" Anárion asked, with a snort. "I cannot even imagine what that looks like."

"Wan. And very quiet."

That gave him pause. He raked hands through his hair and sat back, astride, on the chair.

"I never meant to hurt her... Saving her--that was the only reason why I left her."

"Save her from what?"

"From the danger that lurks behind what I do. You know what that is like; did you not feel it today while you watched all of those people attend this secret meeting? Did it not make your skin crawl?"

Eranion ducked his head, and he knew that he had the advantage, at least momentarily, but he had to press it if there was any hope of keeping this beloved family safe from risk and harm. Leaning forward against the table, he said, "There are things that you must do, that everything within you compels you to do, and you cannot refuse. You know that, do you not?" A nod. Then, "I was faced with one such decision a few years ago, and for good or ill, I made it with my conscience. It has cost me dearly, but it had to be made... I think I would have burst if I had denied what my conscience told me to do, even if the doing of it sometimes contradicts what my principles are. I have had to lie, pretend, deceive, hide, and I hate it."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I believe in this cause with all my heart. To deny it would be to deny myself."

Eranion nodded, but said nothing, and a thoughtful silence fell among them. It began to rain outside, and the pitter-patter on the roof and the cobblestones on the floor outside sounded mournful to Anárion, who awaited sentence, and had not been ready to forsake Eranion yet, but could not see a different outcome.

As if coming to a decision, Eranion nodded again, clasped Anárion's shoulder, and said, "I know you, and I can imagine what cause this might be to draw such kind of commitment from you. As you have explained to me, why would you not explain it to Wen? It would soothe her heart--"

"No! I want her as away from this as is possible for her to be."

"So you will forsake the friendship?"

"If it keeps her safe."

"Why?"

"What does it matter why?" Anárion asked, with a thump of his palm on the table. Then, as if recollecting himself, where he was and with whom he spoke, he said, in a low voice, "I could not bear it if harm came to her. At least, this way, I hope she will forget."

Eranion looked away and heaved a deep sigh.

"Tell me that she will," said Anárion, but Eranion shook his head, rose and moved to stand next to the window. "Tell me that she will," Anárion urged once more, moving to stand next to him.

"You know better than that, and now I see why you would rather not say a word about it. In our defense, I will say that you cannot expect that other people will not be as fervent in their own causes as you are about yours. About Elenwë, I will say that she feels Sauron has something to do with your dark mood, and is determined to find out what it is."

"By consorting with Sauron? And you let her?" Anárion cried, striving hard to curb the urge to shake him.

"With Lassilenwë, which is as close as Wen can get. I do not like it, but I saw no other way about it."

"Lassilenwë... And Sauron?"

"It is all over the city, you have not heard?"

No. He was ashamed to say that he had not, and with that thought he staggered back towards the bed, burying his head within his hands as he sat there, thinking. Fast. He had to think! So preoccupied he had been with his own problems, his own petty concerns, that he had failed to grasp the bigger issue.

"Did you say that Lassilenwë has been seen in Sauron's company?"

"Yes, and the silly girls think that he will make her his bride, but neither Wen nor I--"

"Of course not. Sauron is not interested in Lassilenwë; it is Galador he wants."

"Her father? Why? In all my wanderings, I have not seen them together more than thrice."

"Your wanderings?" Anárion cried, looking up. "Have you been following them?"

"Not stalking, if that is what you mean by the word. Wen was worried about Lassilenwë--since her... tiff... with you, she seems to have taken her as her purpose in life; and I was curious to see why the Faithful were flocking to them, so I offered to help. I have not been caught, I do not see what is so wrong--"

"Everything about it is wrong," Anárion said, rising, grabbing Eranion by the shoulders and looking at him hard in the face. "Galador is a dangerous man, but even more so is Sauron. I doubt that either of them would hesitate to kill if it helps them achieve whatever objective they have, and you do not wish to be caught between them. Galador is mad, but Sauron can drive you mad, look at me! Of late, I cannot even trust myself!" And Anárion tore at his beard as if to emphasize his point. "Keep Wen away from them, by the Valar! Do not let her get involved. Wait until it is revealed what they are after."

"And you, Anárion?"

"I have a little clue as to what that can be," he said, releasing him, standing his hair on end as he had a habit of doing when focused. "I would be a traitor if I did not pursue it."

"Regardless of where it leads?"

Anárion nodded, but his friend's intent look drove home the implications of the question.

"Your sister was right. Lassilenwë is blind. The world is crumbling to pieces. I have to go now," he said, "but, please, to the end of your days know that I was a loyal friend to you, and few things meant more to me than your friendship." He thought to leave the hair pin behind. Should the worst happen, he realized that he desperately wanted Elenwë to have it, to know what she had meant to him, but was not strong enough to part with it. "It would be nothing to die for what I love most," he said, trying to smile. "If you have to, tell her that."

The friends embraced and, strengthened both in mind and in body, Anárion disappeared in the rain to do his duty.

They had discussed it at the beach that day, all those months ago--how some of the radical Faithful were becoming blind to their true motives and caught up in selfishness. That Galador was one such was more than clear to him, but what part was Sauron playing in the game? In what Sauron had shown him of himself, he had seen enough to know that Sauron was cunning, selfish, unscrupulous, and, most frightening of all, he saw no impediments, cared not for petty humans at all. What was his purpose in playing Galador? Was he staging a rebellion? To his mind came the fey light that he had seen in Galador's eyes and which had given him the idea, but why would Sauron involve himself? And, what was worse, was a rebellion against a wicked King, by an equally wicked madman, justifiable? Isildur's words came to him, with the possibility of such a thing, and Míriel's, as well, that things would get busy. How had he been so wrapped up in his own misery to miss it? Was he too late to help?

He felt that the core of the matter would hinge, for the Faithful, on whether Sauron was for, or against them. With relief, he realized that, for his part, he wished Sauron gone, but principle demanded that he find out the truth. What he would do with the information he obtained... he could leave that awful decision for later.

At the moment, he needed answers, and there was only one place where he could ask those questions.

In the darkest corner of Bright Mariner's Row, there was a tavern, The Five-Pointed Star, where travelers met from the five corners of the island to conduct all sort of business of both legal and illegal nature. It was such a shady spot that, not even dressed as Âmrazil, had he dared venture there, but he had a compelling reason to try now, not to mention the perfect disguise, for he was so filthy and in need of grooming, that he had trouble recognizing himself.

He knew for whom to search, and recognized him as soon as their eyes met: a man of such exquisite beauty that he was almost an Elf, except for the scar that marred the left side of his face. It was not even that which alerted Anárion, but the haughty, defiant gleam that rested on him when the man saw him. "A proud Elendili," he had been told, "And as cunning as you will find on the island." He did not have to ask twice to know it, once he had looked at him.

The man nodded at him, and followed his progress through the twilit, crowded room, and smiled when Anárion stopped at his table.

"Well met, stranger," he said, with the merest hint of amusement and a raised brow. "I knew you were searching for me."

