Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty by Gadira

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A Nest of Vipers

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Amandil sat on the vantage point of a high dune, watching in mindless concentration as white grains of sand trickled between his fingers. Behind him, the noise of axes falling, hammers knocking and saws cutting wood broke what had once been the quiet enchantment of the place, dulling the rhythmic sound of the currents, and frightening the seagulls into a frenzy of restless cries. Since their arrival, those birds were often seen flying in circles above their heads, calling to each other as if trying to muster their courage to attack them and recover their homeland, but never building a strong enough resolve to do it. It was an interesting metaphor for many of the goings-on in the mainland since the times of Tar-Ancalimon, if maybe not entirely apt for the matter at hand, he mused idly.

“What is it?” he asked the man whose footsteps had come to a crunching halt on the sand behind him.

“My lord, the wall around the Old Harbour is finished. As it is not tall enough to prevent climbing, it has been suggested it would be a good idea to reinforce them with iron spikes. There are spare arrows from our weapons store…”

“Do it”, Amandil nodded. The venerable ruins of Pelargir, with their ancient defences, did not appear to give his men any feeling of security, and neither did the river flanking them or the marshy territory around. They knew, as well as he did, that they were the enemy here, in a world that did not belong to them.

Again, he gazed downstream, in the direction of the invisible island which stretched beyond the horizon, ensconced by the tranquil waters of the Bay of Belfalas. They must have received his reply at least the night before, but there was no ship coming his way, carrying dignitaries, emissaries, or at least another reply. It was not like the merchants to sit on a message for so long. If they were out of their depths for once, unsettled by his presence, this could only mean that their resolve would be deadlier, once it was reached.

Amandil had never intended to stop over in Gadir, to become their guest and wait for their henchmen to poison his dinner or kill him in his sleep. In spite of their protestations of hospitality and friendship, he had sailed directly to the ruins of the old harbour, where he immediately set to the task of transforming the most useful spot into a fortified military encampment before the folk of Mordor or one of their allies could try an incursion down the river. Then, and only then, he had proceeded to send his “hosts” word that he was ready to receive them there. It might be that they would refuse, as they were too clever to deliberately fall into enemy hands, but in that case they would fall under the accusation of lack of cooperation, and they would have to explain themselves to the King.

The King. He sighed. Tar Palantir had created this entire situation because of his obsession with bringing this landscape of ruins back to life. If this was important enough to warrant the destruction of Gadir, the imperilment of the supply routes of Númenor, to the temporal advantage of Mordor, and the death of Amandil himself, that was something only the holder of the Sceptre could be a judge of, and all that Amandil could do was hope that he was right. As easily as he donned another outfit after an audience, he had reverted to the matter-of-fact attitude of the soldier who went where he was deployed and fought those he was told to. Elendil could not understand this attitude or share it, but, then again, Elendil might have lived an obscure life, but he had always been allowed to choose the path that he thought was right.

“They are coming.”

“Who?” Lost in his musings, it took him a moment to regain his bearings and focus on the man at his side. As he did so, he was pointed towards a distant purple dot gliding over the lower delta of the river. A ship, with the gaudily coloured sails so favoured by the Merchant Princes.

“Very well. Let us prepare for the audience”, he said, struggling to his feet and turning back towards the area of the encampment.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

It would have been madness to meet the enemy with anything less than a sizeable escort, not merely because he was meant to impress upon them that the might of the Sceptre was on his side, but also because of the crudest of reasons: he might be set upon and murdered, and his assassins would be able to escape before anyone even noticed what had happened. So, when Amandil stood on the riverbank to receive the emissaries, he was surrounded by two hundred men in full armour, as many as the small space could comfortably contain. They stood still, waiting for the ship to release the boats, and for a moment, even the noises of the construction site gave way to a tense silence, only broken by the seagulls’s cries.

At long last, the first boat was lowered. It was larger than those Amandil was used to, with a purple canopy on the back to protect someone from the unpleasantness of the weather. As it reached the shore, four people disembarked at once, and for a while they seemed very busy trying to manoeuvre the person in the back out of the boat. Slowly, they put him on a chair, and heaved it over the railing and onto solid ground.

