The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 10: Return of the Queen

Much to his discomfort, Sámaril is reminded that he shares some traits with his former mentor, and Isilmë recounts the sacrifices to Melkor and their impact on her. Isilmë also points out that Sámaril does not disguise his feelings as well as he thinks he does.

As always, thanks to the skinks, geckos and other reptiles at the Lizard Council for feedback.

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The amber swirl of brandy broke my dark reverie. Startled by Isilmë’s presence at my side, I moved to stand, but she placed her hand on my shoulder, settling me back against the settee while she finished replenishing the snifter.

“I apologize if that revelation disturbed you, Istyar, but better to speak frankly than let these things fester.” She rose to replace the decanter on the cabinet and returned to sit beside me.

“I am sorry that I triggered such terrible memories,” I said. “May I ask this: did you see something in me that frightened you?”

She stared into the fire, now crackling with comforting familiarity instead of ominous threat, the faint sweet scent of burning applewood kissing the air. Then she shifted to face me, searching my eyes with frank regard.

“In you? It is impossible for a mortal to know the depths of the Firstborn, but if you ask do I perceive evil in you, no, not in the least. But something troubles you.” She sipped the brandy. “Tell me, Istyar...how well did you know him?”

“How well did I know who?”

“You know of whom I speak. The Deceiver.”

I focused on the tracks of liquor that snaked down the sides of the glass, hoping to delay my response to her, but her expectancy was palpable.

“No one knew Annatar truly. We saw what he chose to reveal. Thus we were deceived and betrayed.”

“You resort to the guile of the Firstborn, Istyar, you who are usually more direct. How well did you know him?”

I swallowed my hesitation and met those storm-grey eyes.

“He was my teacher. I spent many years under his tutelage and as his colleague.”

“Your teacher.” Her flat statement hung in the air between us. “Perhaps that explains it. Until this afternoon, I wondered why some of your mannerisms were so familiar. Forgive me, Istyar, but when I saw you covered in blood, I recognized the source of that familiarity.”

As loath as I was to admit it, I knew she struck at the truth. A mentor’s influence can be powerful. I saw it in my own apprentices who used certain of my gestures and words. When I had studied with Istyar Aulendil, I not only had adopted his then exacting approach to craftsmanship, but I had also copied his preferences in food and wine, his turns of phrase and even his hair style. I had culled away the most obvious of these over the years, but subtleties still lingered. Of the residents of Imladris, few had known Annatar, so his imprints on those of us who had worked closely with him went largely unnoticed. Until now. The Númenóreans were all too familiar with Sauron.

“Tell me then: what memory came back to you on the moor today?”

“Has Elerína spoken to you of the sacrifices? The offerings to Melkor?”

“Very little. She says the memory is too painful for her to bear, and I will not press her to dredge up what hurts her so.”

“Then I will tell you so that I might explain my reaction.” She leaned back against the settee, gazing into the fire, as she delved into recollection.

“The sacrifices began well before the foundations of that evil temple were laid, even before Sauron came to the island. The princes of the South and East who had intermarried with Númenórean nobility -- and the slaves they brought with them -- introduced these bloody rituals to Númenor, and those who had become obsessed with death adopted them. Sauron played upon the beliefs and superstitions that had already taken root. He was a master of subtlety and persuasion, preaching a doctrine that promised immortality. But the god who promised escape from death required greater offerings of flesh and blood.

“Most often, Sauron’s priests performed the sacrifices. But on the three high days, which had once seen the Three Prayers and the processions to Meneltarma, Sauron performed the sacrifice himself in the Court of Heaven's Fire.

“The offerings at the high altar had been small creatures – doves and chickens. No one objected. For are these not animals which we consume? Next, he sacrificed sheep and goats. Then kine.