"And why would that be?" Anárion asked, slightly terrified, but curious.

The man gave out a laugh. "You walk like a noble man, for all your filth, and look about you with self-importance."

"I could say the same about you," Anárion said, deciding to play the part and sit, though he had not been invited, suddenly curious by one intriguing thought. "Are you a noble?"

"Look around you, does this look like a palace?"

Anárion obliged and turned a smile at the man across from him. "No. This shack looks worse than even I had been led to believe. There is enough dust and sand here for your own little beach, and enough bad smell for a fish market. But there are different kinds of nobility, also, and the best of them does not require palaces, nor cleanliness, as marks of its presence."

The man narrowed his eyes at him, but smiled. "I will speak with you," he said, "if only because I miss intelligent conversation. You do not mind it if I drink?"

"I shall join you," Anárion said, relieved, and intrigued at this interesting man.

"You do not have to, on my account."

"What makes you think I do not drink?"

Another small laughter that, instead of being coarse reminded him of the laughter of rain as it fell on the cobblestones in his grandfather's house. "You seem rather hale for one who indulges often. But, tell me, what do you want? Surely you did not come to gaze upon my beauty," he said, turning on him on his left side, anticipating his repulsion, but Anárion did not flinch.

"Elven-like you are in everything, even your scar, but you are correct. I came to seek for help and, if you are as Faithful as I was told, you will not deny it."

That made the man's smile turn into a tight frown, and that defiant flash lit his eyes again. He leaned forward and grabbed Anárion by the collar, saying, "How do I know that you are Faithful?"

Anárion flinched in surprise. He had not been prepared for such a question, and all his wit deserted him fast. He was Faithful! He had given his all for Númenor, and would give more if she asked for it. Why did he have to answer such a ridiculous question?

"I have sacrificed much--" Anárion began, haltingly, but the man shook his head in a menacing gesture and tightened his hold on his shirt.

"Give me a good reason, or I swear I'll bleed

"I would die for her," he said, the first thought that came to him. He must have said it with conviction, for the man let go, and tilted his head to listen.

Anárion allowed himself to breathe, and said, "I need to find out who Annatar is, and what did he have to do with the fall of Eregion. Eregion is--"

"I know what Eregion is. Why do you want to know?"

"I heard a man say that we were running the same fate, with Sauron posed to become a new Annatar. A man who wants to lead the Faithful in secret combinations. I want to know if he needs to be stopped."

"Who--this man, or Sauron?"

"Does it matter?"

"Would you stop him?"

Anárion's stomach lurched. He had never intended to be embroiled in anything of this nature, had never thought he could. But, with a certainty that surprised--and relieved him--he realized that he would do whatever it took to keep the people safe, not just his Elenwë.

Nodding, he said, "I promise you that I will never stop fighting for Númenor."

The man smiled, drew his hand to his heart, "So be it, my lord. I will find out what you want. See that you use it well."

Rumors kept coming to the shop thick and fast for weeks--that the Faithful were gaining in strength, that not even Pharazôn himself would withstand them when the stroke fell, yet nobody seemed to know what this stroke was, no matter whom he asked, and he asked a great deal.

His anxiety and despair of ever finding out were such that he contemplated joining these secret meetings to find out more--there lay the answers, he was certain of it. But, every time he was on his way, his hand would stray to the pocket were he kept Elenwë's pin, and he would run away on the opposite direction. A coward he was, perhaps, but he did not trust himself with Sauron and he was determined that, should he lose everything else, he would, at least, keep his honor.

Still, no word came to him of Annatar and, out of respect to the man who was risking himself to find the answer to the riddle, he let the matter be.

But, he could not always ignore the suspicions that filled his mind at night, that urged him to follow on Galador's trail. There was something about that man, something about the things he had said to them, that filled Anárion with dread. Opportunities... To redress wrongs. Whose wrongs? What duty is Lassilenwë going to see through? That defiant, mad gleam of the eyes reminded Anárion of the pictures he had seen of wolves ready to pounce on a prey and, as the whispers kept coming of Faithful and their bravado, Faithful wrecking stores, hurting people on the streets, he could not help thinking that Galador was behind it.

He was awed by Elenwë's foresight, her grasp of the situation, when she spoke to him about the Faithful. "In the name of the Valar she insults and ridicules those who do not think like her. I fear that, before long, she will cease to see the error of her ways and then not even the Valar will be as important to her as her being right." What would it take for them all now to repent? What would it take for Lassilenwë? And Galador?

One evening, after days of struggling with the thought, he decided that he could not have this in his conscience, as well as everything else he kept there. Principle and humanity demanded that he try to warn Lassilenwë. She had lived under too much indulgence and, perhaps, her faults were not as much of her own making as her father's. Elenwë cared for her enough to try to help; so should he.

So he made his way to the hall where they held these meetings now. They had moved from the eastern gate of the palace and were now convening in an old playhouse near the armsmasters' headquarters. He arrived there early and sat outside, a little ways away, under cover of a few trees that had been planted there by order of the Queen, to try to preserve green areas where the wild were fast fading before progress.

It was difficult to sit there and watch the crowd come in. The camaraderie going on between them all made him jealous as he contemplated his own loneliness, and the stab of regret was sharp when he remembered what Sauron had shown him. It could have been him, waiting inside to greet these men, to discuss their ideals, to plan how to help each other... Or was that what they were doing?

A sudden heat that came to his face made him aware that someone was watching him. When he looked up, Lassilenwë herself was regarding him from under the shade of her hood, a few paces away from the small grove. He rose when he saw her, but did not move to her, and neither did she move to him. But, the sardonic nature of her twisted smile bothered him, and he finally moved a couple of steps closer to say, "I thought you were not fond of philosophical discussions."

"I thought you were," she said, lowering her hood to reveal that perfectly shaped face and long neck that she always exposed by wearing her hair up. Another smile, teasing, this time, "Have you come to join us? Or have you brought me a present?" and her eyes rested, briefly, on the hair pin with which he had been, absently, playing.

As soon as he noticed it, he put it back to his pocket and out of her sight, but it was enough to steady him. The gesture made her laugh in a scornful manner.

"It would only occur to you to come in search of a woman, while carrying another woman's token."

"I did not come in search of a woman."

"Oh?" she asked in a whisper, blushing for the first time that he could remember.

"I came to warn a friend."

"Who might this person be? I will not fetch him for you."

"You already have," he said, and watched her brows knit as realization came upon her. "Lassilenwë, do you know what you are doing here?"

"I am preparing."

"For what?"

"Why, silly Anárion, what do people prepare for? Responsibilities, tasks. A new order is coming, and you would be wise to learn of it now that you can still take part."

"I do not take part in deeds of darkness," he said, alarmed, but hoping to provoke her into revealing more of their plans.

"Do not be a fool. Dark is the so-called-king and his minions; dark the queen for not standing up to him. Dark you are, and blind, for not aiding us when you could."

"So-called-king?"

"Yes! And let him enjoy it while it lasts. Númenor need not be defiled by his polluted ways."

