Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty by Gadira

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Flight

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Back when he had been led through the streets of Armenelos days ago, what Elendil had glimpsed of the city did not look too different from his memories of the place where he had spent his childhood and youth. There had been groups of people walking down the streets, blocking the way until they reluctantly stood aside for horses and carts, vendors peddling their wares to indifferent passers-by while old women peered at them from their windows, and busy marketplaces. Only the ominous clouds of smoke hanging over the dome of the New Temple bore witness to the changes that had taken place in those years; of the darkness which, like an evil curse, had become one with the very air those people breathed, until they were no longer able to feel its presence.

Now that he was following the same path again in the opposite direction, however, the lord of Andúnië was left speechless by the spectacle offered before his eyes. The previously crowded streets were empty, though the advance of his group, unimpeded by people, was slowed by debris fallen from the crumbling old buildings and left to lie upon the pavement. At some point, he caught glimpses of bodies buried under the rubble. In the dungeons of the Palace, he had felt the earth shake, but the walls had been too solid, and he too cut away from the outside world to imagine how destructive the successive earthquakes must have been for those on the surface. Now, crossing Armenelos was almost like walking through a city after it had been sacked and destroyed, such as the villages in the East of Arne after the Mordor campaign, or the ruins of Gadir. As if the war was already over, and they had lost.

“The war is far from over”, the Prince of the West remarked. It was the first time he had broken his silence since their departure from the Palace, and his eyes were dull and fixed upon some indeterminate spot. “And so is the destruction.”

“Where did everybody go?” Elendil asked. The younger man did not look at him this time either.

“The pious ones have flocked to the Temple, because they think Zigûr will be able to protect them. Others have fled the city, and are trying to put as much distance between it and themselves as possible.”

It was not long afterwards that they found the second group. The checkpoints and roads were crowded with refugees heading East; some on carts and horses where they carried their belongings, but most of them on foot. Elendil’s party could only advance through the thick agglomerations because the riders who flanked their carriage –all members of Ar Pharazôn’s Palace Guard- intimidated their fellow travellers enough to convince them to stand aside and open a path for them. Still, emotions were volatile in this charged atmosphere, and at some point Elendil had to wonder if they would truly be able to make it to the end of their journey. They made as few stops as they could, but finding replacements for exhausted horses was an almost impossible endeavour, and when they attempted to rest, only the Guards on duty prevented the most desperate from creeping on them and stealing their food and mounts. Once the Prince was recognized, rumours spread like a raging fire, and Elendil had the feeling that they were leaving a trail of despair in their wake. For if the Prince of the West was on the road with them, trying to reach the East, what hope was there for Númenor?

During the journey, conversation between Gimilzagar and him was kept to a bare minimum. There did not seem to be much to say while the world crumbled, and even less to a stranger, who appeared merely resigned to have him as travelling companion because of an arrangement made by a mother who had remained behind to die. An arrangement that seemed hopeless on the young man’s end, Elendil thought, though the memory of Ar Zimraphel’s sharp glance made him wonder. Would she have entrusted him with the life of her son, knowing that he was doomed? Despite her talk about fate in their last conversation, Elendil did not believe for a moment that she would play this dangerous game, even less lose her life to it, just to save a dead man. But then, all those thoughts always hurtled against the same wall: no matter how many possibilities he scrutinized, he was not able to see how Gimilzagar could ever survive.

And neither did Fíriel, he realized. She did not speak to Elendil either, preferring to exchange what few words she felt like speaking with the two women who had followed her from the Palace. On the first day, whenever he caught her looking at him, she would immediately avert her glance. Elendil did his best to smile at her, to ask her for help with his wounds and his injured leg, and convey how glad he was to have her by his side despite the terrible circumstances which surrounded them, but she always answered in distraught monosyllables. Only when they stopped to rest the horses at night, she broke her own rule to stare at him defiantly, then crept by the Prince’s side to throw her arms around his body. After she fell asleep, her grip on him grew tighter, poignantly reminding Elendil of a very young Ilmarë, holding on to her favourite doll after she had seen her swallowed by the raging waters in a nightmare.