“Once the King adopted the worship of Melkor openly, we – the Faithful – were not exempt from attending the high rituals in Armenelos. The worship of Melkor was anathema to us, but if we did not make appearances, we risked retribution. When he still had the King’s favor, my lord Amandil intervened and so we often avoided the bloody rituals, but not always.

“The day before Erukyermë, at a time when Lord Amandil, my husband and my sons were at sea, the women of the House of Elendil were summoned by the King to attend the ceremony of sacrifice. The King’s soldiers appeared before dawn to escort us, and we could not refuse.

“I remember that day all too well: a white stallion was led to the altar of offerings. The beast was exquisite – a descendant of the horses of Valinor that the Eldar had gifted to my people during our earliest years on the island. A horse fit for a king.

“Sauron sang with a beautiful voice that sank into stone and stirred the spirit -- a voice that implored us to believe he was wise and fair. The people quieted, assured that the sacrifice was appropriate. Sauron shed his white robes and approached the horse, chanting to it in a language that we did not understand. The beast calmed, bewitched by the Deceiver’s words. Then the knife flashed and the horse dropped over onto the altar. Sauron -- blood staining his bare arms and chest -- then collected the stallion’s life-flow in a golden goblet, raised it and sang the words of ritual. He drank from the goblet and passed it to his acolytes. The horse’s body was carried to the Fire of Purification and burned.”

Isilmë paused and took a long drink, gasping a little at the fire of the liquor and continued.

“It was shocking. Horses were beloved in the land. Willfully slaying one was unheard of, but Sauron’s words soothed many to acquiescence. But not us, not the women of the Elendili: Lindissë trembled next to me, but Elerína was a statue of marble –- cold and straight. Yet I knew her fear even if she did not reveal it. Elerína and I have been schooled in the same ancient traditions so we understood the symbolism of the horse sacrifice –- the sacrifice of the King. But the rest saw the stallion’s death as a gift to the one who held the promise of everlasting life.

“When my lord husband returned from his voyage to Lindon, I told him what had happened. He never again left us in Rómenna without his protection.”

The lines in her face deepened into furrows. She placed her snifter on the side table and exhaled with a shudder, resuming her recount of the horror that had infected Númenor.

“But the sacrifice of the horse was only the harbinger of what was to come. When the last stone was laid in the temple and the last plate fitted in the silver dome, the White Tree – Nimloth -- was burned. Not long after that, a man was sacrificed, his throat slit with Sauron’s sharp blade and his body thrown to the flames. More men were sacrificed, all criminals and slaves so the objections among those loyal to the King were few.

“As these blasphemous offerings continued, we of the Faithful felt a terrible portent upon us – one that was borne out when those of our number were taken away, accused of crimes against the state. Lord Vorondil, whom you met today, suffered from the persecution of the Faithful. His father was accused of treason and taken prisoner. He...” Then her voice, which had remained so steadfast throughout her tale, wavered. “...my brother was burned alive in the temple.”

Her regal self-control crumbled. This woman, who had seemed so strong, covered her face with her hands and wept.

Casting aside propriety in the face of a fellow human’s misery, I put my arm around the queen and pulled her to me, letting her cry against my shoulder. She poured out her grief while I held her. I wondered how much of her mourning was for her dead kinsman and how much for those who had fallen on the Dagorlad.

At length, her weeping subsided. She pulled away from me but placed her hand against my cheek.

“Thank you, Istyar. Please forgive my womanly weakness.”

“Women are not the only ones who weep for the dead.”

She removed her hand and reached into the folds of her gown to extract a kerchief. She wiped her eyes and with no self-consciousness, vigorously blew her nose into the delicate fabric. She raised red-rimmed eyes to mine.

“Yes, I know that you have suffered, too. Like us, you did not escape from Sauron unscathed, but unlike us, you knew him intimately.” She hesitated. “I think you fear that he has somehow tainted you. Perhaps I fear that, too.”