"What are you doing?" he repeated, advancing yet one more step.

"I do my duty, which is more than you ever did."

"Terrorizing women and children, vandalizing other people's property--"

"They had it coming."

"Who are you to pass that kind of judgment?"

"Who are you, Anárion?" she asked, a smile filling her face when she realized her question had discomfited him. "Who are you? And, whose side are you on? You toy too much between both and will be burned if you keep it up. At least I know where I stand, but you? If you do not step into the light, you are in darkness, even if you do not step to it. But, I feel you know what you want and are afraid. We can show you how to get it."

"Who taught you to repeat those ridiculous words?"

"The same person who told me that you would join us soon and, see, here you are."

That made his heart skip a beat, when he realized that even his coming here today had been playing into Sauron's trap for him. He took a step back, then another one, while he retrieved the pin from his pocket as if to draw strength from it. He realized that he had been shaking his head like a madman when her laughter penetrated the fog of his thoughts.

"Frightened, boy. You came to save me, but I will save you instead. I will show you where you stand."

"I know where I stand," he said, and turned away.

"Coward!" he heard her cry as he walked away. "If you knew where you stood, you would stand with me!"

That made him run faster.

For weeks afterward, he was tormented by his foolishness in seeking out Lassilenwë. Her words to him haunted even his waking hours: had he gone to see her because he wished to help her, or because he wished to join her? Was there reason to be afraid? If Sauron's path was the right one, why did his whole body rebel against it? Was he rotten beyond salvation--and, if so, why keep suffering? Was it not time to join the society of others like himself?

He soon had to try to put all his cares aside into a pretense of normalcy, for he was hardly fit to be seen and the Eruhantalë was fast approaching, bringing with it his family back into the city for the celebrations. He just managed it, though he felt nervous and fidgety and his only escape--working at the shop--was unavailable when his family were in town.

The peace between himself and Isildur was brittle, at best. They all noticed the change in his mood and the thinness and paleness that had come over him. The women thought it was because of his projects with the guildmasters. His father knew that was not it, though he could not see what else it could be and, after a while, stopped asking, but the frown would not leave his face. His grandfather dared to ask if he had joined with Sauron--that put a frown on his own face. Only Isildur did not ask, but watched, and waited, for him to slip and expose himself, which made it unbearable to be near him.

On the evening before the festival, Arandar came to see him while he was staying at Nuriandil's house along with everyone else. From the tight smiles and the constant keen glance at himself, Anárion knew that Arandar was in distress, but his family would not leave them alone to talk.

Finally unable to keep the anxiety at bay, he announced, "It is late and we are all tired. I will see Arandar to the door," and, leading his friend away with a hand round his shoulders, they left to a chorus of protests and outrage at his uncivil behavior. But, instead of going to the door, he led Arandar to his room and shut the door.

"Next time, send a message, and I will meet you elsewhere."

"I did not have the wits to wait," Arandar said, seizing his arm to stop him from pacing. "This came to the shop," he said, handing him a folded parchment, "from your man. I saw him deliver it, though he did not see me."

And Arandar proceeded to tell the account of what he had seen, but Anárion had stopped paying attention in his eagerness to read the contents of the letter.

The parchment had been hastily folded, and the script was just as hasty but, even in carelessness, the hand looked firm and elegant. Anárion read, in Quenya,

You were right to fear, and I knew as much from the moment all my efforts to find out what you asked became thwarted, but I managed to find something, though mayhap I will pay dearly for it. Eregion fell to treason from this Annatar, and I hear the Elves were always so tight about it that I doubt even your source knows the truth. Greed was at the heart of it. Greed, and lust.

I kept my promise. Now keep yours.

Anárion finished reading with trembling hands and sat on the bed to think. Arandar knelt beside him and snatched the parchment from his fingers.

"Lust for what?" Arandar asked once he had done.

"Power, I would guess," he said, thinking of the feelings that Sauron had opened to his heart, the desire to be a master and to have people obey. If only with the aim to do good, it was a corrupt wish.

"Government? Do you suppose Sauron is after the government of the island?"

That made Anárion sit up. "That is why he wants Galador! But--Sauron does not strike me as one who would make this kind of alliance. Sauron does not share."

"How do you know?"

Anárion remembered that fateful talk, the hints Sauron had given him of absolute power, the hate he had injected into being second and not first. "Believe me," Anárion said. "Sauron aims for the top in everything."

Arandar's brows knit together, but he shook his head as if remembering something. "Speaking of Galador--Lassilenwë is missing."

"What?" Anárion asked, dropping the parchment that he had reclaimed from Arandar.

"Vanished. She had been missing since Tuesday, but they had kept it hushed because they wanted no trouble. Well, it is out now."

Anárion had already risen, heart hammering, and was fetching the rope he kept hidden under the bed to climb down.

"What are you doing?" Arandar asked, trying to seize him, but Anárion shrugged him off to secure the rope in the way he always did when ready to escape.

Clasping Arandar's shoulder, he put their foreheads together and said, "You have been a light in a tunnel of darkness for me, Arandar. Promise me that, if anything should happen to me, you will not try to find me, and you will burn anything to do with The Star. If this rebellion prospers, it might be all in vain."

With a final squeeze of his friend's shoulders, he prepared to climb down.

"What will you do?" Arandar asked, an edge of despair to his voice.

"Elenwë is in danger and, by the Valar, I will die before I see her hurt by anybody, be him King's Man or Faithful."

"The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason."
-T. S. Eliot

Anárion had not known the meaning of haste, nor that his body could respond to the demands he placed upon it so readily and efficiently; for, his life depended on it, and he ran like it.

He darted down streets and squares, but it was not far to Elenwë's house and it was his good fortune that one of her younger cousins was still outside when he got there.

"Where is she?" he cried, stopping to catch his breath.

"Who?"

"Elenwë! And tell me fast."

"She left," the girl said, with a smile, clearly amused at what she took to be a love conquest, but at her words Anárion's world threatened to fall apart.

"Where? When?" he asked, seizing her by the shoulders.

"To a friend's--I know not--a while ago!"

That was enough. He should not have wasted any time asking--he knew very well where Elenwë had gone, and getting there was harder than he had anticipated. Lassilenwë lived a fair distance away and, though his mind quickly gave him shortcuts to get there, he was afraid to take one and miss Elenwë if he strayed far off the usual path. That meant, however, that he ran a long distance in the throes of a panic, and the prospect of arrival at his destination produced only more anxiety.

If she is not there once I arrive... what will I do? Where am I going to find her? An instinct he could not isolate told him that Galador was planning rebellion. What was hard to believe was that he had allied himself to Sauron, if he knew that Sauron had the potential to become Annatar. How could he fall prey to the same mistake about which he warned people? And yet--

And yet, Anárion had felt the power of Sauron's will, had almost succumbed to it himself. It was not difficult to think of a weak and injured mind letting itself be deluded by a strong man who promised more than one should give. Or let himself receive, without effort.

