Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty by Gadira

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War Preparations

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He looked up as soon as he heard the footsteps, quickly schooling back his features into an alert expression that would wipe away the evidence of his scattered, dark thoughts. He did not want any courtier to see him like this, without the mask of dignity and strength that no lord could have the luxury of discarding whenever they stepped inside these halls.

The person who stood before him, however, was no courtier.

“Amandil.”

“Father”, Amandil acknowledged him with a nod. Númendil looked like his usual self, calm and collected, but in the depths of his sea-grey eyes his son could see exhaustion and worry, like a treasure hidden at the bottom of a well to be preserved from the enemy’s advance.

Before they could exchange any more words, a second figure emerged from the meeting room. This one was shorter, and too slight of build as to belong to a man, and with some surprise, Amandil recognized the Queen. As she came closer to them, her black eyes trailed quickly over Númendil’s form to become fixed on his, and her lips curved into a brief smile.

“Lord Amandil”, she greeted him. Mindful of protocol, Amandil bowed low. Instead of telling him to rise, however, she turned away without bestowing any further acknowledgement on him. Slowly, he looked up, and saw that the King was standing next to her. She held his hand into hers, and for a moment they seemed to be immersed in a strange, voiceless conversation.

Suddenly, she nodded, and approached Númendil.

“Come with me” she ordered. He bowed, and left Amandil’s side to follow her. Their footsteps reverberated across the large hallway, leaving an almost ominous echo in their wake.

“She seems fond of him”, Ar Pharazôn observed, as if they were in the middle of a feast and she had invited Amandil’s father to share a drink with her. But they were not standing in the Outer Courtyard, and this was no feast – and Amandil was no fool.

“I am surprised, my lord King, that the Queen would be present when discussing military matters.” It took all his skill not to make it sound like an accusation, especially as he, who knew more about the mainland and its military matters than the Queen and his father put together, had not been invited in.

The King shrugged.

“She is as much of a ruler of Númenor as I am. She can go wherever she wishes, and listen to any conversation she wants.”

So, she is not there because you suspect my father of lying to you, and need her to wring the truth from him, as if he was a traitor or an enemy of the Sceptre, he thought bitterly. But this was not the moment nor the place to speak those thoughts aloud.

“Are things progressing to your satisfaction then, my lord King?”

Ar Pharazôn motioned him to follow, but not in the same direction that Ar Zimraphel and Númendil had taken. Instead, he led him through the Painted Gallery towards the Second Courtyard, where Amandil remembered having run after another King at the end of a stormy Council session many years ago. Courtiers and guards -the latter having gained access to certain areas of the Palace on the previous year- stood at almost every turn, bowing low before them as they passed. Amandil detected some curious looks directed at him, but most held nothing but indifference in their glances. It was not the first time that the Lord of Andúnië had been sighted in the Palace outside Council meetings, and news of the King’s unusual visit to his own mansion months ago must have spread among them as well. Though he was less eager than ever to flaunt his privileged position, sometimes a tiny part of him could not help but wonder how many sleepless nights the High Priest of the Forbidden Bay would have spent since his spies spoke to him about this.

“In many departments I can say that yes, things are progressing quite well”, the King continued at some point, as if there had been no interruption. “I have received intelligence that the defences of Mordor have been depleted in the last years, and that Sauron’s allies are scattered. Even more, it seems it is proving difficult for him to assemble new troops from the South and East. The Haradrim are distrustful of his ability to protect them after the last debacle, and though I do not know about the men of the East, they must be having similar thoughts. The Orcs he has left are still not enough to present a compelling case to those people, which is why he is using them to harass Arne and our allies in Harad.”

“I see. You seem to be quite in control of the situation, my lord King. Your net of informers must be excellent.”

“Most of them are.” Suddenly, Ar Pharazôn stopped in his tracks and faced Amandil, who stopped as well and blinked his surprise away. “But when it comes to information about Sauron himself, I am nearly as much at a loss as the first day. Now, I do not want to speak ill of your father, Amandil, but I swear he would be able to bore the very stones of this Palace to tears with his pointless ramblings. I know that you do not approve of this enterprise, and I know that he does not approve of it either, so I am almost tempted to suspect him of trying to mislead me on purpose.”