With an awkward jerk, I rose from the settee and stepped to the hearth. This was not a question I could answer without considerable effort and caution. To allow myself some time to think, I stirred the embers with a black iron poker and watched a fountain of sparks fly up the chimney, reminiscent of the exhaust from the forges in Ost-in-Edhil.

Tainted.

How often had I wondered if Sauron’s imprint upon me was more than just a turn of phrase, a gesture with my hands or how I might approach a problem of craft? I had traits that set me apart from others of my people: traits that I had also perceived in my teacher. My talents in the deep arts, my keen ability to discern others’ thoughts, and my mutable -- sometimes impetuous -- nature echoed the same that were expressed, although more powerfully, in Istyar Aulendil. Yet I was not altogether convinced that these were residues of Aulendil but instead characteristics inherent to my temperament. What gnawed at me was that Sauron had somehow perceived these traits in me and had been drawn to them.

I replaced the tool on the rack by the hearth and turned around to face the queen.

“Yes, sometimes I fear that the most profound of my talents might be twisted by him, but that fear is balanced by the useful knowledge and skills that he taught to me. You must understand that not all he touched or created was evil. Far from it. That is precisely how he seduced us. He appeared to be one with the Noldor of Ost-in-Edhil and yet more. We were so eager to learn from him. I was eager to learn from him. Unfortunately, he learned from us, too.”

“Yes, he seduced the King and the court with his knowledge,” Isilmë said, running her finger along the curve of the snifter. “At least you can claim deception due to Annatar’s disguise. Pharazôn in his hubris brought the viper to Númenor, knowing full well who he was.”

“There lies the difference,” I said. “When I knew him, I had no reason to doubt who he said he was. None of us did. He had not fallen so far when he lived among us. Those remnants of good intention made our trust so much easier to give to him, and made his betrayal of us that much worse.” I sat down again by her.

“It is the burden of my people to become mired in regret and sadness,” I said. “Our vivid memories can be a joy but they are also a curse: the Firstborn cannot release the past for good or ill. Thus I struggle with my teacher’s betrayal every day. But I will say this: you and your grandson have given me joy in the present and hope for the future. Your affection pulls me away from wallowing in the pain of the past. I am grateful for Valandil's friendship. I am also grateful for your favor.” I took her hand and kissed it.

Her smile shadowed with sadness, she squeezed my hand.

“Then I regret what I must tell you, Sámaril. I intend to return to Annúminas.”

“Return to Annúminas?” I had only known this mortal woman for single heartbeat of time, but she had become a cherished part of my daily life. Now she was leaving?

“Yes. Lord Vorondil has brought troubling news from the capital, and with the uncertainty of the siege, I believe it is best for me to return.”

“You said that King Elendil and Master Elrond wished to harbor you here for your safety.”

“Ah, well, that concern was less for me and more for Valandil’s safety. He and his mother will not be going to Annúminas. Only I will return.”

“Why are they concerned for Valandil’s safety?"

“The court of Annúminas is as susceptible to intrigue as any, Sámaril. There are men who are loyal to my lord Elendil in their hearts, but others in name only. Some say that the Deceiver’s lies infected the Faithful, but I believe he had nothing to do with this: ambition and craving for power are part of human nature.”

“Arda Marred,” I sighed.

“Perhaps. That is what your people would claim at any rate. Regardless of the source of deceit and ambition, there are others who would contest the succession should my husband and his heirs not return from the war. When Elerína quickened, it was decided that the child must be born here and remain until Elendil and Isildur and the princes return or until Valandil reaches his majority – depending on the outcome of the war.”

“Do you imply that there are those in the court of Annúminas who would harm Valandil?”

She nodded. “Yes, and I entrust to you my confidence in telling you this.”

“You have that. Always, my lady queen. But why do you return? How will the court take to a woman’s counsel in the matters of government? This is not a tradition among your people nor among mine for that matter.”