That thought spurred him on. His thighs throbbed with the effort and he felt himself begin to shake, begin to succumb to spasms as he gasped for air without halting to inhale it. Elenwë needed him. Innocently, she would try to help the family and would stumble thick into their plot. He had to get there before she did.

He had to.

And he did! But only just. He saw the slender, cloaked figure tapping at one of the side windows, and dashed over the fence, causing a racket as he tore through timbers and upset a bird bath, but he managed to seize Elenwë's wrist and drag her away as the back door to the house opened.

"Quiet," he cried, but it came out as a hoarse croak. To emphasize his meaning, his hand tightened on her wrist and he pulled her forward despite her gasps. He could hear people running after them now, calling each other, and one growling voice above the din that said, "I want them alive!"

He had thought that he would die from exhaustion. He worked daily at the shipyards, and rowed during season, but he had never pushed himself like this. He did not think that Elenwë would make it, and the thought of lifting her limp body from the ground brought an involuntary cry that he would have much rather held in. It startled her, and she stumbled and fell, while their pursuers hooted exultingly.

"Go away," she cried.

"Never." He pulled her up, was sure that had dragged her at least a block, but still she did not moan, nor slackened the pace.

They were now approaching a food market and he had to figure out a way to lose themselves. Vaguely, he recalled that there were only two food markets in the city that opened after dusk, and the other was to the north.

"Can you keep it up a little more?" he asked, but the only answer he received was a convulsing of the fingers that were laced with his. He took it in the affirmative and, swerving violently to the left, went under the rib roaster's stall, looking for the steps that led to the fish fryers... Only he did not take the steps, but jumped into the lower level street, their fall cushioned by an awning from whence they rolled onto the floor.

The commotion would give them away. They had to run, but now he knew where he was and, one quick glance behind him at Elenwë told him that, if the only way to keep her safe was to expose himself, he would do it.

They ran over low rooftops and streets, jumped over a canal once, crawled through a tunnel and were almost bitten by a dog when he shoved her through a low door and down a winding tunnel, and crouched next to her until all the noise subsided and he was convinced that they had truly lost their pursuers.

For a very long time he could not move. Relief mingled with exhaustion in the aftermath of a life-or-death pursuit had been more than he could withstand, and he crouched there, wondering if his cramped muscles would ever relax enough to change into a more comfortable position.

Elenwë crouched beside him. He could hear her panting and the raspy muffled coughs that she tried to suppress, could feel the heat that radiated from her like a slow-burning coal there on his left rib, where she was touching him.

At some point afterward, he realized that she was running his hand in circles on his upper back while trying with the other to turn his face upward so she could look at it.

"You need water," she said, stopping a few times to take in big gasps of air.

"No-ne."

"Let me try to find some."

"No water... Unless--Arandar--"

"Arandar lives here?"

"No."

She made to move away despite his protests, but his body seemed to have decided to listen to him again and he managed to curl his hand around her wrist to keep her from going. The sudden movement made her lurch forward and fall, kneeling on all fours, beside him.

It was getting dark and he could not see very well, did not know whether she was angry or in pain, knew that he had to check on her legs to see how bad the scraping was, but his mouth was so parched that he could not form a word. He did need water. But could not bear to have her go to get it.

"I will help these muscles uncurl before you are left in this position permanently," she said, after which she settled more comfortably beside him to begin with his left arm. It was fortunate that he could not speak; it was painful, and he would have disgraced himself. Elenwë was patient, however, and knew just how to massage the stiffness away. Anárion had seen her do it many times for her brothers, and even for Isildur; but they were past the awkward years when she learned how, and he never could summon the nerve to ask her to do it, nor did she ever offer, though he had noticed her look at him with a curious mixture of anger and wistfulness when others performed the service for him.

It was the memory of that look that made him sigh, his sigh made her stop, and they both became suddenly very aware of what they had been doing. He could tell by the way her fingers hovered over his calf as if both unsure and eager to touch him, by the low, shy, almost fearful way in which she asked, "Did I hurt you?"

He managed to shake his head, but she probably could not see it; worked hard and the word, "No," came out. She resumed her ministrations then, but very tentatively, and he found that he could think of nothing to say that would ease the awkward mood. It filled him with regret, always, that their companionship had been reduced to this ebb-and-flow of closeness, and for the first time in years wondered if it had been his fault, but his body felt so sore and her hands made it feel so much better. His eyes closed all too easily.

"Do not fall asleep without drinking any water." It was her voice that found its way through the dreamless haze that had fallen upon him, urgent and anxious, and inexplicably tender.

"There is no water here," he heard himself say, and that woke him completely, for he had not thought that he could speak.

"How do you know?" she asked, rising. "This looks like a house of some sort; there must be water somewhere."

"This is not a house."

"How do you know?" she asked again, the tiniest hint of impatience seeping through the end of her question. "There must be candles somewhere, or a lamp."

"Candles on the second drawer to the right."

That made her pause. If he could see her well, he knew that the dainty frown he liked would be right between her eyes, her lips curled in a slight smile that meant she was expecting the worst while trying to seem like she expected the best, arms crossed in front of her, right foot slightly forward, right hip out.

When he tried to rise, he was surprised to find that he could do so with no great discomfort. Whoever had taught her the technique had done an amazing job of it. Reaching for her arm, he linked it with his and moved slowly to the wall, then carefully over the table with the older editions and bits of news, the parcels of pamphlets ready to be distributed, the shelf with his inks... There, the chest of drawers.

"One. Two." There were the candles, but what he really needed was a lamp. The oil he kept with the inks and would be easily fetched. He fumbled through the contents of the drawer, making some noise as he went, until he found what he looked for. Moving a little to the right was the ink cabinet, the oil was on the lower shelf.

"There. Eä!" The light was welcome after so long sitting in darkness but, and perhaps not so surprisingly, he found that Elenwë was not glancing in astonishment about her but was frowning at him.

"I am sorry if it is not adequate enough for you," he said, irritated.

"When were you thinking of telling me you knew where we were?"

"I was not thinking of ever telling you of this place, but your foolishness left me no choice."

"My foolishness? What call had you to go running in the night like that, risking yourself, going to places where suspicious people lurk about--"

"Well," he said, setting the lamp on the table with a thud, "there would have been no need of that if you had not done it first."

"Do you mean to tell me that you went to that house for me?"

"Is that not why I do everything I do?" he asked back, a bark, completely devoid of tenderness, but she seemed not to hear. She looked at him for a moment before sinking back onto the floor, her hands in her mouth, eyes wide.

"How could you have known?" she asked to herself. "How could anyone have known, if I did not say?"

She looked so forlorn and childish, a princess who suddenly realizes she can prick her fingers just like the commoners, that he could not help feel guilty at his gruff manner.

Sitting beside her, he leaned to look into her face. "Do you think I would not have known where you were? But, I must chide you, for you did not even protest when I dragged you away. It could have been anybody; it could have been danger."

"I knew it was you the moment you touched me."

It made him start, gasp for air, be recalled to more practical and urgent concerns.

"Your legs," he said, "did I--" And they both looked down at the tatters in her skirt through which bleeding skin was exposed.