Was the mother’s inescapable fate destined to be visited upon the daughter as well? To love, only to lose what they loved, and watch it escape their grasp no matter how hard they tried to hold on to it. For a brief instant of madness under the veiled moonlight, he found it in himself to understand Ar Pharazôn’s first steps towards the darkness, when an ancient, powerful spirit had told him that he could save his child in exchange for so little –an old tree, a handful of lives already lost.

The next morning, Gimilzagar’s inscrutable glance was fixed on him, and Elendil could not help but wonder if he had sensed his thoughts. At times, the Prince even looked as if he would want to say something, but he did not, and Elendil did not press him. It had been a temporary weakness of his mind, and there was already too much on their plate at the moment to dwell on a tragedy that lay ahead and that, like everything else, depended upon their survival.

The checkpoint to enter the Governor’s territory was very different from the ones they had crossed after they left Armenelos. There, the men on duty, scared and overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of people coming their way, had opened the gates and let everybody out. This one, however, had been reinforced with a battalion of the best soldiers remaining in the garrison of Sor, with orders not to allow in the hordes of refugees coming to spread panic and turmoil across the East of the Island. The first waves had already washed upon this wall of rock, and the spectacle was heart-wrenching: thousands of people standing at one side of the wall, crowding the gate, pleading that they had business, family, loved ones in Sor, only to be roughly pushed away. Many had camped here, and women busied themselves building fires and looking after their children with a listless look in their eyes. The desperate tried to scale the wall, desisting briefly after a barrage of warning arrows injured the most daring among them. Others, more familiar with the terrain, left the road in the direction of the hills, where they would eventually find unguarded spots to make the crossing.

Thanks to the riders, their party once again managed to bypass the crowds and reach the vicinity of the gates. Elendil saw that many stared wide-eyed at the carriage, and pointed at it, whispering among themselves.

“Open the gates”, the head of their escort ordered, in an authoritative voice. The soldiers were looking at them in surprise, but their leader merely frowned.

“We are not authorized to do this for anybody. And our orders come straight from the Governor himself, so I could not care less for who might be in that carriage. They could be the…”

“… the Prince of the West, and heir to the Sceptre of Númenor and Middle-Earth?” Gimilzagar interrupted him, stepping outside to come face to face with the man. For a moment, there was no trace of the elusive demeanour he had exhibited during the trip: he appeared full of arrogance, an excellent copy of Ar Pharazôn himself.

The soldier gaped. Then, amid a growing rumble of murmurations, he fell to his knees and bowed his head.

“I… I am sorry. I- we were not informed of your arrival, my lord prince.”

“Stop grovelling, and open the gates. I have urgent business in Sor, and I have already wasted enough of my time speaking to you.”

The soldier stood up like a resort, but then appeared to hesitate again. His gaze wandered across the crowd standing around them, taking note of the way they pressed closer and closer, and how the general mood had shifted when they heard that the gates would open. Elendil could imagine the news travelling as fast as fire in the woods, among the people gathering together in anticipation.

“But, my lord prince… if we open the gates now, there will be a riot!” he protested. “Perhaps, if your noble party would consent to leave their horses and carriage here, we could find arrangements to your satisfaction on the other side. We have fine horses…”

The man was not wrong: if the gates were opened wide enough for their carriage and mounted men to pass, other people would try to push their way in. On the other hand, those inside the carriage could not afford to be recognized and taken to the Governor in Sor. If that happened, it would be an unacceptable delay at best, and the end of all their hopes at worst.

“That is none of my concern”, the Prince of the West replied coldly, putting an end to the argument. Then, he turned his back to the man to climb inside the carriage again. As he took back his seat among them, Elendil could see his composure crumble, and the last traces of Pharazôn vanish to leave behind an ashen-faced young man who sought Fíriel’s hand. She pressed it in silence.

Soon, the carriage lurched and began slowly moving forwards, and the first shouts and screams reached Elendil’s ears. Before they left the place, he saw scenes of soldiers charging, people running, and men trying to prevent the gate from closing again while braving a barrage of arrows.