Amandil stared, not daring to believe his eyes. The man on the chair was extremely old and fat, and it did not seem like he could walk. His wrinkled brow showed traces of a golden complexion that he had seen before, in a man who was his enemy in the Council of Númenor, but also in a Princess whose meddling had saved his life once, and in his dearest friend.

Magon the Old.

“How can that old geezer still be alive?” someone whispered close to him. A rumble of murmurations arose as the men realized the identity of the newcomer, a man who had once been renowned in Númenor as the richest of the Merchant Princes, and the first of them to sit in the Council under Ar-Sakalthôr.

The Prince of the South’s father in law, and grandfather to Prince Pharazôn.

“Lord Amandil of Andúnië, lord of the Andustar, appointed legate of King Palantir, Protector of Númenor and the Colonies and Favourite of the Powers!” the herald announced. Magon raised his chin a little, and as he blinked several times, Amandil realized that his eyes were swollen and webbed. He remembered having seen this affliction in Middle-Earth barbarians before, and that those affected by it usually went blind after a time, but Magon seemed to be looking for an angle from which he could look at him.

“I am Magon”, he said, simply. His voice was hoarse, his breath laboured. “Is there a p-place where I could rest? The sun is k-killing me, and I n-need something to d-drink.” He made a long pause, as if to gather air. “An old man should not be made to go here and th-there by the whims of youngsters, but that is wh-what the world has come to.”

Amandil did not know what to say. It was as if all carefully crafted words had suddenly abandoned his brain, leaving a desert wasteland in their wake.

Damn those thrice-cursed merchant fiends! Was this how they intended to counter-attack? Delivering a man who was closer to death than to life into his hands, no… an ancient relative of the royal family who could die at any moment, while they remained in the safety of their own island, refusing to meet him? How despicable could they be?

Feeling strangely defeated, he lowered his face until it was in line with Magon’s.

“Greetings, my lord. I am very thankful and honoured by your presence. If you come with us, we will give you food and water, and a place to rest, though I will have to apologize in advance for the humbleness of my current abode.”

“Th-thanks, lord Amandil.”

For a moment, and though he may have imagined it in his current state of shock, he could see the bloated eyes alight with a brief spark of cunning.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“They will not come.” Amandil paced around his tent, clumsily propped on the stone wall of what used to be a marketplace. “They have sent him as their emissary, and if I complain about it, they will claim that he is the highest ranked man in the island and pretend I am being unreasonable.”

“But what are we expected to make out of him?” Adunazer sat, watching his movements with an angry look. “If we discuss business with him, he will fall asleep. If we keep him hostage, he might die on us. By the Valar, we could treat him as we would treat the King himself, and he might die on us anyway! A military camp among ruins is not the place for a man of his age. How could they do such a thing to him? Do they even have a heart? He is the most illustrious of all their citizens, and they will not even allow him the mercy of spending his remaining time in peace!”

“Oh, I do not know about that.” Amandil stopped for a moment, allowing his brow to curve in a frown. He had only held a couple of conversations with Magon since he arrived, but a clearer picture was beginning to form in his head. “I believe that he volunteered for this.”

“Volunteered?” Adunazer cried, in obvious disbelief. “But, my lord…”

“The Faithful are not the only ones with the will and ability to sacrifice themselves for their objectives.” Amandil interrupted him. “He doesn’t have long to live, and he knows it. I would not put it past him to have decided to sacrifice himself for the city that he ruled for so long.”

Adunazer seemed to ponder this for a moment, but he shook the thought away as if he believed it could bite him.

“In any event, what do we do now?”

Amandil shrugged.

“Exactly what we were doing until now. The King wishes to start building next year at the latest, and by then the area needs to be clean and free of trouble.”

“But…”

“They would never have cooperated. If they had, I would not have trusted their offers of information, and they knew it. I could have tried threatening them, but I would never be sure of whether it was working or they were simply pretending to go along with it. This way, it is easier, in a sense. My hands are not tied.”

“We have no idea of the situation in the area. We lack intelligence.”

“Then, let us set to gather our own before we act. Meanwhile, we still have plenty of building to do. “Amandil sighed. “The next objective will be a proper house for Magon.”