"Valar," he muttered, as he set his hair on end. There were some crude healing supplies about, he knew, but the water? Water first! He thanked all the Valar whose names he managed to remember when he saw that Arandar had left a good supply. He poured some in a glass for her to drink.

When she was done, she said, "Your turn. I want to see you drink it," which put an end to his plan of saving it all for her. Then he put some water in a basin, found a couple of clean cloths, and set to the task of cleaning her wounds--the wounds he had caused.

She hitched up her skirts, the one left leg first, and, though it was entirely improper, he could not help swallow hard before he began. But the scrapes were large and the flesh torn around them and he quickly forgot the fantasy in the actual work. He felt every wince--small, sudden tremors--as he bathed the wound and tried to scrape the dirt out of it, but she did not cry out once, for which he was grateful. He felt close to tears himself, and could not have contained them if she had shown her pain.

Once he was done, and a soothing ointment rubbed on the area, he hitched up her skirts to begin on the other side--she was panting and he doubted that she knew much of what went on. It was both easier and harder this time; easier, because the first leg had let him know what to expect of the contact; harder, because he now knew that she did not cry because she could not. The herbed water he was using stung so badly on the raw flesh that all her effort was spent in breathing through the pain.

Once he was done and she had drank more water, he sat across from her, ready to rub her feet, when she gave a little moan.

"You do not have to."

"Propriety cannot interfere in my rubbing your feet; I have now seen much more than that."

"Please, do not."

But, when he removed her left slipper, the strangled cry came from him: the foot was bloody, just like the leg. The fabric of her slippers had torn, exposing the skin to the hard ground.

He knew that he cried as he washed her feet, but hoped that she was too distracted with her own cries to notice his more restrained weeping. Bristles, fragments of rocks, dirt, a small piece of glass, a fishbone, had all been embedded on the soles of her feet, and these he carefully removed, all the while cursing himself for letting it happen.

"I am sorry," she finally said, when he was done.

"You will be if there are any more wounds you are not telling me about."

She shook her head.

"I am sorry. I am a lousy protector."

"You saved my life." It was said simply, but he heard the gratitude, the awe, the relief in it, with his sharper awareness of her moods.

And it was then that he knew he had to ask, even if it angered her, even if the answer undid him. "Tell me, Elenwë, did you get involved because of me?"

It was a proud, conceited notion, to think that she would change her ways for anything he did, but something in the tilt of her head, in the way her eyes darted away from his face when he asked, told him the truth.

Elenwë, however, did not own it in words. "I have felt horrible guilt on Lassilenwë's account ever since that day we saved her from the mob at the seamstress'." Her hands were searching for something to do, and she began to clean the inside of her fingernails while talking. "I cannot help but think that, maybe, if I had warned her more clearly, invited her more, gone out with her, not wasted so much time covering myself from the King's Men, maybe I would have gotten through to her." She paused, long enough to bite her lip and search for his eyes. "Where, do you suppose, could she be?"

The honest answer was horrendous, but Elenwë deserved it. Looking back into her eyes with the same purpose, he said, "Dead. I think she is dead. People do not simply vanish like that. Galador knows it, or else he would have come forward with a request for help much sooner and after the fact."

She had sought his fingers and he was clutching back, as much to offer support as to receive it.

"How can these things happen in Númenor, among civilized people?"

"I have seen so much that has utterly astounded and horrified me, that I am convinced we are living through a decline. We may get out of it, but maybe this is it--who knows but The One, alone?" He gave her a small smile, tightened his hold on her hands, "You were right--about everything--how people were out of control and blinded by their own selfishness, how repentance might not be as easy as I supposed it to be. You were right about it all."

She shook her head. "It is too early to tell; it may be too late for Lassilenwë, but who knows if this will make her father repent from his shameful ways?"

"I doubt that, Elenwë. People are so painfully proud and stubborn. Even I am like that--I, who thought to make myself a judge. I know better now; I am just as vulnerable, just as rotten and twisted as the next man," he confessed, head down, shoulders downcast. The agony of the past months came all rushing back to him and it was impossible to keep himself straight under the weight of it, but he was totally unprepared for what came next.

Elenwë gave a tug at his fourth finger and asked, while her finger circled round it, "Is that why you stopped wearing your ring?"

Involuntarily, he pulled his hand away, regretting it the moment it was done. Staring at the backs of his hands was something he had done so much over the past few months that he had memorized every freckle and scar, but it was bitter looking at them now. What had he become? How could he wear the ring of his honorable fathers?

"You said that men wear their jewelry to send signals about themselves."

"As do women. But, I know you are fond of your ring."

"Maybe I lost it on the chase?" he suggested, trying to sound sheepish, but she raised her brow at him.

"You have not worn it in many months, Anárion."

"When did you see me?"

She returned to the cleaning of her fingernails. "I have seen you many times when you are about. I have seen you at the square, at the market, at the poorhouse a mere couple of weeks ago..."

"Do you go to the poorhouse?"

"They need help just as everyone else," she said, defensively.

"Why did I never see you?" he asked, but was already recalling the pricking behind his neck he had felt so many times when he had been out in the past few months, even remembered turning to see who was watching him, telling himself how it could not possibly be her. "Were you hiding from me?"

"I can have my secrets as much as you do."

"Oh, Elenwë," he whispered, taking her hands in his, carried away by the sudden impulse of tenderness and gratitude that filled him before such a noble soul. "What else do you do to help? Do you, by any chance, stop by the refuge near Mariner's Canal?"

A tiny smile curled her lips before she could stop it.

"And knit clothes for the distribution center on the Orolandë?"

"You were everywhere, too! That means you cannot be angry with me for trying my hand at any of it."

"Angry? I cannot help be angry at you, and your brothers, for letting you wander into such parts of the city on your own; but, in truth, I am in awe of you."

"As am I. Is this," she said, looking around herself, "another of your projects?"

He had known the explanation had to come sooner or later but, now that it was unavoidable, he found that he was not ready for it. Turning round, he reached for one of the wrapped parcels, undid the knot and pulled a few sheets, which he handed, silently, to her.

She began reading with a little gasp which turned into a small cry when she examined the next leaf, then the next, then the next, all exact copies of each other. Her wild eyes turned on him as the sheets pooled onto her lap.

"Is this what you could not tell me all those months ago?"

"Do you see why I could not?"

She shook her head. "Do you think I would not have willingly shared this with you--the burden, the peril--"

"And do you think I could allow it, knowing what the price would be? This is high treason, Elenwë, high treason against the King and his government. If I am ever found out, I will have to be put to death. If none of you know about it, you might be spared."

"But do you think we would not die willingly for you, for such a cause?"

"It is precisely because I know you would that I had to keep it a secret," he said. "I never intended you would find out."

"You said Arandar knows," she claimed, between a pout and a plea.

"Entirely by accident, though it has been a blessing I could not have lived without. Especially the last few months."