Amandil tried to swallow his irritation, but realized that it was becoming more and more difficult by the moment. He looked left and right: they were alone, out of earshot of the other Palace denizens. He could risk it.

“And what does the Queen think about this?”

For an instant, it looked as if Pharazôn might take the bait.

“We are speaking of your father, not of the Queen.”

“I merely suggest that perhaps you should ask this question to someone who was present when my father spoke”, he insisted, with the same quiet belligerence. Now, if Pharazôn truly wanted to discuss the issue, he would oblige him. “But I must admit, that if you see us as enemies, it makes more sense to me that you would wish to interrogate us separately, to better uncover the falsehoods in our discourse. That is sound strategy.”

Ar Pharazôn’s eyes gleamed in anger, and he knew he had struck a nerve. Good.

“So, you wish to be present in all of my councils? You would go wherever I go, see whatever I see, and hear everything I hear? That could be arranged, though I cannot help but wonder if you would do the same for me if I asked it of you.”

There it was, Amandil thought in dismay. The paranoia again. It seemed there could be no King without it, though at least Tar Palantir had succeeded in keeping it at bay. Then again, considering what the fate of all his hopes and reforms had been, and what his own family had done to his legacy, he might simply have been too weak to act upon it.

“You said once that you trusted me because I spoke the truth to your face”, he reminded Pharazôn hotly. “Do you still want this truth? It is here, and you do not need to go to any lengths to uncover it, for I can speak it to you as loud and clear as you want. Now, what do you say? Do you wish to hear my thoughts, or not?”

The King shrugged, as if he was suddenly too tired to answer. Perhaps he was. And then, perhaps he was just provoking him into disclosing who knew what damning evidence he suspected him to be hiding.

Perhaps paranoia was not only the ultimate fate of the King, but also of everyone who surrounded him.

“I have no idea of what my father told you. I swear it by all the Valar. If you tell me, perhaps I can help. And, if I cannot help, at least you can vent your frustration.”

He did not know if this was the answer that Ar Pharazôn had expected, but after a while, at least, his childhood friend sat in one of the benches in the garden and let go of a familiar sigh.

“He keeps doing the same in every one of our meetings. I try to ask him very specific, definite questions, but he always manages to twist what should be a simple, straightforward answer into some fantastic tale of the past which has nothing but a very flimsy connection with the subject at hand.”

“I warned you. He is not a warrior. He also spent a long time with the Elves, and you know what they say about going to them for advice.”

“That if you do, you will end your days like the Former King?” For a moment, it seemed as if there was a glint of humour in Ar Pharazôn’s expression, but it died when Amandil did not reciprocate. Though there were many who would have felt the obligation to laugh at the King’s jokes, the lord of Andúnië would never stoop so low as to deride the man who had restored him to his title, home and family before the very person who had taken the Sceptre and married his daughter against his wishes. Even if he had helped him with that himself.

“Are you sure that the tales he told had nothing to do with what you asked?” he inquired instead. “He is my father, but because of circumstances that you remember as well as I, I did not have a meaningful conversation with him before I was sixty, and at first I found it very difficult to grow used to his way of reasoning. Once I did, however, I recognized his wisdom. I had studied many dusty scrolls in the Temple and learned my way around the wars of the mainland, but as I discovered back then, those were not the only forms of knowledge that existed.”

“Well, then perhaps you should judge by yourself. I ask him if there is a way for Sauron to be permanently defeated in spite of his immortality, and he tells me of a war three thousand years ago, which he claims to be the same war taught by the priests of the Great Temples. According to him, the Lord of Battles was not merely defeated by his enemies temporarily, but forever. Now, as much as I would like to witness your Revered Father Yehimelkor’s reaction to this blasphemy, I fail to see what the outcome of a battle that took place when gods trod upon the soil of Earth can avail us now.” He shrugged. “Apparently, the Dark Lord Sauron was a survivor of this battle. He had once fought at the side of the Great God, but betrayed Him miserably and surrendered to His enemies. He promised them he would never revolt or take up arms again against their rule, but as soon as their backs were turned on him, he broke his promise to seek his own gain.”