“What if he does die?”

If he dies, his son-in-law and his nephew are going to milk this for all it is worth, and then more.

“If he dies, it will be the will of the Creator. His body will be sent back to his relatives for burial.”

Relatives. Pharazôn was a relative, Amandil remembered almost belatedly. Should he send a letter to him, inform him that his ailing grandfather had been brought to him in this manner? Or perhaps he already knew, and was in with his family’s machinations? Amandil ‘s instinct was to rebel against this thought, as the Pharazôn he knew would never approve of sending a frail old man to fight his battles, no matter the reason. But then again, the Pharazôn he knew had disappeared in Umbar long ago, and never came back. Now and then, to the King’s great displeasure, his bloody spoils reached the Island, each of them a small rebellion against Tar-Palantir’s attempts to bury him in oblivion, together with all that he represented. What dark thoughts might have crossed his friend’s mind through these last years was something that only a man who had been in his situation once could begin to imagine. And what Amandil imagined was not always encouraging.

“Then, I will have to make sure that nobody second-guesses the Creator while we are here”, Adunazer grumbled, standing up. “By your leave, my lord.”

Lost in a disheartening train of thoughts, Amandil barely acknowledged the former Andúnië Guard’s departure.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“They are coming! They are coming!” The rider was dressed in pilgrim garb, and there was a green bough in his hand, which he waved as if it was a spear. Around him, in the small town square, a large commotion greeted his words as the villagers who brought in the day’s work dropped their loads, and those who were at practice grabbed their makeshift weapons and ran towards the source of the noise.

“Hey, hey, calm down! Calm down! Leave the horse some space!” Somehow, Ashad managed to push past the throng, until he stood in front of the agitated mount, who for a moment seemed about to trample him. Without showing the slightest hesitation, he grabbed it by the reins, and pulled until he could encircle its neck with both arms. The horse neighed, but stood still. “What news from the Cave?”

“I was at the sanctuary this morning, and I managed to sneak into the stables. Pretended I’d lost my way. One stablehand was saying that they needed to have them horses ready for the next incursion, and that they would ride in the morning. That is next morning”, he clarified. “I’ve been riding nonstop since then, didn’t even stop to have a bite, honest!”

“Good job”, Ashad grinned. “Now, did you all hear what he said? They are not coming as of yet! You can pick all that stuff up and go back to what you were doing, and then you can go to bed early. It is tomorrow we have to be ready for.”

The village spy dismounted, and began wolfing down a piece of oily bread offered to him by an old woman. Around them, everything slowly started to go back to a semblance of normalcy, though the murmurations did not cease. A thrill of nervous excitement seemed to have descended upon the community, rendering them unable to focus in anything else. Even those on duty for practice became increasingly erratic and nervous as the rest began to gather, as if on a common accord, to watch what they were doing and criticise their moves.

“All right, that’s enough! We need to rest for today, to save up our strength for tomorrow!”

“But I am not ready!” A young man, who seemed at the verge of a breakdown as he hit a wooden post over and over, stared at his wooden sword in disgust and threw it to his feet. “It hasn´t even made a dent yet!”

“Never mind that, if this works properly there won’t be need”. A woman forcefully raised a heavy net over her head, which she was carrying with the help of a companion, so everyone could have a good look at it. “And by the Baalim, that it will!”

“There, she is right. The best you can do now is eat, pray, sleep and trust in the gods and your own work.” Ashad concurred.

In spite of his optimism, however, it was a long time until he could manage to extricate himself from those who sought him for instructions, questions, or merely some last-minute reassurance. When he finally managed to enter the head of the village’s house, he could not prevent the exhaustion from showing in his face as he greeted him from the doorstep.

“So… tomorrow, isn’t it?” the old man asked, sitting on a chair and silently offering Ashad another. Amal, his daughter, rushed to the young man’s side, kissed him in the forehead and proceeded to serve him a bowl of soup.

“I am proud of you, my love. I am sure that everything will be fine.”

“Yes, yes, but why is the last to arrive the first to get dinner around here?” her father demanded grumpily. “Doesn’t even the lord carry enough weight around these parts, by all’s sake?”