"I could tell," she said, looking down so she would not have to look at him. "You seemed so worn and weighed down; I thought you wanted to die. Oh, how I longed to come to you, but I did not know what to say! I did not think you would want to see me. What happened? Was it because of this?" and she held the sheets in her hands.

If he had found out something about himself, it was that he could not lie to her--a very unfortunate situation, for she read him remarkably well. He looked down, settled his gaze on his ringless finger.

"Sauron?" she prodded, and he had to agree. "I knew he was behind it! Such despair and hopelessness only appeared after he arrived, and I only saw this shadow on you after you were chosen at the Erulaitalë. What did he say to you, Anárion?"

He bit his lip so hard that it bled. How could he tell her? She would despise and hate him, but perhaps that was for the best. He was so weary of lying!

Taking a deep breath, he began as best he could, "It was not so much what he said as what he showed me of myself. I was so full of my self-importance and wish to be gratified that I even forgot to pay attention to what I wished to see in him. The ring... I failed to notice it! He thought that I was a man with dreams and ambitions, but that I should not settle for the petty dreams common men have. He showed me what my dreams were--dreams I never even knew I had!-- and they were dark, Elenwë, dark and evil. Dreams of power and glory, of earning the respect and love I was not getting, of command and power over others. I wanted to use the power to help, but even so they are corrupt dreams." His voice was getting louder and his gestures wider. He found that, now that he had begun, he could not stop himself. "I was afraid, of Sauron, but mostly of myself, and wondered what I would do to earn what he offered, by the Valar, I started a few times with the intent of seeking him out--what was the point of resisting, if I was flawed and dark? Do you know what stopped me?"

She shook her head, and he retrieved the pin from his shirt pocket. She gasped when she recognized it, and he clutched it tightly within his fist.

"After we quarreled that night," he began anew, "I went back and managed to recover seven of them, to return to you, but then I could not bear myself; could not bear to look at you."

"Is that why you stopped wearing your ring?" she asked again, eyes gentle and bright.

"I could not look at the reminder of all the expectations I had disappointed. I was not worthy to carry my fathers' ring. It was hypocrisy, dishonesty; I had to take it off."

Silence followed. He had nothing else to say, no excuse to offer for his wicked heart. He was gathering the courage to apologize for burdening her with such horrible confessions, when he felt her hands cradling either side of his face.

"Anárion, have you suffered all these months alone like this, hinking yourself twisted like you have described to me just now? What do you call this place, this paper that holds the hearts of the Elendili together? What do you call all the people you help, the money and time you sacrifice to charity? What do you call that?"

"All useless if I do it for gain and recognition, for praise!"

"Do you?"

"I thought I did not, but how can I ever be sure now?" he said, removing her hands and placing them back on her lap. "Do you know what he said? He said that I was jealous of Isildur and all the praise he garnered, and that I should do something about it."

"Are you?"

"Isildur needs attention I do not. Having to live to Father's image is difficult for him, and he does not yet know how to assert himself. I do not begrudge what he needs to thrive. I do not need attention, but that does not mean I do not want it."

"That is human, and normal. You do not let that stop you."

"Because I have--had--other things that filled me, but what if it was all a lie? Do you know what he said? That I wanted a meek wife to lord over her so I could feel better about myself."

That made her laugh, and ask, "Would you be content with such a mute wife?"

"How could I, after--"

"See? See what you are doing?" she said, taking his hand, opening the fist where he had cut himself again with the hair pin in his eagerness and distress. "I do not, for a moment, believe that Sauron showed you these things from inside of you. Twisted your good wishes, likely, as he did with so many of the Faithful who believed in him."

"Did I not believe?"

"Your struggle proves that you did not, though hopelessness almost took you because of your principles and your perfectionism."

"You want to believe in me and think me good, Elenwë; but, what if I brought you here so you would not hate me?"

She smiled, a ray of sunshine on his dark existence. "I could never hate you, even if you tried hard. But, you are right, and I do think you good and wonderful. You have to discover, for yourself, who you are. I am not afraid to ask you to try; I know your image will match mine once you do."

He tried to smile, a tentative thing, but could he try any less for a woman--a piece of his heart--who had such faith in him? Surely he could not be all bad if such a spirit of goodness could not believe it.

For her sake, if not his own, he had to try.

After a while, he took her hand, placed the hair pin inside her palm, closing her fingers over it.

"Please, no," she said. "I would like you to keep it."

But he shook his head, closed his own hand over hers. "You deserve," he said, with a surer, more determined smile this time, "that I try to stand without it."

"“Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.”
-William Butler Yeats

Anárion knew his first dreamless, restful sleep in months that night. Guilt stabbed at him after waking up and realizing how vulnerable he had left Elenwë by his carelessness, but she seemed so glad to hear that he had rested that he could not, afterwards, reproach himself in her hearing.

They prepared to leave, hoping that the festival that day would keep people busy and away from their part of town. His greatest concern, however, were Elenwë's feet, for they were sore and raw; and yet, if she should not appear at the festival later that day, she would be suspected by whomever had chased them from Galador's house. Anárion bound them as thickly as he could with scraps he cut from a spare shirt he kept at the shop, and was prepared to carry her if he had to, but she put on a brave face and assured him that she would be all right.

"Elenwë," he said, stopping her at the low door as they were about to emerge into the open street. "Now that you know of this place--"

"I would rather die than divulge this location."

"That is part of the problem, for I had much rather you did not die. Promise me that you will never come back here on your own. Promise me you will not do anything dangerous unless you tell me first."

She looked ready to glare but smiled, much too sweetly, instead, and said, "I promise I will always ask you first."

"If you wish to keep me away from needless risk, the best way is to keep yourself safe."

"Are you bribing me?"

"Yes," he said, feeling his face break out in a grin, "and I will do whatever it takes to keep you from trouble. But now we need to get ourselves back. I am certain that Arandar has told my father how I left and they are probably going mad with worry. Your cousin knows I was after you."

"Likely, then, our families are together."

"I would take you home, but I think my grandfather's is closer."

They determined to make for Nuriandil's as fast as caution and their sore bodies would allow, but they found it a more difficult undertaking than they had anticipated, for the streets thronged with people, all jabbering away hysterically or excitedly, and it was difficult to understand why. He wished to buy Elenwë shoes somewhere, but was afraid to stop and give themselves away, so he pushed on, oblivious to the crowd, hoping that the scraps of conversations he could catch here and there would be enough to give him an idea of what had happened, and whether they needed to take more care.

It took them all morning to make it halfway to Nuriandil's home, without a clear understanding of what had the city abuzz. But, once at the square, they heard whispers of rebellion, and traitors, and he knew that Galador had made his move that night.

He pushed Elenwë on, faster. The thought of their having come so close to be counted with Galador's number, merely by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, filled him with anxiety, and the urge became overwhelming to get Elenwë to safety as soon as possible.

But then he heard something that made his heart skip a beat. Thanks to Sauron. Forgetting all care, he grabbed hold of a passing man and asked, "What did Sauron do?"

"Where'av' ya been? Sauron's a-caught th'traitors!"