Meanwhile, the Prince of the West shivered on his seat. Elendil took his eyes away from the violence to look at him, wondering what could have happened to shake him so deeply. Ar Pharazôn’s son may not be like his father, but for years he had been a witness to hundreds of scenes of death and carnage, much worse than this one.

“You are right, Lord Elendil. I have seen death before”, he spoke, once the trembling had subsided and Fíriel had retreated to gaze morosely through the window. “But now, everything I see is death. Those soldiers following the Governor’s orders to defend this wall, the people who press against it with their women and children, trying to escape a threat whose nature they ignore. The people who live at the other side, who have heard worrying tidings coming from the West, and do not know whether to believe them or not. The trees, the animals, the plants, even the hills stretching beyond the horizon. They are all dead. Do you understand, Lord Elendil? Dead.”

“We are not dead.” It had become so rare to hear Fíriel’s voice that Elendil thought he had imagined it. “Not yet.”

Elendil shook his head.

“No, we are not. We are alive and we still have a chance left, thanks to you, my lord prince. I can promise you that I will not waste it, and that I will keep Death at bay and away from us for as long as I am able.”

As he had expected, Gimilzagar did not answer.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

Elendur peered through the window at the garden where his three cousins sat, still deep in conversation. About thirty paces away –quite out of earshot-, a couple of the Governor’s guards were leaning on a tree, looking quite disinterested by whatever their charges were discussing. One of them was laughing, probably at some stupid joke, while his companion took advantage of his temporary distraction to throw lascivious glances in Faniel’s direction. Feeling his frustration increase at the speed of lightning, the young man repressed a groan, and before he knew what he was doing he was pacing around his room like a caged beast.

“You cannot want to go to the bathroom again”, a voice spoke behind him. He stopped in his tracks, in order to give the man a murderous look.

“I am keeping the stiffness away from my legs. If you will not let me out to exercise in the garden, I will have to do it here.”

The Guard from Sor shrugged. He was sitting in one of Elendur’s chairs, his feet insolently resting upon Elendur’s low table.

“You can do cartwheels if you want, as long as you remain in my line of sight. You already got me in trouble once, and I will not let it happen again.”

Oh, yes, the commander had been very, very angry when Elendur managed to evade the vigilance long enough to exchange words with his father. And it was not as if they even had any idea that he had used that brief interview to tell Isildur of Tal Elmar’s plan. It was just the way they operated: they kept strict watch over the men in the house and took note of their slightest movement, preventing them from communicating with one another. But when it came to the women, their attitude became very different. At least around Irimë, Eluzîni or Ilmarë they still remained mildly suspicious, if always at a distance, but they barely ever checked on Mother, whom they considered helpless since she fainted on the night they took Grandfather away. As for his cousins, their guardians actually seemed to believe that their conversations, even in captivity, would orbit around inane things like dresses, hairstyles, or perhaps young men.

That was why Elendur had been forced to remain inactive, when he should have been the one coordinating everything. And, what was even worse as far as he was concerned: the main role in the whole operation had been left to them. Father had swallowed his pride –and perhaps more than that- to obtain some private time with his wife from their guardians, and after their night together, Mother had brought some medicine for little Meneldil, which gave her an opening to slip a note to her sister. Aunt Irimë was allowed to talk to her daughters, if always under surveillance, but knowing her, Elendur was sure that the attention of the Guards would have drifted so far away after the first half hour of pontificating that she could have mentioned the imminent landing of the Host of the Valar in the harbour of Sor, and they would not have been listening to her. And now, because those guards were a bunch of idiots, the fate of their family rested upon the shoulders of the three banes of Elendur’s existence, who would steal the best chance he had had in his life to be a hero.

“You already know that looks will not kill me, boy”, the Guard sneered again. “You have been trying it for days.”

