Disclaimer: If for some reason you're reading this without having gone through the last eight, I have no legal right to any of the following. No duh. As far as canon goes, I found out recently that there are two versions of the children's birthdates. Either Elendur was born in 3299 and Meneldil, Anárion's fourth child and the future King of Gondor, was born in 3318 – or vice-versa. This is the trouble with material Tolkien never intended to publish. I'm going by the former, which I found in Unfinished Tales. In this chapter Elendur is nineteen, and his cousin is an infant; Meneldil is in fact the youngest of the Númenórean exiles.
A note on Númenórean ages: their coming of age – probably equivalent to our eighteen – was at twenty-five instead, and life expectancies in the line of Elros ran well over two hundred years. A Númenórean teenager would actually seem much younger.
An update, and my apologies: I left asterisks where I wanted to explain something, and then forgot to write out the note at the bottom. This is better.
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9. Summons
Elendil returned from his surreptitious visit to Andúnië looking more depressed than ever. The West lay still and impenetrable as always, except that the harbor – his family's harbor! – had begun to fill with Ar-Pharazôn's fleet. He made several such visits over the next few years, always with the same result; but Elendil Voronda* had never given up easily. Whether he expected any sign of his father after almost nine years, he never said.
Meanwhile, conditions in Númenor declined yet further. It became clear that the Valar at least knew something about the King's loyalties, and had withdrawn certain favors. Eregwen's mother succumbed to a disease that swept the city one winter; the weather suddenly turned unpredictable and violent, and the occasional storm caught a ship of Númenor and sank it. The last had never happened during the years they had enjoyed the protection of the Valar, and the mariners at Rómenna murmured nervously. They were finding out how little they really knew about the Sea.
Isildur became accustomed to the visits, when he would have to assume responsibility for the nine ships waiting off the eastern coast and all the people involved in their preparation. In addition to vast amounts of provisions and necessary items, the Faithful had begun to put aboard heirlooms and other precious things. Anárion had organized a growing library of books and scrolls; Isildur carefully uprooted the young White Tree so it could be transplanted in Middle-Earth. This bothered him, as it forced him to remember that they intended to leave forever. Even so, he recognized that his people had little choice apart from exile.
Then came the portents – deadly lightning, and storm clouds out of the West shaped like eagles. "The Eagles of Manwë**," someone said in Armenelos, and soon everyone believed it. A few of the King's Men actually switched sides at the threat, and Elendil had had the difficult task of deciding who could and could not be trusted. It was often only a temporary repentance, and the numbers of Faithful shrank again within a few months. They heard rumors that a bolt of lightning had struck and broken the dome of Sauron's temple, but that his power in the minds of the people had actually increased – he had remained unharmed himself.
The next warning came one morning and again over the next few days: Isildur and Eregwen woke when the contents of a bedside table slid onto the floor. The ground was shaking.
"We should get the family outside," he said instinctively, and Eregwen nodded. They had both imagined the damage a strong shock could do to the house, which was not built for earthquakes. Númenor had never experienced such activity before.
Elendur poked his head inside the door, his fright making him an absurd creature of long limbs and unpredictable movements. At nineteen years old, he had begun to grow so quickly that none of his clothing fit him. "The ground is thundering! What is going on?"
His father's shrug clearly scared him even worse, but as his younger brothers appeared in their doorways he seemed to will himself calm. "Come on, Ciryon, it'll be all right."
"The armament must be close to sailing," Eregwen surmised as they shut the door behind them. Some of their neighbors had also come outside, but the building of the fleet was no longer secret.
The day before, a summons had arrived for Elendil; he was still a sea-captain, and owed duty to the King despite his allegiance to the Valar. Fortunately, the messenger had fully expected his refusal. Since both the culprit of the White Tree incident and the destination of Amandil remained unknown, his was the first open act of treason; and Isildur knew how much that worried his father. Elendil had spent a lifetime refuting accusations of disloyalty – his people had died for it – and now the worst of them had come true. That afternoon, he had set out to give warning to the Faithful. Most had already boarded the ships anchored far out in the harbor; but Elendil had not yet returned home when Isildur's family arrived at the sea-captain's house, an hour or two after the quake.
"Folk were stubborn, no doubt," Thoroniel said lightly. "No matter the cause, or the consequences, it is hard to leave one's homeland behind."
Elendur frowned. "Yet it is Middle-Earth! Do they not wish to see it?"
"Not everyone is adventurous as you are," his grandmother answered, rather sharply. Something else had caught her attention: the distant sound of horseshoes on the road. "That is more than…" she trailed off as she came to the window. Suddenly she started violently and drew away.
"What is it?"
"Soldiers," she answered, falling into her familiar, grim calm. Now there was a sense of urgency to it. She carefully lifted something down from the mantle, which Isildur did not have to look at when she handed it to him: Narsil, his father's sword. "Take this. Find your father and see that he does not come home."
"What will you do?" he asked, bewildered.
"I shall see that the soldiers remain here, distracted, until it is too late. Eregwen, you and the boys might help."
"Except – Mother, if they think we know where to find him, they will threaten the children. They did it to my mother," the younger woman protested nervously. Isildur looked up suddenly; she had never told him this, and he had mistaken the bounds of her quiet courage.
"Elendur, take your brothers to Uncle Anárion's house and tell him what has happened," he suggested. His brother would not be pleased, he knew; Elendur's new cousin Meneldil was barely a month old, and moving the family would be difficult. "We will meet aboard ship. Tell them I am sorry we could not delay longer."
Eregwen nodded, a hint of color returning to her face. Elendur took Ciryon's small hand and motioned to Aratan. Isildur followed, thinking rapidly.
He had a reasonably good idea of his father's itinerary, having made the rounds himself on a few occasions. He did not know how far along Elendil had gone, however, and he could not risk his father returning to the guarded house while he was making inquiries. He would have to walk the route backwards and hope he didn't pass his father on the street.
The first house he came to was empty, which scared him badly until he remembered that the family had already boarded a ship. The inhabitants of the second listened to his story with alarm; the third bemusedly wondered if Elendil had gone to Andúnië again.
"I would that he had," Isildur muttered, and set off again. Finally, he caught his father's attention on a street that wound high above the harbor.
Elendil did not react to the news of his imminent arrest. He must have expected it, though, knowing the consequences of his refusal. He asked, "Where is your mother?"
"She thought to keep the soldiers distracted," Isildur explained. "She gave me this." He handed Narsil over, still in its scabbard. Elendil solemnly buckled the sword belt around his waist.
"My thanks." He smiled wryly. "I should be able to reach the quays from here. Go make the last of your preparations, senya, and I will see you in the harbor."
By nightfall, the population of Rómenna had dropped by several hundred people. On the western coast of Númenor, a fleet numbered in the hundreds; just away from the eastern coast, nine ships awaited the King's next move. In fact, all the West did the same.
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*Voronda: Besides his epithet "the Tall," which I mentioned earlier, Elendil was sometimes referred to as Voronda. It means "faithful; steadfast."
**Remember the great Eagles that featured so prominently in LOTR? Their ancestors kept watch over Númenor in the more pleasant, earlier centuries, and were referred to as Manwë's witnesses. Even earlier, they were associated with the Vala as his messengers and servants.
One more chapter. Wish me luck. Write a review.