Disclaimer: The story is Tolkien's, so I will never earn money for it or even credit under my own name. Most of this particular chapter is open to interpretation, actually. I don't know when Aratan or Ciryon were born, and I'm only assuming they were close together in age because they seemed to make a duo in Unfinished Tales. It's hard when all one knows about a set of characters is the way they died.

According to the same source, Elendil tended to sign his name without vowels. Since "nd" is one letter in the Fëanorian alphabet, it came out as a convenient three-letter palindrome. Pretty cool.

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8. Ciryon

Isildur had not had an easy morning.

Eregwen told him not to worry about the birth, since this was their third child and he had sufficiently made a fool of himself when the first two came. He had responsibilities enough to keep him out of the way, certainly after joining the unofficial Council.

"I love you," he told her anxiously.

"Mother will send Elendur with news," she answered, and kissed him reassuringly.

She was right about responsibility – Elendil had gone missing. In her flurry of herbs and clean linens, all Isildur could learn from Thoroniel was that he expected to return in a few days.

"There's a note for you in the study," she added from the doorway. He saw her nod to a neighbor from the path, and he shut the door hastily behind her. With his father apparently playing truant, he had realized that the Council would look to him. This was gratifying in a way, but he was in no mood to deal with the ideas and complaints of much older men. The note lay squarely in the middle of Amandil's old desk, atop a thick sheaf of papers in Elendil's hurried scrawl.

Isildur—

Please take care of this for me.

I seek tidings in Andúnië.

—LNDL

He cursed softly. Of all the folly—! His father had no real talent for politics, but a reliable sense of efficiency had won respect for the new leader of the Faithful as easily as it had for the sea-captain. Even in his own absence, he intended to have preparations made.

The stack underneath listed errands that would take Isildur all over Rómenna. When Amandil had told them to prepare for flight to Middle-Earth, none of them had yet considered the matter of logistics; and they had received no word or sign from him since. Worse, Ar-Pharazôn would undoubtedly suspect treason if he knew that all of the Faithful intended to leave together.

"It is treason," Elendil had commented a day after the old lord's departure. "Númenor has become the enemy of the Valar, and the Faithful send men to give Them warning. The old accusation against our people has finally come true, has it not?"

Thus the little fleet had to make ready in secret. There were visits and requests to make, surreptitious signs of progress to observe – and most complicated, negotiations with the shipyards to attend. Meanwhile, he knew, his wife was in pain that he could neither imagine nor abate in the slightest.

He stuffed the papers into the wallet he carried under his tunic, and left the empty house behind him. The quays had been slightly busier than usual this year, though the King still had not made his plans public. Isildur managed to conduct most of his business without attracting attention. He had begun to think he would get away without incident when he met Ulrad, a naval officer of the King's Men who had inexplicably decided to befriend him when they were together at the Havens.

"Do you come to sea again?" he asked amiably, and Isildur started.

"I know not…" he answered, and remembered himself. "Rather, I can answer what you meant to ask: I will not sail again as a soldier."

"Ah," Ulrad nodded understandingly. "I thought perhaps, with your grandfather gone to Middle-Earth – what ails you?"

He hoped his expression had not changed that much at the mention of Amandil's deception; perhaps the fool had only now noticed the nerves he had displayed the whole day. When he explained Eregwen's condition, Ulrad apologized hastily.

"I had no knowledge of this. I am sure she'll be all right, even if this is a difficult time of year. Times are not easy as they once were, you know…"

Isildur might have shouted at him, or fled back to the house, but he caught sight of the boy that had rounded the corner just out of earshot. Elendur waved in a desperate sort of hail, clearly out of breath.

"Your son? He doesn't look much like you," Ulrad commented.

The offense Isildur might have taken at that was lost on both of them. "No, he looks like my father," the Elf-friend explained absently. He hurried up the alley to meet the boy, fearing the worst. If all was not well with Eregwen…

"Atarinya! Come quickly!" Elendur panted, and broke into a sudden grin at his father's expression. "I have another brother."

Isildur did not quite break into a run, but his son's shorter legs were no match for his long, quick strides. Eventually he stopped and waited, and Elendur rewarded him with a sour look.

"I can find my way home on my own," he reproached.

"I know," Isildur answered simply, but they walked together the rest of the way.

Elendur hesitated for a long time, but finally asked, "Are we going to Middle-Earth? I've heard you talking with Grandfather's friends."

"We'll see. Certainly not for a few years."

"Are you going?"

"Alone?" he barked a laugh. "No. What makes you think that?"

"Well…"

"When I came back from the Havens, I promised your mother that it was the last time I sailed away without all of you. Once, we had a tradition in Númenor for young families: we would have no children if there were a chance the parents would be separated before the baby grew up. I think I know why that was."

Elendur nodded. "I am glad."

They reached home some time later, and found the rest of the family gathered in the old master bedchamber. Eregwen's mother had swaddled the baby and rearranged the cradle that had been Aratan's until recently. The toddler was staring into it, an expression of bafflement on his round face.

"Ciryon was the name we agreed on, was it not?" Isildur asked, smiling rather blankly. He was too relieved and happy for intelligent speech.

"Yes, for a boy," Eregwen agreed. She smiled back tiredly, and he sat down next to her on the bed. Their hands met and clasped.

"Elendil will not be pleased that he chose a grandchild's birthday to seek tidings of his father," Thoroniel commented dryly.

"I hope he did not underestimate the danger," Isildur frowned.

His mother snorted. "After your adventure in the capital? Your father knows how to move in secret, better than you do."

He paused defensively, then conceded the point with a nod. Elendil's mission was not, after all, completely frivolous. Nonetheless, it seemed more important now than ever that the Faithful held together. He was tired of having to worry.