I could have killed you ten times already, you overconfident bastard, Elendur wanted to say, but he was able to repress the urge. He would not be bluffing: Tal Elmar had taught him as many ways to creep on a man who lowered his guard as much as this one and end his life without the need for weapons. But Father had forbidden him from doing any such thing, as they could not give the game away before they managed to communicate with those who waited outside. Or rather, before the girls managed to do that, he corrected himself, seething anew at the unfairness of life.

“If you think I am so helpless, perhaps you should let me go outside” he changed tack instead. “After all, what harm could I do? There’s more of your friends there, and they are also guarding all the gates.”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” The Guard smiled. “The problem is that you are way too devious to be kept in anything other than a short leash. So I advise you to stop turning in circles, sit down, and find another way to keep yourself occupied. Like reading a book, painting, writing poetry, and those things noblemen and rich merchants do to fill their enormous amount of free time. Now I think about it -you are one of them, aren’t you?”

Elendur seethed, but he bit his lip and pretended to ignore the jibe to stare at the window again. If only he could have left with Tal Elmar that night, he thought. He could have slipped away with him while the Governor’s men were busy arresting the others, and he knew he had the presence of mind and the skill to jump the wall and climb down that cliff in the dark. But it had been the barbarian himself who forbade him to follow. He was Isildur’s heir, and his existence was well known to both the Governor and his henchmen. If he should be found missing, every inch of Rómenna would be combed, and they would be tracked and caught. They would not be keeping a list of the barbarians Isildur might or might not have brought from the mainland, but they would be keeping a list of his family, and Tal Elmar needed to escape their notice to be able to work unimpeded. Just like a woman, a barbarian was someone those dimwits would never take seriously enough, which gave them all the advantage. Between them, they would do all the work, while Elendur sat on this room and listened to the Guard’s mockery.

At that moment, his eye caught movement under his window, and he could not help leaning in to look closer. As he did so, he saw Faniel and Findis stand up, while Lindissë alone remained sitting upon the table, her gaze fixed on her book with a little too much intensity to denote a true interest in her reading. Faniel made an airy gesture, and to Elendur’s shock, he realized she was summoning the guards who leaned on the tree. To his even greater shock, they answered the summons as fast as if they were trained servants. There was a conversation, which grew tense at some points, until it suddenly died out. Then one of the two men, Faniel and Findis began walking towards the lush back gardens, while his companion remained where he was, a resentful look evident in his eyes as he watched them leave. Only after they had disappeared from his sight, he tore his gaze away and fixed it on his sole remaining charge, who had not looked up from her book in all that time. His lips moved, as if muttering a curse.

Elendur closed the window and walked away from it, his innards in great turmoil. Behind him, the Guard made some retort, but the young man was not even able to hear what he had said over the blood roaring in his ears. What were those witless women doing? They were going to ruin everything. Those men would never, ever fall for something as obvious as this. Who on Earth had come up what that stupid plan, and let the fate of all of them hinge on it?

“Damn you”, he muttered mechanically, pressing his forehead against the stone wall until its coolness managed to penetrate his agitation and sharpen his senses again. “Damn you all.”

The Guard laughed.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

“No.” Lindissë’s normally kind face held an expression of outrage, and her round cheeks were the colour of a ripe cherry. “You cannot possibly be thinking of doing that.”

Findis’ grey eyes narrowed.

“It is the perfect plan. Faniel is devious, and she inherited Grandmother’s talent for acting. You only need to ask all those young men in Rómenna. Also, have you noticed the way they are looking at her?” Involuntarily, Lindissë gazed in the men’s direction, and her blush increased. “If she claims that she wants to take a walk in the back garden where there are no eyes, they will be fighting for the chance to follow her.”

“And what about you? Won’t your presence be a problem?”

“Exactly.” Findis’ voice had a slightly exasperated edge now. “I will trail her footsteps to make sure Faniel is never alone with him. But once nobody can see us, she will try to send me away. I will not want to go, but she will make him do it. And that will give me my opening!”

“Faniel, you should not… you cannot want to… “Lindissë stuttered, too embarrassed to put her misgivings into words. “Those horrible, horrible men!”