“I carried some weight this morning, but then he insisted that I could be spotted from afar if they decided to send any spies, so I have been cooped here for the rest of the day, and I am not particularly hungry. “Elendil intervened. “And for the last time, I am not the lord, my father is.”

“Well, this is very good!” Ashad uttered, with his mouth completely full. “Could I have some more? They may not be hungry, but I am!”

“Damn Southron barbarians”, the old man groaned in disgust. His daughter gave him a reproachful glance.

“He is my husband-to-be, Father, and the saviour of this village. You should not speak of him in this manner!”

“I was only joking! Of course I am content with what I am given.” In some regret, Ashad pushed the half-empty bowl away. “And you should also set this aside for the gods, we need their help for tomorrow.”

“The Valar”, Elendil corrected mechanically. Even after having his own food served, he barely ate, his grey eyes set on some undetermined spot of the wooden table.

“You look worried”, Ashad whispered confidentially, once Amal and her father had both absented themselves. The first had gone to wash the bowls in the back yard, and the second was setting the remaining food beside an altar where the statues of Manwë and Varda sat side by side, twin stars upon their brows. “Are you having second thoughts about trusting me?”

“Eh? No, you are doing admirably.” Elendil rose from the chair, and sat on the floor next to the empty fireside, stretching his enormous legs as well as he was able in such a cramped space. “In spite of your origins, you earned the trust and the respect of an entire village of Númenóreans, the love of their fairest woman and the approval of her father. I am impressed.”

Ashad’s face became so red that even with his dark skin and the lack of light, it was easily noticeable.

“I did not… well, when you put it that way… ah, curse it! I was just following orders when I came here. I arrived with all the armed men from Andúnië, and of course the priests chickened out and retreated. Then I helped them save some of the crops and rebuild the houses, because that was expected of me, but as far as she is concerned, I did everything singlehandedly, defeated their leader in battle and re-founded their village.”

“It was not expected of you to stay here, come up with a plan and involve all these people in it.”

“Well, I hope they wait for it to work at least, before they crown me Ashad I the Magnificent.” The young man looked over his shoulder to check that the other inhabitants of the house were still busy with their things, and then sat on his knees next to Elendil. His voice was lowered to a whisper again. “Actually, you know… even after I had helped them, most still saw me as just a barbarian. They only changed their minds because I had your support. Otherwise, they would have dismissed my plan as a dangerous madman’s scheme. In fact, I still wonder about… well…”

“You wonder whether my father also thought your plan a dangerous madman’s scheme”, Elendil guessed. “The answer is no, or he would have put a stop to it. He trusts you as much as I do.”

Ashad smiled widely, and Elendil was satisfied with the visible effects of this half-truth in his morale. It was never wise to fuel the doubts of a commander on the eve of battle.

“But then, what are you worried about?”

The heir of Andúnië sighed. That boy from Harad had many fine qualities, but he had always been annoyingly persistent - like his people, he had heard others say.

“I am not worried. From what I have gathered, however, Amal is, and I believe you have a duty towards her now.”

“Oh, I will have enough time to comfort her tonight” Ashad grinned, winningly. Elendil shook his head.

“I should caution you against letting her father hear that. You are only betrothed.”

“Hear what?” Ashad looked like the perfect picture of innocence, and even he had to smile. No, there was nothing censorious to be found in the love between two people who had chosen each other, no matter how suspiciously it was treated by the rest of the world. If he could never know that feeling, he was glad that at least Ashad had managed to.

For a while, they remained in silence, only broken by the splash of water as Amal emptied the washing bucket in the backyard.

“When I was a child, I saw the lord Amandil fighting as a captain of the army in Harad, and then in the Middle Havens when he was posted there. He took part in plenty of battles and as many ambushes, and he always came out victorious. He is a great warrior. Many tried to kill him, but nobody could.”

Elendil stared at the younger man, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused.

“So, you think you have read me. And you even have a solution to offer.”

For once, Ashad had the grace to look abashed.

“I am sorry, I just thought… I don’t know a solution, but I thought I could… help somehow”, he finished, lowering his glance. “Oh, damn. I don´t even remember my parents. I suppose it’s better like that, since they died fighting Lord Amandil’s people, and it would be terrible to have to bear a grudge against the only person I remember raising me. But he is not my father, either, so I should shut my mouth now.”