“So, he was not defeated permanently, even by the Valar.” Amandil summed up. Pharazôn, however, only bristled in irritation.

“Then, he also told us again of that ancient war in the time of King Minastir. The Elves claim that they were deceived by Sauron, who appeared fair and wise to them, and through this deceit he conquered one of their kingdoms and threatened the surrounding area. The Núménoreans had to send a great host from the Island to crush him, but before this happened, a great destruction was wrought upon our colonies and territories.”

“I see.” Amandil sighed; he could recognize his father in those tales very well, even through Pharazôn’s mouth. “And, what did you make of this?”

“First, I should not have to make anything. I should not have to guess the obscure teachings hidden in a legend which a man saw fit to tell me after I had asked him a direct question. I have never before tolerated this behaviour from anyone, even back when I was but the commander of a small army in the mainland.”

“My father is not a soldier. No one has told him of Sauron’s weaknesses, of the strategies to get past the defences of Mordor, or the layout of his troops”, Amandil replied. “And if they had, he would probably not have been paying too much attention. But he is still trying to help you, in whatever way he can, and you would do well in accepting any help you can receive, because this accursed deed is the most dangerous of those you have ever attempted, and gone is the time when a small army in the mainland was all you had to lose.”

“Very well.” Pharazôn’s voice was cold. “I will humour both of you, then. If those tales were true, if we could ever have the certainty that they were, they show that Sauron can be defeated, not only by gods, but also by men. However, so far, no one has been able to defeat him permanently. He cannot be killed, and his capacities for deceit are great, so he merely bides his time until it is safe for him to reappear again. He has tricked gods and Elves into believing his lies, and he will also trick me, for I am but a mere mortal, and cannot possibly succeed where they have failed. The expedition I am planning would either end in disaster if I lost or prove futile if I won, so I should while my days idly in my palace of Armenelos instead, and turn a blind eye to all his crimes. But if I do so, and his strength and pride grow ever greater, and he stands before the gates of Pelargir again, or your son’s capital of Arne, or Umbar, or the Middle Havens or, the Baalim forbid, Lindon itself, the same people who counsel me against this will fall on their knees, begging me to face him.” His gaze was fixed on Amandil’s, with an intensity that the lord of Andúnië found hard to withstand. “What do you think? Have I done well deciphering your Elvish wisdom, or not?”

Elven wisdom, perhaps, Amandil thought, uncomfortable in spite of himself. As if from another life, he recalled the lengthy conversations with Númendil by the shores of Rómenna, after both returned from their long exile. Back then, he had had as much difficulty to understand his father and his strange beliefs as Pharazôn had now, but it had not merely been a matter of a long-lost soul coming back into the fold and assimilating the wise teachings of his ancestors. His father, with his remarkable humility, had realized that they, too, had to learn to understand his way of thinking.

For a long time, we of the house of Andúnië have dwelt in isolation, both imposed by others and created by ourselves in our pride. When they took you away, brought you to all these places... it was necessary so you could become the person that we would need in the future.

Then, he had become lord of them all, and this future had arrived sooner than he had imagined. He had needed to make the choice to support Pharazôn in his bid for the Sceptre, and he had done so, even though it had often crossed his mind that his ancestors might have acted differently. And now, what lay before him was a different challenge altogether, one which he could either face with Elven wisdom, or with the logic of Men. Elves were wise, yes, for they had seen much and learned much in their long lives, and they probably had the measure of Sauron much better than any Númenórean could ever have. He had no doubt about that, and yet, what he was not so sure of was whether the Elves had the measure of Men at all.

Other words, of a discussion he had almost forgotten, came to his mind through the haze of distance and time.