Their eldest sister had stayed quiet during their argument, though in the meantime, an expert observer could have noticed how she pretended to lean casually on the table, showing the Guards her most flattering profile. Now, as she listened to the outburst, her lips curved in a small smile.

“I am still reeling from the impression of hearing someone who so closely resembles Mother come up with this plan. As soon as I manage to overcome it, I will tell you if I am ready to do it or not.” The smile grew impish. “Though the one to the right does not look so horrible. I bet he is popular with women.”

“Not so horrible?” Lindissë gasped. “They threatened to kill Meneldil!”

“Oh, come on! You have to admit his constant crying is annoying.” For a while, she withstood her sister’s angry looks with perfect aplomb, then shook her head and laughed. Findis nodded in approval.

“If she can fool you, Lindissë, she can definitely fool him” the youngest of the sisters said. “After all, he does not know her.”

“You are both mean.” Lindissë glowered. “And Mother will be very angry when she hears about this.”

Faniel’s expression hardened.

“Mother will be grateful if I succeed, just like everybody else in the family.” Standing up with what looked like pure, unpremeditated grace, she waved at the men who stood near the tree. “Meanwhile, you can stay here and look distressed. It will help lend credibility to our act.”

“Faniel!” Lindissë called after her, but she was already gone. She turned towards Findis, who had also stood up to follow their sister. “Findis, please. Do not go.”

Her younger sister arched an eyebrow.

“And leave them alone?” Lindissë opened her mouth again, then closed it, looking for a moment like a gaping fish. Taking advantage of her momentary confusion, Findis ran after their sister.

Once she reached her, she saw that the two men seemed to have settled their own dispute in a similarly arbitrary way: the older of the two –who unfortunately was not the one to the right- had ordered the younger to stay put, and the latter did not look happy at all with the arrangement. Still, his mood seemed to improve a little once that Findis stood next to her sister and announced, with a determined frown, that she would accompany her.

“Nobody asked you to come, you little…!” Faniel hissed. Findis shrugged.

“And yet, I am here. And I have as much right to stretch my legs as you do.”

The older Guard looked at her as if she was a bug he would have loved to squish.

“We will be back for you.”

“Perhaps we should take all three of them for a walk” the younger Guard suggested maliciously. The other’s glare turned towards him.

“I do not remember asking for your opinion.”

“Fine”, Faniel surrendered. The Guard stared at her, but she winked at him before he could open his mouth.

“She is doing this on Mother’s orders”, she whispered. “But we will get rid of her.”

Looking only half-convinced, he gestured at Findis to follow.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

Time seemed to stretch into an infinity of ages while her sisters were away from her sight. Lindissë’s mind was out of control, and it could not stop making up horrible scenarios, where Faniel’s purity was defiled by the coarse hands of the foul monster who had threatened to kill her family and kept them imprisoned. In some of them, she cried and tried to struggle, but was overwhelmed by his brute strength; in others, which she found even more disturbing, the young woman smiled and submitted to the indignity of her own will.

When she finally heard voices, the frenzy she had worked herself into was so great that she dropped her book as if it burned her hands, and stood up like a resort. The three of them were walking side by side, Findis staring ahead with a determined gaze, while Faniel – well, she looked dishevelled, but her robes were not torn, which could mean that she had not struggled. Lindissë tried not to think of the other scenario, but she could not prevent herself from staring at the man’s face for clues. Unfortunately, he was also feigning, so there were no clear signs of dissatisfaction… or of the opposite.

Once they came to the place where his companion awaited sullenly, Faniel checked that Findis was not looking and tapped the Guard on the arm before departing. Lindissë’s spirit sunk.

“What happened?” she asked, her anxiety overcoming even her wish to rail at them. Findis smiled in triumph.

“It is done. I left Uncle’s message for Tal Elmar on the appointed spot, and the horny dog did not even notice.”

Uncle’s message. The mission. On an intellectual level, she was aware that this was the most important thing, the thread from which their fortunes hung, and the fate of the Faithful. But they said that intellect was not her strongest suit, and right now she could not care less about what Findis had been doing.