Of the many difficult things in the world, to be angry at Ashad was perhaps not on par with stopping the Wave of his kinsmen’s dreams or finding love, but, Elendil thought ruefully, it might be a close third.

“I understand and appreciate your intent. Now, go find your lady and enjoy a well-deserved rest.” He forced his voice back into a flippant tone, which had always come hard to him. “I will keep her father distracted.”

The young man bowed exaggeratedly.

“As you wish, my lord.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Dawn came earlier than ever for the restless village, most of whose inhabitants had been too nervous about the incoming battle to catch much sleep. The cock’s crow, however, had never roused these peasants faster than it did that day, and it seemed that mere instants after it was first heard the town square was already bustling with people who ran here and there, finishing their preparations, carrying materials, or distributing food for those who hadn’t had time for breakfast.

From his vantage point, Elendil was impressed, in spite of himself, at the effectivity of the proceedings. Each person, man or woman, and even the children, knew what they had to do, where they had to hide, and what part of the plan was their responsibility. When the lookout made the signal -the song of a nightingale, repeated thrice- the square was already deserted.

Soon afterwards, they heard the horses, their hooves trampling the pavement of the small path that crossed the forest towards the village. One, two, three…twenty horsemen, at the very least. No, twenty-two, Elendil corrected himself as they emerged from the foliage and entered the crops. It occurred to him that it would be a setback for their plan if they decided to just burn the crops without entering the village first, but thankfully that did not seem to be what they had in mind. Ashad’s instincts had been sound.

“Where is everyone?” one of them asked. His voice resonated from afar in the empty space.

“Probably in the fields, working”, another replied.

“I didn’t see people in the fields. And besides, not all of them would have gone.”

“They could be hiding. Or they could have left the village and stopped trying to settle Cave lands!” the second man laughed.

“I don’t know. In that case, would they have rebuilt the houses? I have a feeling that…”

Before the priest could elaborate on what his suspicions were, however, many things happened at once. First, Ashad gave the signal from his vantage point on the rooftop of the house, and the large net was deployed. As it fell on the bunch of horsemen who were closest to them, they yelled in surprise and struggled, but the villagers pulled the ropes and it tightened around them, causing two of them to fall from their horses and roll on the ground with shrieks of terror, trying to avoid a kick in the head.

The rest of the horsemen retreated in a panicked jumble, veering away from the path as they did so. Several of them suddenly saw the ground disappear from beneath the hooves of their horses, and fell on the trap holes. As soon as they saw them lying there, a second contingent of villagers emerged from their hiding places, ready to knock them out. There were only about a dozen left, who, after a moment of hesitation, realizing that they were being pelted by stones and spears, decided to flee the improvised battleground.

That was the moment when they entered the forest.

“We have them!” Ashad shouted. A chorus of fierce yells rang in the morning sky.

That was the beginning of the final stage of the plan. The largest, and better trained segment of the population had been hiding in the forest, dressed in brown and their faces covered in mud “like the Forest People did in the Middle Havens”, as Ashad had illustrated them. Taking advantage of the panic of their would-be attackers and their disorderly retreat, they fell upon them and unhorsed them, throwing projectiles at their heads, scaring the mounts into dropping their riders down or even, the bravest and most skilled among them, jumping at them from the branches. After a very short fight, all of them had been either disarmed, knocked out, or made prisoner.

Elendil took a long, sharp breath as the ambushers carried the priests back to the village, to the square where the rest of the villagers had been fishing the rest from the nets and the holes. He had assessed the plan favourably, but he had not imagined it would be so successful, and so fast. In a hurry, he retreated inside the house, so none of them would be able to catch a glimpse of him and recognize his face.

“The enemy is ours! Victory!”

Ashad stood on his rooftop, waving a spear. For a moment, he looked like the very picture of a fierce enemy of Númenor, thin, dark-skinned and warlike, but that was not what the villagers appeared to be seeing. From every corner of the place, from every rooftop and from every house, a cry of victory arose.