“Already there are rumors that others vie for the regency with eyes cast toward the throne itself. Not all of the Dunédain marched to war. Some remained behind to keep the kingdom in order. Lord Valdacar, the steward, rules in my husband’s absence, but Lord Vórondil tells me that the steward’s health fails from a wasting disease. He will likely die before autumn. Those who are loyal to me – the Queen’s men -- have said there are whispers that another –- Lord Anardil -- readies himself to step into that void. My lord husband speaks well of this man, but for many reasons, I do not trust him. Frail woman though I be, I must return and remind the court who truly rules Arnor.”

The woman who had wept on my shoulder now sat tall, her back straight and her eyes proud. A silver light like that of the moon shone from her and filled the small room, diminishing the firelight with its cold radiance. Then I knew. It was not Elendil alone who ruled the kingdom. Before me sat the source of his power, even if she had not been anointed to the throne. I bowed my head to Isilmë.

“Long live the queen. When will you depart?”

“At the Moon of the Flower.”

“So soon? It seems barely the blink of an eye that I made your acquaintance. If I may be so bold, I will miss you greatly.”

She took my hand in hers. “I will miss you, too, Samaril. I hope you will consider traveling to Annúminas. It is a beautiful city. Do not be surprised if I need your presence there, if only to go hunting or to have my finery polished and repaired by a great Elven-smith.”

I smiled. “I will not be surprised then.”

She looked deep into my eyes, and her expression became solemn. “Take care with my little grandson’s heart, Sámaril. And Elerína’s, too. She is dear to me – like a daughter. So be cautious with her affections.”

Her underlying meaning was obvious. I managed to maintain enough control to keep blood from rushing to my face.

“I value the favor that you and the Lady Elerína grant to me. I would not jeopardize it.”

“I know you are an honorable man, but there have been times that your elvish mask has slipped. Your eyes and expression give you away.

“Elerína is a passionate woman, and although I love my son, he has not been the best husband to her. The life of a mariner’s wife more often than not leaves one’s bed cold. Even though Isildur no longer takes to the sea, he has left her alone yet again. In other times and circumstances, a noble woman in such a position might have taken a lover, and others would turn a blind eye to such a relationship. But Elerína is a queen and mother to the heir. She cannot afford to risk such a tryst, even if she might desire it.” Isilmë maintained her lock on my eyes. “And negligent husband or no, I would not see my son cuckolded.”

“Even though I am a widower, I am still wedded.” I struggled to keep my voice elven-smooth. “It is different for the Firstborn. Marriage for us does not end with death. I assure you that my friendship with the Lady Elerína is chaste and will remain so.”

“Yes, I am familiar with the doctrine of the Eldar and its lofty expectations. It infected Númenor, too. I also have observed that for all their protestations to the contrary, many of your people do not adhere to it.” She eyed me knowingly. At last, my face burned. “Just take care, my friend.”

We sat together in silence for a time. The fire popped and crackled a cheerful, banal tune that masked her chilling tale of the bloodthirsty sacrifices and her unearthing of the feelings I erroneously believed I had suppressed.

A knock on the doorjamb snapped our heads around in unison. Lord Vórondil and Gaereth stood in the doorway. The girl twisted her hands together, her head bowed. The queen nodded, granting her permission to speak.

“My lady queen, Prince Valandil had an awful nightmare. He cannot be soothed.” Then Gaereth turned to me, her brown eyes wide with fear. “He called for you, Istyar. Queen Elerína sent me to ask if you would come...”

With a single glance, Isilmë dismissed me. Relieved to be excused from the uncomfortable silence, I leapt to my feet to join Gaereth. I turned to see Isilmë already engaged in low conversation with Vórondil, but she caught my eye, smiled and then returned her full attention to him.

Gaereth and I walked down a long hall, up a narrow flight of stairs, and after taking several turns, arrived at Elerína and Valandil’s suite. Gaereth opened the door and guided me through the parlor toward the narrow corridor leading to the bedchambers. Isilmë’s perception of my deeply buried desire caused me to hesitate at the threshold of such an intimate setting, but the panicked wails traveling down the hallway extinguished my caution. I followed Gaereth until she stopped before an open door.