Elenwë drew closer to him at that, and he wrapped his arm around her.

"The sooner we are home," he said, "the better."

A conquering King would not have been received as excitedly as they were. The two worried families had, naturally, gathered at Nuriandil's under the pretext of discussing the latest developments, but, in truth, they were waiting for the return of the missing. Or news.

Arandar had advised to keep the disappearance as quiet as they could, certain that Anárion would be back with Elenwë as soon as he had the chance; but had returned a few hours later with news that a company of the King's Royal Guard had stormed the homes of several prominent citizens in Rómenna, Armenelos, and the surrounding areas, in an attempt to stop a rebellion that was to take place that very day, during the festival.

This alarmed everyone. The women entered into a panic, supposing that the couple had been caught with the prisoners by mistake; the men secretly wondered whether they had not been caught on purpose; while Arandar tried to assure everyone that Anárion more than knew what he was doing and would be back in no time.

No time turned out to be a night and almost an entire day. It was only a few hours before dusk when they finally arrived and got to hear the whole story of what the family had suffered on their account at least nine times.

When they could finally sit to a meal, after Elenwë's injuries had been bathed anew and dressed, Anárion felt so weary, both physically and mentally, that he wished for nothing more than that they would be left alone to sit in silence, but it was not to be. Emeldil clung to one of his sister's arms and Eranion to the other, and his mother would not stop kissing his brow and asking whether he wished more wine.

The festival was, of course, cancelled, while more investigations were conducted, and it was quite late when everyone who did not belong to the household finally left. Anárion found himself detained in his grandfather's study while the men clustered about him, asking him questions, well into the night.

"Atarinya Amandil always suspected Sauron of double-games," said Isildur, "but I never quite thought it would be revealed through something so spectacular."

"I had much rather it was not," said Amandil.

"Pretending to befriend the Faithful while secretly planning to betray them to the King. Certainly brilliant, but so simple that one has to wonder how they were deceived at all!"

"It is going to be a nightmare to keep the Faithful together after this," Amandil said, with a sigh. "No one knows whom to trust now."

"That is why nobody should put their trust on any one man," Anárion said at length, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them all. As a people, their situation was precarious, amongst themselves and before others. The brand 'traitor' would flow freely now, the Faithful themselves would be confused. Galador could not have done the cause a greater disservice. "All of us will need to learn, for ourselves, what Faithful really means, and it is not loyalty to one man, or even to one Elf. One's heart. That should always be one's own guide--one's heart, and one's conscience, given to us by Ilúvatar himself."

"Have you learned that lesson, Anarinya?" Amandil asked, with a little hesitation, but Anárion did not have to think to reply.

"It may be a lesson that will prove difficult to learn all at once, but I am trying." Then, a little ashamed, but aware that this was something that he had to do to be free from all holds on his mind, he said, "At times, I wondered whether I should join them, whether I should take the easy way and enjoy the fellowship of those whose minds seemed like mine. It pains me to confess that Sauron's way seemed the best."

"Only when the nights were darkest and you could not see the stars," said Elendil, rising to meet him in an embrace. "I am proud of you, son."

"The only thing I did that is worth being glad about was to get Elenwë out in time. Believe me, Father, I am very ashamed of myself."

But Elendil smiled and kissed his brow. "You did much more than that, and it will become clear to you as time teaches you different lessons. Let this shame work for you, not against, and you will be better for it."

"I never doubted you, my dear boy," said Nuriandil. "You are high quality, and I have always known it."

Amandil's turn came next, and he also wrapped Anárion in a warm, comforting embrace. From them all, Amandil probably knew best what Anárion had suffered, and what had been at stake had he succumbed.

"I am proud of you too, my Anarinya, for being a man. It is not easy, and now you know the price. It makes me proud that, even knowing this, you wish to pay it."

"I thought I knew about causes before," he said, alluding to their earlier conversation, "yet I did not know the first about it! I have much to learn."

"And a good heart to aid you in the quest. Sleep well, son," Amandil said, and departed with a pat on his shoulder.

At the end, it was only Isildur and himself. It was now or never.

"Brother," he said, "I must ask your forgiveness. I did not follow my own advice to you, and for my pride and carelessness I am abashed. You were right, all this time; there were secrets, there was danger, and I almost fell. Please, know that I kept them from you because I love you, because I wanted you safe. Please, know that I admire and respect you, and sincerely think you the finest brother one could have. I am fortunate to have you."

Isildur laughed, raised a brow at him. "You have changed," he said, amused, but also a little puzzled.

"Stay," Anárion cried, seizing him by the arms like he had when they were younger. "Stay, for a while, at least, and find out what it is for yourself. I am not ready to tell you all, yet, and some secrets are not mine alone to tell, but I will tell you all I can, and even show you a thing or two."

"I am tempted to accept your offer, so glad am I to have my brother back. I took you for granted, Anárion. I will never do so again."

The excitement in the city did not abate for a good while, but he felt more at peace than ever. Elenwë had been right: his acceptance of himself, of who he really was, could not come from anywhere, or anyone, but himself. It was a long, slow process, but he was learning to separate who he truly was from other people's image of who he should be, and was learning a great deal about himself and his own strength that he did not know before.

He had begun to wear his ring again.

And wanted to show Elenwë.

He was ushered into her small parlor where he found her sitting on a low chair, feet propped up on a stool.

They had returned so friendly to each other that everyone in the family had been expecting an announcement of some sort to come at any time. Anárion wondered whether he should not try, whether he would not be able to keep her safer were she closer to him, whether realizing how much he needed his friends around him would not excuse his keeping her, too; but knew that it was wrong to think it, and that he could not bear to put her in danger again. The forces with which he meddled were too strong and terrible, and the sight of her peaceful face as she sat amid her plants and her needlework was an island of safety in the sea of uncertainty that he sailed through every day. He would not see her disturbed by anything.

He dropped a small cluster of aster and lissuin on her lap, and said, while picking up her yarn to sit on the chair across from her, "I hear you have forsaken all other manual labor for knitting."

The delight on her face when she smelled the flowers would have been a good memory to fix on for dark times, but then that lovely smile beamed on him, and became even wider and lovelier when she noticed his ring.

"Are you seeing what I see when you look at yourself?"

He smiled. "I do not think I will ever be the man you deserve I become, but I am enjoying the process of trying. I look at myself now, and want to meet the person looking back. I feel like a boy again."

"That might be because you are a boy. You are so young, yet have taken so much upon yourself. Other men your age are still enjoying the races just to prove their mettle to barely mature girls; yet you are trying to save the island."

"I wish I could! Galador has done more to thwart me, single-handedly, than all the King's Men put together."

"How do you feel about it? What will be your role now?"

He had been pondering that question ever since they got back from the shop to a new world where roles were reversed and the good people were not quite as good as they seemed.

"I promised someone who helped me that I would not stop fighting for Númenor," he said. "I believe in Númenor still, and will not see her die."

"And I will support you," she began, ardently, but a sassy smile came to her when she amended, "In my own way."