“Faniel, what happened?” she insisted. Her eldest sister approached her, then lowered her head slowly until she could whisper in her ear.

“I lost my virginity”. When Lindissë jumped, she shook her head with a look of exasperation. “Really, how stupid can you be? I am fine. After all, we sent Findis away, but she could still be spying on us. It would have been an imprudence, and it could cost him his post. And without his post, he would not be able to feed his family, can you imagine?” She sat down, pretending to be briefly absorbed by her fingernails. “We only had time for a few passionate kisses, and a promise to meet there tomorrow at midnight, when he is on guard duty again.”

“I hope you are not thinking of going”, Lindissë scowled. Faniel laughed.

“Of course I will. Because tomorrow at midnight is the time set for Tal Elmar’s attack, and the back garden is the spot they will use to sneak in. And when they do, he will be too distracted to raise the alarm – at least until they slit his throat.”

Lindissë was horrified.

“That… that is too dangerous!”

“I am old enough to take care of myself.”

“When Mother hears…”

“Unfortunately, we have no time to tell Mother. The news must be circulated faster”, Findis intervened. “And for that, we need Aunt Irissë.”

“And what excuse do we have to meet with her?”

“Faniel no longer needs any excuses to do anything. He will do what she wants now, at least until he has what he wants.”

Lindissë cringed at the matter-of-factness in her little sister’s voice.

“I cannot understand how you can be so cold about this”, she said. “You scare me.”

Faniel sighed. As she gazed at her younger sister, there was a change in her expression: her flippancy deserted her, and the self-satisfied smile froze in her lips, turning into a determined grimace.

“You are scared of the wrong people, then”, she concluded, pulling herself up to her feet. “They took Grandfather away, and they will take us too, one by one. We can either be cold, or be dead.”

Findis stood up too, and grabbed Lindissë’s arm so she would do the same. Too stunned to resist, she obeyed, and after a moment, she could see the Guards rushing to escort them back indoors.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

Tal Elmar gazed at the cliff with a critical eye. Climbing it would not be as difficult as it had been back when he had to do the opposite, escaping the vigilance of the Guards who had broken inside the Andúnië house like bulls on a rampage. The people with him were young men for the most part, and fishermen, used to walking on rocks. Still, he was not too happy with their idea of stealth. To him, all Númenóreans were noisy and careless, and no matter how often he admonished them, reminding them of the imperative need for silence, he did not trust their ability to follow his instructions. But the die was cast, as the Islanders used to say, and there was no more room to manoeuvre or delay his plans. Considering how many of the Governor’s men had been seen in Rómenna in the last days, it was already a miracle that he had been able to enter so many Faithful houses to recruit their inhabitants for his cause without being caught. And when some mysterious order summoned most of the armed force away because of unspecified troubles in the West, some in the house of Andúnië would have called it the favour of the Valar.

Tal Elmar did not know if there were powerful, wise, all-seeing beings in the farthest West of the world. What he knew was that good luck was a rare gift, and that it should never be squandered. Otherwise, it risked turning into bad luck, for no god in this world was a friend to mortals who rejected his favour.

“Follow me”, he whispered to those closest to him. “Put your feet where I put them. And for the last time, be silent.”

Isildur would be waiting for him above, he thought, as he gritted his teeth and began the ascension. Once Tal Elmar rescued him, the proud Acting Lord of Andúnië would have to choke on all those loud words he had spoken when they argued about Tal Elmar going to the mainland to fight in his wars. He would need to admit that he had been wrong, that Tal Elmar was not so easy to kill as he had thought, and that his help was more necessary than he had believed. Back then, the barbarian had warned him that nobody was safe in the mainland, but now Ar Pharazôn the Golden had proved that this could be true of Númenor as well. Just the thought of someone like Isildur having to admit defeat gave Tal Elmar the strength to put his life on the line a hundred times, even leaving out the kisses with which they would make peace afterwards.