I peered into the room, illuminated by a single candle on a small table. The shadowed folds of the curtains draped around the large bed undulated in the flickering pool of light. Elerína, robed in a dressing gown and her hair unbound, sat beside her son who thrashed against the pillows. She rose and came to the door, taking my arm and guiding me to the bed where her son lay.

“Thank you for coming, Sámaril,” she said, anxiety undercutting the melody of her voice. “I am sorry to impose. I know the news of Lairiel’s husband and sons must weigh heavy upon you.”

“It is no imposition. Just tell me what happened.”

“Val went to sleep peacefully early this evening, but later, his screaming awakened me. He has wept and wailed since then and I cannot console him. It’s as if he is trapped in a dark dream. He called out for his father several times and then twice for you.”

“Have you summoned the healer?”

“Yes, but she is delayed with others who suffer from today’s tidings. I thought since he called your name then perhaps...”

“I will try to soothe him.”

Elerína moved to stand beside Gaereth while I sat down by Valandil, his little body jerking with sobs. Calling his name, I stroked his forehead, and at the same time, sought entrance at the gates of his tormented mind.

I plunged into cold murky water. Ribbons of blood writhed around me. Searing pain racked my chest and throat. Choking on something –- water or my own blood, I knew not which -- I struggled against the claws of death, moving my arm as if through stone, to touch the band of metal around my head.

Wrenching myself from Valandil’s powerful dream, I probed for the child’s spirit in the midst of this nightmare. A faint golden mote cowered beneath dark waters. Calling his name, I reached for him and felt the grasp of his fëa, tenuous at first and then stronger. I enveloped him and carried him away from the scene of death.

Candlelight reflected in Valandil’s eyes, now focused and fully awake even if drenched with tears. He embraced me, still crying but without the panic that tore through his earlier wails. He buried his face against my chest.

“Atya, Atya!” he murmured again and again. His weeping subsided, and I laid him back down against the pillows. His eyes closed, but bands of tension still tightened his face. I smoothed back his dark hair, now damp with the sweat of his fear, and began to sing. His face softened; his breathing fell into the rhythm of deep sleep. After I finished the song, I rose from the bed and went to Elerína who stood in the periphery of the candlelight.

“He was trapped in a nightmare,” I said. “He is at peace now. When the healer comes, she can ensure all is well, but I think his crisis has passed.”

Elerína went to the bed, assuring herself that her little son was well, and then escorted me out of the room and to the entry of their quarters. We faced one another in the open door.

“Thank you, Sámaril. But before you leave, please tell me – what was the beautiful lullaby that you sang to my son? I have never heard it before. Stars in a violet sky and a wine-dark sea...such strange but evocative words.”

“It’s just a very ancient and obscure song of my people. I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard it.”

My casual dismissal masked the startling realization that without thinking, I had sung the very same song that Istyar Aulendil had used to calm me after the monstrosity that lurked within him nearly consumed me. I bade Elerína good night and walked away through the corridors, reflecting that the dark and the light could not be so easily parsed from one another, just as my desire for an unattainable woman could not be so easily excised from my heart.

~*~

The breeze carried the fragrance of the orchards to the wide terrace where Thornangor and I stood side by side, and along with her escort, awaited Queen Isilmë. The doors of the House of Elrond opened, and she emerged. Dressed in riding gear for her journey west, her cloak wafted behind her, and her boots clicked with determination against the stone pavers. She bade farewell to the many who waited to see her off and stopped before me. I lifted her hand to my lips.

“May the sun light your road ahead and the stars shine upon you, my lady queen.”

Isilmë smiled in return. “Thank you, Sámaril. I am certain we will see one another again.”

