Promises by Erdariel

"Lady Varyandë? Where is Isildur?"

Varyandë turned around, trying to cover her startlement. She had not heard Elendil come to the balcony.

"He wanted to put Valandil to bed tonight", she said. "I think he needed a moment alone with his son. Before… before tomorrow. So I left him to it."

Elendil nodded, smiling softly. He came to stand next to her, leaning against the balcony railing and staring out into the moon-silvered valley.

"All is well, then. Let him have the moment. It was you I needed to speak with in any case."

Varyandë studied the king's face. It was sad, as always — grief for lost Númenor had never entirely left it, and the years had added many other sorrows to it. The next day's parting, when the allied forces of Lindon and Arnor would march for war, was not the least of them. But there was no fear on the face, nor any shadow cast by foreknowledge of tragedy that she could see. No, his expression was calm and determined, ready to face tomorrow when it came.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The future is too uncertain and the chances of war too many that I could see how things shall go. But unless they go very ill indeed, Valandil will never be a king", Elendil said slowly. "And yet it will be many years before any of us return, that much I can guess. The Enemy is strong, and his pride and his hatred for us too great that he would surrender or flee. This war will be fought to the bitter end, until one side or the other is destroyed, and that will not be quickly done. So Valandil must grow up without his father or his brothers."

"I wish that I could keep one of my older sons here", Varyandë confessed.

"None of them would be happy to be ordered to stay. Nor could we easily spare any of them."

"I know. I know. But I cannot help it! They are marching away into danger while I must stay, and I cannot help but fear for them."

Elendil touched her shoulder and turned her to face himself. Gently he took her hands in his own and brought them near to his chest. His hands were warm despite the coolness of the night.

"I fear too. If I could, I would keep my sons and grandsons away from the battle, the danger and horror that awaits us…" he sighed. "I will not make promises about things that will be out of my hands. But I will look after them as well as chance allows me to."

Varyandë gave him a smile she hoped would look brave, but that she knew more likely only seemed strained.

"Thank you", she whispered.

Elendil kissed her hands as if to seal his promise, and released them.

"I would not have Valandil grow up thinking that he is the less valued only because by sad fate he was born on the eve of war, a prince of royal blood and yet a younger son, who must see the throne go to an older brother he did not get to know in his childhood. Such things breed discontent and conflict far too easily", he said after a while.

"He will know he is loved", Varyandë promised. "I will tell him. I will tell him that sometimes love means a choice between leaving the thing you loved behind to protect it, or holding onto it and putting it needlessly into harm's way. I will tell him his brothers and his father and his grandfather loved him so much they could not let him be in danger, and so they had to go make the danger go away. And… when he is old enough to understand, I will tell him about kings, and responsibility to land and people. And I will tell him of Númenor. He will know who he is and where he came from, and he will know he is loved."

"I have no doubt of it. You raised Elendur in the darkest years of Númenor, and what a man he has become! Valandil is in good hands. But I would like to leave him something more tangible than stories alone, if only to ease my own conscience." Carefully Elendil slipped the Ring of Barahir from his finger and pressed it into Varyandë's hand. "Could you take care of this until he is old enough to have it?"

Varyandë gasped. The Lords of Andúnie had had many precious heirlooms, and some of them Isildur had brought with himself over the sea, but even so she did not think she had ever held an item as ancient as the ring, or one with such a storied past. It seemed almost strange how light it was to hold, how small it was, for such a long history of friendship and love, of triumph and loss, as it held.

"I am named after Tar-Elendil the fourth king of Númenor, who gave the Ring of Barahir to Silmariën his daughter who could not inherit his throne. And Valandil is the namesake of Silmariën's son, the first Lord of Andúnië, of whom I am descended, and my sons, and my sons' sons. Silmariën was never a queen, and her son was never a king, and yet their line was mighty and honourable, and had they not lived, then it might be that the dúnedain would have no kings at all to lead them now, but would be scattered and aimless, easy prey to the Enemy", Elendil reminded her. "It seems only appropriate that Elendil should once more pass the Ring of Barahir onward to be an heirloom for Valandil, who will not be a king, but who is no less beloved for it, nor less capable of valour and glory or less deserving of honour."

Varyandë nodded. "I will keep this for him, until he is old enough to not lose or break it."

"Thank you", Elendil said quietly. "I must go now and rest before tomorrow. It will be a long day, with many more long days to follow. But know that wherever I go, whatever I do, you and Valandil will always be in my thoughts."

"Look after Isildur, and my sons, and after yourself too. Come back, if you can. No keepsakes or stories can replace a family."

He said nothing, but kissed her on the brow. Then he turned and went back inside. She lingered a while longer, staring up at the stars, the Ring of Barahir still clutched in her hand.

Chapter End Notes

The name Varyandë is supposed to mean "protector" in Quenya. 
I'm not 100% confident I got it right (my knowledge of the language is very weak) but after spending a while looking through one dictionary and Tolkien Gateway trying to figure the different suffixes out, it was my best guess

I named her that in my mind before I ever wrote this particular fic; I just think it would be an interesting name to give to a daughter of a Faithful noble family in the late period of Númenor, playing with hopes and ideals her parents might have had for her and things like that

On the provenance of the Ring of Barahir - yes, quite possibly the most likely option for where it actually was during the War of the Last Alliance is "in some jewelry box in Elendil's rooms in Annúminas" (since if he'd had it when he died, presumably Isildur would have taken it and it would have been lost with Isildur like the Elendilmir was), but... it's just much more interesting to have Elendil purposefully give it forward himself, isn't it? 
I did consider some other reasons for why he might give it to Varyandë to be given to Valandil, too, but ultimately the reason I went for in this fic was one that LadyBrooke came up in our conversation. It just has a certain narrative irony that I find very appealing :D

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