Once he had climbed most of the cliff’s surface, he stopped briefly in his tracks. From where he was now, he could already see the garden wall, looming dark over his head. Below his feet, however, there was a large gap: those who followed him were too slow, and he had easily left them behind. Muttering a curse, he waited, and once that they came near enough, he signalled at them to make haste. Quite a few were not looking as brave as they had been back on the ground, and at least one appeared to be a little sick. It was a very young man –at least for Númenórean standards-, around Elendur’s age, who kept obsessively looking down to see if his companions followed.

“Do not look down. Ever”, Tal Elmar admonished with an intent hiss.

Luckily, they made it to the wall without any accidents, and whatever superfluous noises they made, it appeared that their enemies were also Númenórean enough not to be alerted by them. When they arrived to the part where the wall could be climbed more easily, Tal Elmar motioned at them to stay still. After he was sure that everyone had understood, he began the climb, his ear intent for traces of human presence, whether foe or friend.

It did not take him too long to find what he was seeking. As he stood there, balancing his weight on his precarious perch, he heard a moan, and then, shortly afterwards, a second one. Both seemed to come from a man, though soon he heard a woman’s voice too, saying something. It did not take long to recognize it as the voice of Lady Faniel, Anárion’s firstborn. The shock he felt at the idea that she would be so far from her bed, making an enemy guard moan robbed him of his wits for a moment, until he remembered everything that was at stake. Slowly, and cautiously, he lifted his head, and peered at the other side of the wall.

The man was giving him his back, but he had stopped making noises now. Behind him, Lady Faniel raised her gaze, and her eyes swept across Tal Elmar, not showing any signs of recognition. Still, from that moment on, she appeared intent on manoeuvring the Guard so he would never look in that direction. When the barbarian flashed his blade and it caught the moonlight, he saw her eyes darken, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Tal Elmar approached them in complete silence, until he was in a good enough position to cover the man’s mouth and slit his throat in a quick yet effective swipe. His struggle was agonic but soundless, and as the body went inert in Tal Elmar’s arms, he lowered him carefully on the wet ground.

“How many are there now in this part of the garden, my lady?” he asked. Faniel did not answer. She did not even look at him, mesmerized by the blood flowing in rivulets away from the corpse. Tal Elmar turned away from her momentarily, and went back to the wall to signal to the others.

“There are no more Guards here” she said at last, her voice very low. “He… wanted to be alone with me.”

“That was very well done, my lady”, Tal Elmar nodded. She did not smile at the praise, though she nodded in greeting at the men who lowered their bodies down the wall.

“They are waiting for your signal”, she whispered after a while, her head pointing in the direction of the house. The barbarian looked for a large tree, which he climbed until he was high enough to see part of the sprawling mansion where the Andúnië family lived. Once there, he cleared his throat, and let go of the agreed-upon signal: the chant of a night bird from the forests of Agar, repeated thrice.

From then on, things happened fast. Asking Lady Faniel to remain next to the Guard’s corpse, and not to move or make a sound, Tal Elmar organized the others for the attack. They were to spread out and advance as quietly as possible, to confuse the enemy and delay the alarm as much as they could. Thanks to the message, they already knew the approximate location and number of the Guards holding the place, which meant that in Agar it would have been a simple matter of stealth. Here, however, there were many careless Númenoreans fighting, so their advantage did not last long, and the companion of the second man they killed was already calling for help. From then on, speed became all that could avail them.

“To the house!” Tal Elmar shouted. Raising his gaze even while he ran, he saw light on many windows, and knew that Isildur, Elendur and the others must also be struggling to overcome the enemy inside. He muttered a prayer for their success.

The prayer became stuck in his throat as, all of a sudden, he felt the earth begin trembling under his feet.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

It might have been a sign of the displeasure of Heaven for the sins of Númenor, but, to Isildur, the earthquake had been a blessing. Cornered by two heavily armed Guards, an old stone ornament had fallen on the head of one of them, leaving him alone with the other, whose brief distraction as he gazed in horror at his companion’s crushed head had served Isildur to make short work of him. Afterwards, he had some time to recover and explore his surroundings, but he saw no more men coming in his direction. After briefly pondering the situation, he decided to head outside, trying not to think of Elendur, whom he had sent to protect the women and Meneldil. Anárion would also be there with them, but Isildur’s blood boiled, and he felt the need to be in the thick of the fight.