“I hope so.” With the fleeting nature of mortal lives, uncertainty nagged at me, but my hope was sincere.

“Before you depart, I have mementos which I would like to give you.” I turned to Thornangor who handed me a sword encased in a black leather scabbard with a belt that matched it. I held these out to the queen who took them from my hands.

“These were crafted in the forges of Ost-in-Edhil,” I said. “The smith who made these was Master Thornangor’s mentor and my friend: Istyanis Naryen.”

“A woman smith?” Isilmë raised her fine brows. “How remarkable!”

Steel sang when she slid the sword from its scabbard. The narrow blade curved subtly, the result of careful tempering. The sword was lighter than the weapons carried by men, and specifically crafted for a woman. Isilmë ran her fingers over the bright metal and found the smith’s mark near the hilt of the sword. Her eyes widened, and I knew she recognized the symbol.

“You say that this smith was a woman, but how can this be? The mark is of the House of...” She glanced at Thornangor’s frown and cut her words short, but her lips curved into a half-moon of a smile. “I see that like the women of the Dúnedain, the women of the Noldor are often unsung. If I read the smith’s mark aright, this is a most extraordinary gift, Istyar. I cannot take such an heirloom from your people.”

Thornangor spoke up then. “It is not a heirloom, Queen Isilmë, although it is a fine blade. My master went through many phases of experimentation in the forges, and this sword is a result of one of these. She took pride in her craftsmanship, but freely shared the results of her work with others.”

“I will second what Thornangor says. I believe that the Istyanis would wish you to have this. She well knew the challenges presented to a woman who must negotiate a man’s world.”

Isilmë’s half-moon smile opened wide and became the brilliance of the sun. She strapped the belt over her hips, fastening the golden buckle, shaped like the profiled head of a falcon with an onyx stone as its eye. She placed her hand on the hilt of the sword. “I will wear this with pride in memory of your Istyanis.”

“I have one more gift,” I said, reaching into my belt pouch. “Here. I made this from the hair of Hîthrem’s tail. A good remembrance of him, I hope.”

Isilmë took the woven bracelet from my hand and slipped it over her wrist. She placed her hands on my shoulders, kissed my cheek, and then held my eyes in her own.

“Yes, it is a good remembrance. Even within dark memories, those of hope and love also abide. Farewell, Sámaril.”

She then moved on to embrace the women and girls of Isildur’s household but she reserved her most obvious affection for her little grandson and his mother. The two queens spoke unheard words to one another, creating a circle of intimacy among the many that stood around them.

Isilmë mounted her horse, a muscular black gelding given to her by Imladris’ stable master. The elven riders led the queen and her escort away toward the arched bridge. Isilmë turned to wave, the agate beads of the horsehair bracelet catching the sunlight. The breeze gusted, showering the petals of apple blossoms over the High Queen of the Dúnedain. My heart was saddened to see this woman depart, her time in Imladris as fleeting as the breeze that lofted the blossoms, but I held on to the promise that I would see her again.

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Annatar, Aulendil - Sauron

Lairiel (Noldo) – master weaver of Imladris

Vórondil (Dúnadan) – chief of the Queen’s Men; nephew of Isilmë

Gaereth - Valandil’s nursemaid.

Thornangor "Thorno" (Noldo) – master smith (Sámaril’s right-hand man)

Mélamírë/Istyanis Naryen (Noldo) – master smith of the Otornassë Míretanor (Gwaith-i-Mírdain); Sámaril’s friend and Thorno’s mentor.

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The Three Prayers refers to the supplications offered to Eru Iluvátar by the King who ascended to the summit of Meneltarma for these rituals: Erukyermë in early spring, Erulaitalë in midsummer, and thanksgiving to the One at the Eruhantalë in late autumn. (see Unfinished Tales, “A description of the island of Numenor.”)

Moon of the Flower - The full moon of what we know as the month of May.

Atya (Q.) - papa