"I came to see how you were, yet it is you who offers comfort. How are you feeling?"

"I have not been this happy in years!" she cried, as she stretched in her seat. "I feel like I could jump for joy."

"Except, your feet."

"Are much better, thanks to your prompt care. People have, surprisingly, believed the story I put out of my stepping on a broken mirror... By the way, thank you for the shoes, though you should not have."

"I was happy to do it. I have not given you anything in many years; please, accept them without a fuss."

"Then I will," she said, with a blush, "for I was happy to receive them."

It had been this sort of little awkwardnesses that had made him realize that they had both changed. Even now, it was difficult to handle them.

At length, she said, "Galador. I hear that he was transferred to a prison in the city, to await sentence."

"Aye. And I am going to see him after I bid farewell to you."

"You are?" she cried, dropping her needle. "Are you sure?"

"I could not let him be sentenced without seeing him one more time, if only for Lassilenwë's sake. Do not worry about me; if I cannot handle a little rough wind, I am not worthy of this ring and must give it up."

"Then, in that case," she began, after a thoughtful silence, "maybe you should bring this with you." She opened a basket to her right and retrieved what looked to have been meant to, someday, be a shawl. "It was Lassilenwë's," she said, while looking mournfully at it. "She began it during our knitting meetings, but she stopped coming and never finished it, nor came back for it. It might comfort him. At the last."

Anárion took it, though he seriously thought that Galador was past receiving comfort, especially from himself.

"Go in peace, Anárion," she said, as she clutched the bouquet to her breast, "and hurry back afterward so you can tell me all about it."

They looked at each other for a long moment, searching for he knew not what in the other's gaze, perhaps within themselves. When he was next aware of himself, he was ducking his head in the old way, and smiling, before he nodded, and said, "If it makes you happy."

Anárion could not help but be glad that Elenwë was unable to come with him. She would have insisted to come along to offer some words of comfort to Galador, and any of his fellow partners who would hear her; but, this place was not a place where he wished her to be. From the moment he stepped within the prison's precincts, a sense of anger and hopelessness so strongly filled him, that he had to wonder whether coming here had been the right choice for him at all. The prison was designed to provide all the horror and humiliation possible, with men and women--for there were women seized--clustered together like rocks on the riverbed, dirty, hungry, and despairing. Some gave vent to their dread with screams, or beating the walls, or even each other.

Not Galador. He stood aloof from everyone, haughty, defiant, regardless of being the ruin of all those others imprisoned with him. When he saw Anárion, however, he gave a feral growl and rammed himself against the cell to spit at him.

"Curse you!" he cried, as he looked for something to throw at him. "Curse you, and all the undecided cowards! It is because of scum like you that we are here."

"Or, rather, because of your own misjudgment."

Galador began to beat against the cell, then, and a guard came in to escort Anárion away, but Anárion asked for one moment longer, which the guardsman reluctantly granted.

"I came to say that I was sorry for your losses, and for your misfortunes, even those brought upon you by your own hand. It may be too late for royal pardon, but a man need not die with a soiled conscience."

Galador spat at him again. "Do not speak to me of conscience, traitor. You do not even know whether you are Faithful or King's Man. I despise you, and all of yours."

That filled him with sadness and pity. For a man to be so far lifted in his own heart, what had killed his conscience? Anárion was humbled at his own ignorance, and profoundly troubled over his people: if losing a daughter, and a father, to one's mistakes was not reason enough to repent, what could be? They all had reason to be afraid if this was the way their hearts were going, and yet, as long as he drew breath, he knew that he could not give up.

"I wonder whether you know yourself which side you are on. For my part, I am a Númenórean, and will never cease to be." Handing the guard the shawl to give to Galador, he said, "This belonged to your daughter. My friend hopes it will give you comfort. May you be at peace," Anárion said and, with a small, quick bow, walked away.

He had almost reached the gates when he heard a step falling briskly behind him and, upon turning, realized that Sauron was trying to reach him. His heart began to beat wildly, but he forced himself to smile and to see the test through like a man.

"Good day, lord Sauron."

"Mairon," Sauron corrected. "They call me Mairon now. The King may wish me to stay permanently. At the moment, I help guard the prisoners, but there might be other assignments in the future; so, the King suggested that the proper name should help me get used to things."

"In Quenya?" Anárion asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I would not dare take a name in Adûnaic," was all Sauron said, humbly enough, but Anárion heard the yet that he left out.

"It suits you," Anárion replied, trying to appear good-natured, though frantically trying to guess who would have given him such a name, and why.

"A pity about Galador, is it not?"

Anárion nodded. "It is always a pity when men fall short of high ideals and principles."

"Is that why you keep your brother close to you now? I hear he stays in your house."

"Yes," Anárion said, with a smile. "Isildur is helping with some projects the guild has undertaken."

"Schools, and such," Sauron supplied, and Anárion only nodded by way of response. He was quite desperate to follow his own advice and get away from temptation, and began to walk a little faster. Sauron noticed it, and said, "A pity you do not have the courage to see your dreams through to the end. Your brother, with his natural charm and just a hint of persistence, might steal them from you."

"I think there should be enough dreams in the world for each person who works hard to get one."

"Will this be your strategy, then? Work like the mere mortals?"

"Since that is what I am, it seems I have no choice," said Anárion, completely intrigued by that last piece of news, but unwilling to let Sauron know it had affected him.

"What about those grand plans of yours? You would be great, were you to carry them out."

"I hope I still will," he said, "and help, for the glory of Númenor."

"A shame that you prefer to grovel than to lead," Sauron said, now at the gate. "Are you certain this is what you wish?" And, leaning in much too close, whispered, in his ear, "One day you may live to regret it."

For a moment, Anárion could not breathe. There it was again, that urge to follow, to surrender. Sauron's words echoed in his mind like drums, they froze his blood. You may live to regret it.

He might. Would he not curse himself, then?

You may live to regret it.

And, as an arrow that cuts through air, the thought, Or die for my choice.

He shook his head, tried to smile, but his jaw muscles had hardened.

"Just as well," Sauron said, waving his hand as if he had just swatted a fly. I fancy that you might change your mind; men always do when things do not go as they wished. If so, come and see me."

Anárion gave him a bow, thanked him for his interest, and left as fast as he could. Sauron had tried to bait him again, and he suspected that that would always be the case whenever they met, so he better make himself strong enough to resist it. Strangely, and marvelously, he felt like he could manage, if he managed to keep all his feelings and his goals in their proper places and never again muffled the heart and conscience that tried to lead him true. No vision--whether his own or Sauron's--had felt as good as being worthy of the regard of those he loved the most, and being able to look at himself every morning and be content with what he saw.

It was still difficult, but he had stopped wondering whether the ugly things that he had seen had been inside of him or not: what was important was that no power could make them come true if he did not let it. Right there, at Rómenna's prison gates, he promised himself that he would make a good man. After that... well, he had a long time to figure it out.

It began to rain on his way back. As dark as some of his days had been, today, he felt like he walked under the summer sun, and he liked it.

~the end