“What is the meaning of this?” One of the priests, who seemed like the leader, looked furious after being extricated from the net which had immobilized him. His ear was bleeding profusely. “How dare you hire barbarians to steal the lands of the Cave? Let us go at once, or the High Priest will…!”

“The High Priest can come and get you himself, as long as you pay back for everything you have destroyed. “Ashad grinned, to a general cheer of approval. He seemed to be enjoying this. “If he doesn’t… well, maybe you have been told what we Haradrim do to our prisoners.”

The priest’s face was white now.

“I demand to speak to your lord! Only he can decide what happens in his lands!”

“Did you say his lands?” Ashad laughed, and the villagers with him. “I like that. Say it louder!”

“I regret to tell you, but the lord of Andúnië is in Middle-Earth now”, the old head of the village intervened, standing on the doorstep of the house. “You cannot speak to him.”

“His son, then!”

“The Lord Elendil is in Andúnië. He is very busy and we would not disturb him with our lowly problems. If your High Priest wishes to complain to him, he may do so, but I advise him not to be uncivil about it, if he values your lives.” Elendil could detect the humour in Ashad’s voice. “And know this, priest: from now on, we will take care of our own villages, and our crops. And you are never going to destroy anything again.”

The cheering shook the skies for a second time. Elendil pressed his forehead against the wall, and for a moment, he choked on a glorious outburst of liberating laughter.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“Are you sure you do not need an escort, my lord?”

Elendil took the bridles from the old villager’s hands, and solemnly shook his head.

“My escort is waiting at an inn in the main road. Once I am back with them, I have to pretend I have been travelling from Armenelos. The more unnoticed I manage to pass until I meet them, the best it will serve all of us, so it will be wiser if I go alone. Except…” His eyes focused on Ashad, who was holding the hand of his young bride. “You are of course welcome to return to Andúnië with me, if you so wish.”

“I am very grateful for your hospitality, my lord, but I wish to stay here and help her people.”

Elendil shook his head, looking deeply into his eyes.

“It is not hospitality, Ashad. You were not entirely right last night. You may not be joined to us by blood, but there are ties between the house of Andúnië and you, and they will remain after you have children, and your children have children.” The young man looked down, in a sudden, clumsy attempt to hide his feelings from the eyes of others. “I respect your choice, but if you ever change your mind, we will be waiting for you and your family.”

“That is such a moving thing to say!” Amal gave him a watery smile. “Ashad and I will always remember those words.”

“Well, I have to hurry now, if I wish to be in Andúnië when the High Priest of the Forbidden Bay begins sending angry letters. I have half a mind to leave for Armenelos again so he will have to send his messengers twice, except that it would not be fair to you if you had to feed your prisoners for any longer than you need to.” As he mounted the horse, Elendil sought the old village head one last time. “Remember to call for help if you are pressured in any way. I do not believe that they will risk the lives of their own people, but you must not overdo it, or their honour will force them to retaliate. And that goes for you too, Ashad.”

“You can always trust me to behave with discretion”, the young man replied with a grin. Elendil smiled back, waving away.

Trust. That, he thought as he took the small path between the wheat fields, had been the real test he had passed today, and it had been a difficult one. The worry Ashad had detected the previous night had not been mere concern for his father who risked his life away in a distant land, but a struggle against the part of himself who did not wish to leave anything in the hands of others. Since he was young, he had been in charge of his own fate, and he never had the need to delegate, much less sit down and do nothing while others took care of his dirty work. But now this, too, had changed. He was in charge of lands, of people, which ironically meant that he could not do everything on his own, and he had found that trusting in others was like letting go of a lifeline, when the current pulled him towards the deep. It evoked a visceral fear, as vertiginous as it was strong and unyielding. For all this time, he had been fighting against it, almost overwhelmed by its intensity as he sat inside the cottage, hidden and unarmed, but in the end, he had triumphed over it.

He could do it. Ashad was not the only one who had succeeded in something.

Trust me, and I will trust you.

Yes, Father, he thought. I will trust you. I will stop worrying, prying, second-guessing, and just trust you. Middle-Earth is your arena, and you know what to do.

That night, he told himself, he would make himself sleep.