“I mean no offense, but could an immortal ever understand how it is to be us? To have the whole of eternity shrink to the size of a brief lifespan, and be unable to consider anything that falls outside it with the same degree of accuracy and immediacy? For us Men, the past is but a blurred shadow, to be fashioned and refashioned at will by the keepers of records, while the future lies outside our grasp, only to be considered to the extent that we may worry about the fate of our children or grandchildren. And I will go even further, my lord, and apply this to space as well as to time. How could a passing traveller ever understand how it is to have but one world to live in, to see it defiled by the Shadow, and be unable to escape it for an Undying Land across the Sea? Those of you who are exiles bemoan your fate, but we were not exiled. This is our world: here we were born, here we will die, and here we will bring forth our children whether the Shadow is upon us or not. And here, the outcome of a single battle might doom them or free them, though for you it may seem but one of many.”

“And yet you were also given the gift of a land beyond the Sea, free from the Shadow. You could have been content with it, but you chose to involve yourselves in the affairs of Middle-Earth, bringing strife and danger upon yourselves.”

He had held that conversation with one of Lord Númendil’s friends in Andúnië, many years ago. Back then, he had graciously conceded to his guest, but he knew very well what someone like Pharazôn would have said to the Elf, if he had been there.

“If we had not, the last remnants of your wretched people would have been killed or forced to flee long ago, and all of Middle-Earth would be ruled by Sauron. Is this the order of things that you and your Baalim in the West believe should have prevailed? If so, perhaps they are not as much the enemies of the Dark Lord as you pretend them to be.”

Amandil was sure that the Valar were no friends of the Dark Lord. But he had to admit that sometimes it would seem hard for the men who fought the shadow of Mordor to believe otherwise. He, too, had known the soldiering life, and also the life of courtly intrigue, which was scarcely less dangerous, and in both places, he had learned a bitter truth: that those who pursued the same objectives as your enemies, whatever their intentions or background, were their natural allies -and also your natural enemies. To be held back from defeating one’s hated enemy in the name of a forgotten past or an uncertain future, how would this appear any different to a Man from hostile intentions?

“What is it? Have you been possessed by one of their fell spirits, or have you been stricken dumb?” Aghast, he realized that he had allowed himself to be lost in those musings, and that the King was still standing before him, awaiting his reply. He forced himself to return to the present, hoping that he was not beginning to grow as oblivious to the passing of time as Númendil.

“I am sorry, I was briefly distracted”, he apologized. “Look, I cannot pretend that I am at ease with this expedition. I am greatly concerned, and I wish that you would not go ahead with it. I wish that you would merely fight Sauron to defend our territories as Númenor has done until now, instead of invading him and seeking his annihilation, something which, as my father reminds us, others have already failed to do, either at their own peril or that of others.” Pharazôn seemed about to interrupt, but he ploughed on. “But I also know that there is no way under Heaven that I, or anyone else, would be able to convince you that it is a good idea to sit in inaction while your enemy regains his strength, seizes the initiative and attacks your settlements, threatening many of your people and killing your allies. I know this, and therefore, I will not attempt it anymore. All I want from you, and I swear I will fight you bitterly in the Council or elsewhere to achieve it, is that you will involve me, and hide nothing from me, and trust me enough to listen to my counsel.”

“Is that what it would take to have you cease looking at me as if you could kill me with your stare?”

Amandil shook his head.

“I do not know. But I will try to gather more detailed information from my father myself, and then the Queen will not have to spend her evenings trying to read him.”

At this, Ar Pharazôn merely shrugged, unabashed.

“It might be a welcome change. However,” Now, it was his own eyes which became fixed on Amandil, and his stare was just as murderous as the ones he had just accused him of giving.” Be forewarned that I am not going to let you or the Elves interfere with my plans. If you wish to help me, you are welcome, but if you try to hinder me, I will not stand for it.”

Amandil sighed. Nothing he should not have expected.

“That seems fair enough, my lord King.”