In the porch, he heard voices, and stopped in his tracks to avoid been seen by those of the Governor’s men who were using that spot to regroup. Their commander was among them, yelling orders in the slightly unhinged tone used by men whose control of the situation was escaping their grasp. Isildur counted thirteen men, some of them already wounded.

“It is imperative that we manage to send a man through that horde of barbarians so he can raise the alarm and bring reinforcements before it’s too late!” the commander was shouting. “And that must be done before they get here!”

“Too late”, a voice, which Isildur knew very well, interrupted the man’s tirade. Tal Elmar was at the foot of the stairs, sword in hand, and smiling. Despite the fact that he did not wear armour, and that he was leaner and shorter than the Númenóreans, something in the moonlight glow that fell upon his features, or perhaps in the tone of his voice, made him appear infinitely dangerous. Isildur felt a little weak on the knees, though he was able to shake away the unseemly feeling fast enough. Cursing at himself, he proceeded to study the force that came with Tal Elmar. They were more numerous than the enemy, but not as well armed or trained. Worse: they were not barbarians, as the man seemed to have believed until now because of their attack tactics, but mostly fishermen and peasants from Rómenna, with few true warriors among them. For the Governor’s men, to think that they still had a chance to overcome their enemy might not be a difficult conclusion to reach. Unless…

“Surrender, and you will live”, Isildur spoke firmly, walking across the threshold of the door with his bloodied sword in his hand. “Our people stormed through the back of the house while you were fighting in the front, and now you are surrounded.”

The Guards paled, and their eyes all sought their commander for a cue. But the once proud soldier seemed too overwhelmed to make decisions at the moment. He stared at Isildur, pointing his sword at him in rage.

“You…!”

The son of Elendil immediately took a battle stance.

“Although killing you would be more satisfying, I admit. You have committed many offences against the house of Andúnië, and I would have my revenge for them.” He smiled, a smile as deadly as the glint of steel. “The Haradrim and the Forest People taught me many ways to destroy an enemy, some of them quite creative.”

A sword made a sharp clang as it fell on the marble floor. It did not belong to the commander, but to one of his men, who sported a large gash on the side of his face. Little by little, his companions followed his example, and Isildur made a sign to his men to approach and tie them up.

“That was a good use of intimidation” Tal Elmar spoke, as he approached him. “I suppose you no longer think of it as a bunch of lies that cowardly barbarians tell to hoodwink fools.”

Isildur longed to kiss him hard on the mouth, but instead, he embraced him.

“That was well done, Tal Elmar. The house of Andúnië lies forever in your debt, and so do I”, he spoke, pulling away. “If we survive this, you may ask for anything you want of me, and it will be yours.”

Just as he had imagined, Tal Elmar did not hesitate.

“I want your permission to fight by your side.”

“Isildur!” It was Irissë, rushing past the gate to throw herself in his arms. “Thank the Valar you are safe! And you, Tal Elmar, you saved us! Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“We are not saved yet.” Isildur pried his limbs away with as much dignity as he was able. “Are the others well?”

“Yes. They are coming this way now. I think your brother has gone to retrieve the scion of the White Tree and the other heirlooms of your house. He is saying we must take ship to the mainland right away. Is that true, Isildur? Are we… leaving Númenor?”

Just like Anárion, always a step ahead. Isildur sighed, allowing the enormity of the decisions that awaited him to wash upon his mind. All of a sudden, a tiny, cowardly part of him wished he was still imprisoned.

“Irimë is looking for her daughter Faniel. I…” For a moment, Irissë’s composure seemed to falter, and she looked at Tal Elmar with hesitation. “I… have been led to believe that you may know where she is.”

“I will take you to her, my lady”, Tal Elmar bowed, offering her his hand.