Small as the space he had been allotted was, he thought, he would force himself to find a way to work with it. And one day, if Eru was willing, he would be able to look back and judge if it had been worth it or not.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

“Perhaps I should leave”.

Surprised, Elendil lifted his glance from the evolutions of the red autumn leaves floating on the pond of the Queen’s gardens. Eluzîni had risen to her feet, and she was staring at him with a deep frown of displeasure. For a moment, he was at a loss as to what he could have done to warrant this reaction, as he had been sitting still for a long while, speaking very little, if at all.

Just as he thought this, the answer came to him.

“I am sorry, Eluzîni. Please, stay. I have allowed myself to become distracted by thoughts that do not belong in this place, or to this company.”

She did not give signs of relenting.

“They must be very important thoughts if they can make you forget that I am here. And if that is so, perhaps you should share them with me.”

It was a fearful ability of hers, to hide deadly snares behind apparently innocent statements. If he should claim now that what he was thinking was not important, she would be justified in her anger, but if it was important, he had no excuse not to tell her.

“I was thinking about this morning’s meetings, with the Council and the leaders of the Arnian army”, he surrendered, grudgingly. “I would not wish to bore you with the details…”

“If you are going to think about it anyway, I would rather you thought about it aloud, so I can hear it too”, she cut him. He sighed. So much for that.

“Very well. As you already know, our King is planning a major campaign.” None in the Women’s Court were within earshot of their conversation, and yet he still felt the need to be prudent in his choice of words. “And in his great wisdom, he has decided that the Arnian army, which has protected Arne for centuries, must now join the Númenórean army and become integrated with it.”

“And considering your frown, I gather that the Arnians are not happy about that”, she guessed. He nodded.

“Of course they are not happy about that. They are most unhappy about it, in fact.”

“How unhappy, exactly?”

“Unhappy to the point of making me think that it could be a good idea for you and Ilmarë to return to Númenor for a while.”

Eluzîni’s eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again as they became fixed on his with what he recognized as her familiar stubborn expression.

“While you stay here and risk your life? While Isildur stays here and risks his? Never.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she did not let him. “And I am not sure I even understand the reasons for all this fuss. Arne is ruled from Númenor, so shouldn’t it follow naturally that its army would, too? Furthermore, there are Númenórean troops here, helping protect Arne, and they delivered it from the Dark Lord only a few years ago. They have been working with the Arnian army all this time.”

“Protecting Arne, yes”, he explained. “This country lies at the very border of Mordor, and as such it has lived under its constant threat for centuries. In these latter times, their kings were tempted to strike deals with their ancient enemy for various reasons, but this should not obscure the other lessons that their past can offer. For years uncounted, Arne battled the armies of Mordor and managed to keep their borders intact, with some Númenórean help, it is true, but also largely through their own blood and toil. What do you think they should say if, all of a sudden, the Númenórean Sceptre orders them to give away their main source of protection and send it to the other end of the world, perhaps to serve as bait in some conqueror’s clever strategy?”

“Is this what the King wants to do with the Arnian army?” Eluzîni waded across the edge of the pond, and came to sit next to him, the red silk of her robes almost grazing his arm. “I thought it was merely a way to organize things more efficiently for the campaign, but why would an army that is already stationed here, next to Mordor, need to be taken somewhere else?”

“I do not know. They do not know, either, and there is no way for any of us to be sure. That is what they are scared of – not knowing. And there is more. “Wondering belatedly how she had this ability of making him open his heart as he would not have done for anyone else, he continued. “The King wants the army to fall under the command of Lord Bodashtart.”

“What? That ghastly old man? I thought he was here as your advisor!”

“He is here as the King’s trusted servant, for whatever purpose may be required of him.” Elendil retorted. Eluzîni looked indignant.

“Does this mean that the King does not trust you, then?”

“Perhaps he does, but not enough to send several thousand Arnians to their deaths.” Elendil shrugged, but his expression was grim. “That is what they think, at least, and given the situation, could you blame them? If the King meant them no harm, he would just leave things as they were, and he would let them remain in Arne. He would have no need to force them to accept those new conditions, or put someone else in charge.”

“Well”, Eluzîni seemed strangely absorbed by the gleam of the afternoon sun in the surface of the water. “At least, it seems that they think highly of you. The Arnians.”

“That might not last very long.” And this in spite of the years he had needed to toil in order to earn every single inch of this goodwill, he could not help but think with a surge of bitterness.

“So, you are going to submit to the King’s will.”

“Of course I am going to submit to the King’s will! What other options do you think I have?”

He had not really expected her to answer this question, so it almost didn’t register in his mind when she did.

“Well, perhaps you should find some way to deal with this situation that does not involve a full-scale rebellion of the kingdom of Arne, because I am sure that cannot be the King’s will. If it is you that the Arnians would follow, not him or his “trusted servants”, why shouldn’t he listen to your advice before he goes around deciding who is to…?”

“That is very dangerous talk, Eluzîni”, he interrupted her, his face pale. But she did not back down.

“Not for you! He cannot harm you, I know about that oath! And if he recalls you and you have to return to the Island, at least you would not have to be here, putting your life at risk so far from home.”

The oath. He wanted to cringe, ashamed at the remembrance, and at the same time, worried that her raised voice would carry her words towards indiscreet ears. Could Ar Pharazôn be ruing the day that he uttered it, in a moment of careless, open generosity towards a friend who was torn for having to leave his wife and his unborn child to an uncertain situation? Did he resent him, and could this be the reason why he had wanted him so far away from Armenelos and his court?

Had he been afraid of the power this could give him?

The idea spread through his mind with the speed of a soaring eagle, leaving a great turmoil in his wake. Too late, or so it seemed to him, his prudent side tried to quell it, but the ramifications were already too far-reaching. If only he would… if only he dared…

Had she known that her words would have this effect on him?

“You are a dangerous woman”, he said, his tope flippant in an attempt to hide how much this conversation had affected him. “Now, I believe we should speak of lighter things, or the very fish in the pond will swim away to avoid being associated with you.”

She frowned, whether in earnest or also trying to feign a different mood, Elendil could not tell.

“Very well. But only as long as you promise not to forget my presence.”

He smiled.

“I will never commit that mistake again.”

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

That night, as he retreated to his chambers, Elendil’s mood became even more brooding and silent. He did not speak a word that was not essential, and retired early for the night. The next day, he would also have to rise early to attend another meeting with the chiefs of the Arnian military, to continue the previous day’s interrupted discussion.

“I hope there will be more discussion today, and less uncivilized yelling, banging, and name calling”, Bodashtart remarked, his lips curving in disdain as they emerged from the gate at the front of the large chamber, flanked by six Númenórean guards who looked rather apprehensive from their past experience. The men who stood waiting for them, as he should have expected, did not look any less belligerent than they had when they were last dismissed. They bowed before them, but their bows were curt, as if they did not wish to appear ready to give even an inch. In the first row, Maharis, chief of cavalry and hero of the Arnians, looked especially threatening, with his thick beard that hid the large scar he had received fighting against Mordor. Once, Elendil remembered, the man had pointed at his own scar, much fainter but still visible on his left cheek, and claimed that they had both been marked by the same fate. It had been nothing but an empty pleasantry, and yet it was also something Elendil could hold on to when his tenuous relationship with the old man was undergoing a difficult moment. At this point, however, Maharis seemed closer to inflicting new wounds than he was to bonding over them.

“Lord Elendil of Andúnië, Governor of Arne and appointed legate of King Pharazôn, Favourite of Melkor, and of Queen Zimraphel, Favourite of Ashtarte-Uinen, Protectors of Númenor and the colonies!” the herald announced him. He sat, and everybody followed suit, just as grudgingly as they had bowed. Even as he spoke of picking up the threads of the previous reunion right where they had left them, he was sure that the explosion would not take long to come.

“Once, I signed a treaty with the man who now sits upon the throne of Númenor and holds your Sceptre”, Maharis spoke, brandishing an old piece of parchment as if it was a sword on a battlefield. “It was a declaration of mutual support in times of need, and of an alliance to fight a common enemy. In this treaty, there were two equal parties: the Númenórean army, and the Arnian army. So it was back then, and so it would be for the times to come, whenever the shadow of Mordor arose to threaten either Arne or Pelargir. Now, however, this treaty is broken, and it was not us who broke it!”

“That is a fallacy, Lord Maharis”, Bodashtart cut him drily. “No Númenórean general has ever signed a treaty in the terms that you speak of. All the treaties that we sign are unequal, because our army is the greatest in the world, and so it is the other tribes and nations who fall under our protection, not the other way around. That is why those treaties can never negate Numenórean sovereignty over any territory where our arms have been victorious.”

“And yet without us, you would have lost Pelargir!”

“Without us, without our King, you would have lost yourselves, and we would not be having this conversation, for you would no longer exist, except perhaps as slaves to Sauron or his allies.” Bodashtart spat. “Now, he needs you, and you have to put your weapons at his service. It is this simple.”

“To go to a distant land and lose our lives while our women and children are left unprotected before the advance of the Orcs?” Many voices had risen at once, causing a great ruckus in the hall, but Maharis was still the loudest. “How, pray, is this any different from being slaves to Sauron?”

“You are too humble, to ask such a question to someone who knows much less about it than you do. It was not long ago that Mordor held sway over Arne, and though it was for less than a year, your royal family was extinguished, together with many of the realm’s greatest families. Or perhaps you have already forgotten?”

“No, my lord, I may belong to what you call the short-lived folk, but I remember that quite well. I also remember, when I was a young child, that many Arnian nobles lost their lives after another war, including my father and my uncle. Our King was executed together with them, and his brother, the Prince Noxaris, died in battle with his two sons. I thought it had been Sauron who did that, but my mother told me that it had been the Prince Pharazôn. I believe he is also the same person as your King now!”

“If that was so, it was because your father was a traitor, and now you are but a step away from following his example!”

Elendil rose to his feet. No matter how loud the voices were, or how blinded the warriors were by their rage, the sudden awareness of his height after he had been sitting for some time never failed to bring an almost superstitious silence to a room. Taking advantage of this opening, which he knew would be brief, he fixed his glance on Maharis.

“Lord Maharis, my lords, please. The King has ordered that the Arnian army should be part of the war effort in upcoming campaigns, as it was covered in the treaty that you once signed. There is no reason why you should lose your lives in distant lands while your women and children are undefended, as you say. Those are nothing but groundless fears, which you have agitated so much that in the end you have started to believe them yourselves!”

A younger man -Dameris, vice-chief of the archers- rose at once. Though his voice was not raised as that of the others had been, his gaze was intense enough as to compensate for it.

 “If that was true, my lord, you would be able to prove it! Instead of that, you offer us vague words of reassurance, while you surrender us to the authority of this man and refuse to have anything else to do with our fate! What do you expect us to think?”

“How does that affect this issue? I am a Númenórean loyal to the King, and so is Lord Bodashtart. Why would you feel reassured if it was me, and not him, who was in command of the Arnian army?”

“You are the governor of Arne! And the only Númenórean governor of Arne who has ever bothered to rule this country and its people as if we were not a tribe of wild savages!” There were noises all around him, which Elendil realized were expressions of assent. He swallowed, even as he made a vague sign at the irate Lord Bodashtart to calm down. “Let me put it this way, my lord: the fact that you are not in command of the army is the reason why we do not trust this manoeuvre at all!”

“And would you trust me, then? Would you believe me if I said that your women and children would not be left without protection, and that you would not be taken to a distant land to die?”

“What does it matter? The King will not leave you a choice!” Maharis hissed, back to the fray again. “He wants Lord Bodashtart in charge, and we all know what this means!”

“How dare you?” Elendil grabbed the old man’s arm as it instinctively went towards the place where his sword used to be, though for this meeting they had all agreed to leave them outside. Even as he did so, he did not look away from his interlocutor for a moment.

“In this case, it may interest you to know that I have relayed your concerns to the King in Armenelos. Yesterday, I finally received a response.” He steeled himself for what he was going to say, for those words, once they left his lips, could never be recalled again. “He has agreed to put me at the head of the Arnian army, in addition to my duties as governor. If you should ever go anywhere, I will go with you, and if you should risk your lives, I will risk mine with you. As for your wife and children, you know that mine live in Arne as well. If you believe that I would leave the Lady Lalwendë and the Lady Ilmarë without protection, then you may fear for your families, but if you do not, there is no reason to concern yourselves needlessly.”

Now, at last, he had finally managed the feat to leave everyone in the hall speechless - even Bodashtart, who went pale and tried to form words with his mouth, but the voice would not come.

“Is this true, lord governor?” Dameris asked. “The King said this?”

It was an expression of shock and surprise. It was not an accusation, he told himself, trying to force himself not to surrender to his fears. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice his inner turmoil, and his voice was as even, as full of authority as it had ever been.

“Yes, lord Dameris. He did.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Later, as he managed to reach his quarters, pushing past a throng of commanders, captains, lords, and courtiers who wanted to ask him, congratulate him, and press him for details, Elendil had to swallow a powerful knot that remained stuck in his throat. He knew that he had made the right decision for the situation at hand, and through his action, he had probably averted an impending disaster, for the Maharis who had argued with Bodashtart in the main hall had looked no different from a man who was showing his credentials as spokesman of a rebellion. On the other hand, he had made himself an enemy of Lord Bodashtart today; the old man would never forgive him for petitioning the King to usurp his place.

And he had committed treason. Not open treason, for he had lied and pretended to be following the King’s orders, but treason, nonetheless, and Ar Pharazôn was free to ignore everything that had been said together with his self-appointment, not to mention relieve him from his post - and perhaps worse. If he had been anyone else, he might even have died for this.

He, however, could not, for the King had sworn an oath. And if he did not even have to risk his life, should it not be his duty to risk everything else if with it he would save others? Once that Ar Pharazôn heard about this, his best option if he wanted to save face was to go through with it and pretend that it had been his will, saving his revenge for a later time. And if he did so, he would also have to think twice before sending the Arnian army to a risky location, for Elendil would be among them.

If he was lucky, he would not feel the wrath of the Sceptre until the end of the war with Mordor. And then, if they won, Arne might be rid of the Mordor problem once and for all, and then perhaps it would not be so difficult for them to accept to turn their backs on their wives and children to do the King’s bidding. And, if they lost- well, in that case Elendil supposed that it would cease to matter, too. For a moment, it was as if an oppressive cold had taken hold of his heart, and he had to force himself to discard that pessimistic train of thought. Númenor, surrounded by the infinite expanse of the Great Sea, was never threatened by the mainland wars, but those who lived in Middle-Earth had their lives hanging from a thread continuously. It had been one thing when his father had been a soldier in the mainland, or when he and Isildur had joined this life, but only in recent times he had begun to understand the terribly uncertainty of those, colonists and barbarians alike, whose families lived in the mainland with them.

Perhaps almost enough as to sacrifice to the Lord of Battles, an insidious voice whispered in his ear. He sighed, remembering Tar Palantir’s dream of a peaceful world of Númenórean colonies that did not need armies to fight for them, or outlandish gods to protect them. It had proved vain, as fantastical as the tales which mothers told their children before they went to bed. Now, at the verge of fighting their greatest enemy, and hopefully defeating him, his mood was still dark, and he wondered why it had become so difficult to even imagine a world at peace.

Because Men are not peaceful, a voice, which somehow sounded very similar to that of the King, when he was still the Prince of the South and took him on his Pelargir campaign, spoke inside his head. It is simply not in our nature. If we were not fighting others, we would be fighting among ourselves.

That night, for the second time in a row, Elendil could not manage to fall asleep.