Disclaimer: Everything taken from the Silmarillion.
As blue as drowned men's lips
"We shall anchor here tonight," he called across their small ship.
"Aye, my Lord."
Another day, another isle. Amandil stood on the prow and watched as carefully the ship turned towards the dark isle, looming ominously at them in the shadows of dusk. Weeks had passed, but still they had not reached the shores of the Blessed land.
Unlike his forefather, Eärendil, Amandil did not have a jewel with hallowed light and the power to help escape the bewitchment of the Enchanted Isles. Instead, he has a small ship, a useless math and three of his three beloved servants who were faced with sailing from one isle to the other each day, heading as westward as they could during the day and then corrected their path in the dusk when the Hope star shone in the setting sun. They followed without much hope of their own. Hope had flown from their sails a while ago.
He sighed deeply, watching the treacherous sharp edges rising from the still shadowed calms, the crags and crannies veiled in shadows and grey haze.
He feared the dusk and the twilight. The enchanted mists seemed to creep down and encompass him, smother him with a weariness for sailing and loathing for the sea. Sometimes, not even the golden fingers of the sun could pry his eyes open, nor the sharp gaze of Arien chase the shadows away.
The groaning of the chains echoed in the silence of the menacing cove as the anchor was slowly lowered. How long would they be drifting like this?
"My Lord?"
Amandil turned at the sound of Isilmon's voice and strode across the deck to where his friend sat on his chair, peering through the lens of the spy glass, aimed to the sky.
"What is it?" he asked softly, looking to the sky himself.
Beside him, Eldaron came to see too, munching slowly on a stick of bread.
"We are going off course again," Isilmon said, looking away from the night sky and pointing to the Hope Star. "We are heading south."
Amandil breathed out heavily, his jaw clenched. This wasn't the first time they had found themselves off course.
"Take note then of where we must head for the morn. My cares tonight are only to cradle my weariness," he said. He could feel sleep kissing drowsiness upon his eyes and whispering her sweet lullaby in his ears.
"Aye, I too am feeling unusually weary tonight," Eldaron said, yawning.
"'Tis the enchantments," Amandil said. "They work too well."
He left his companions and went to the stern of the ship, where four small beds were made of blankets, sheets and pillows.
It had been a while since they had first reached the Enchanted Isles, so they had thought it best to start sleeping on deck, just in case a Telerin ship from Eressëa passed them by in the night.
Lórindur was already wrapped warmly in his woollen blankets, sound asleep.
Amandil lit his lamps from the flame in his friend's, smiling when the youngest on board sighed in his sleep. So much like Anárion, he thought.
He went to his bed and took of his boots, slipping in between the wools, furs and fine cottons.
There was no sound, not the wind nor the sea breathed a word to the night. All was still.
The skies here were clearer that that of Númenor; he was sure that he could see each and every star. There was no blood-stained sky here, no eagles of Manwë foreboding doom or death.
Amandil looked into the vast, black void overhead, seeing the twinkles of stars. He could feel it, the enchantments of the isles, washing over him, wafting into his head. He felt drowsy… sleepy… tired and forgetful. Why was he here, drifting in between gaping mouths of mist and rock, day after day? To catch fish? To meet the Eldar in secret? No, no… these didn't sound right. Why was here again?
As he did every night, since entering the mesh of the Enchanted Isles, Amandil let himself forget his purpose, finding delight in the clear inked sky, the bright jewelled stars. It didn't matter why he was here. What mattered was that here he could see the stars, that he wasn't sailing and that there was no one here to bother him. He closed his eyes, seeing the night sky imprinted in his lids. The stars… he began to name them all: Carnil, Luinil, Nénar, Lumbar, Wilwarin, Nielluin, Elemmírë… Elendil… Isildur, Anárion… Míriel…
"My Lord!"
Amandil awoke with a start.
"My Lord!" Isilmo said, shaking him violently.
Beside them, Amandil could hear Eldaron trying to wake Lórindur.
"What?" he asked, sitting up suddenly awake and alert. "What is the matter?"
It was dark and his lamp had long burnt out, but he could see the frown and the lines of worries etched into Isilmo's face by the light of the moon. The sky was still stained with different shades of red, but the sun had vanished from their sight.
"Look…" Isilmo said quietly, pointing over the side of the ship.
Amandil sat up and looked over.
His heart leapt in his chest, his breath lingered in his mouth as his lips parted. His eyes first widened with shock and then narrowed to see if they were deceiving him.
In the distance, coming from what he guessed was the east, were small flickers of light lingering on the horizon. Slowly, steadily, they became bigger and more numerous.
Amandil heard Lórindol swear under his breath as he came and stood beside him.
The four of them watched the flickering lights in the distance.
Suddenly, the magic of the Enchanted Isles seemed to wither away and Amandil remembered straight away why he was here.
But it was too late now… what hope they had left, crumbled like old waybread between their fingers. They were too late to warn the Valar or to beg mercy for themselves and the Faithful.
"Pharazôn," he whispered, staring at the lights.
The Great Armament was here.
"What are we to do?" Eldaron asked.
Amandil looked away from the lights. What were they to do? He searched his mind quickly for any ideas.
"We must hide, quickly before they come. If we are sighted, then we are sure to be dead by the morn," he said.
He looked around at the dark cove. In the darkness and shadows, would their little ship be seen? Yes, the light upon the battle ships would illuminate everything and with the white sails they would easily be sighted where they were.
"Come, we need to take the ship further into the cove, as near to the cliff as possible," he said.
The four of them wandered about the ship hurriedly, pulling this rope and that, pulling the anchor and readying the ship to move.
Amandil kept looking back to the lights. More and more specks lined up on the horizon, one after the other, becoming bigger and brighter as they came closer.
Before leaving Númenor, he had prepared himself for the worst, wild storms, getting lost, food shortages, but he had never expected this.
He gripped the wheel and steered; the boat slowly, wearily turned and began to move.
Amandil silently prayed that Elendil was not one of the men in that convoy, leading his ship behind the King's. He prayed too that his own disappearance had gone unnoticed by Pharazôn, that his son and his family were not paying a fair price for what he had sought to do, but not yet achieved.
Slowly, the boat approached the stony cliff face. They came so close, that Amandil could hear the scratching of the rock against the hull of the ship. He was particularly grateful that he had chosen such a cove this night where the cliffs were high and the entrance narrower than most others.
Was it that Pharazôn had found out that Amandil was missing and so in his anger, sought to reach Aman before he could? Had Annatar forseen his plan and pushed the King into leaving ahead of schedule? Whatever the reason was, the King of Númenor was coming and if Amandil was to plead for Manw's mercy, for the sake of himself and all the other Faithful, he would have to find some way of finding the Blessed Isle quick and by stealth.
"Lórindur," he called across the deck. "Bring the sails down!"
The dark-haired boy nodded and began to climb the mast, cutting the bonds to allow the white material to be completely removed.
"What are we to do now?" Isilmo asked.
Amandil looked towards the great Armament.
There was no way that they would find Aman before Pharazôn. If they did try to venture out now, it was most likely that they would be overtaken by the fleets instead.
No, it was better that they leave the ship, taking with them the smaller wooden lifeboats, but where should they hide? The Isle has plenty of vegetation to hide amongst, but what of the tales that Amandil had heard of? All who set foot upon the Isle was said to fall into a deep sleep and so they would remain forever until the unmaking of Arda. Dare he risk such a peril? No… there were plenty of sea caves which they could hide in with their little boats until the Armament passed. Yes, that is what they would do, find a cave on the Isle that was far from the ship and hide there until the fleets has passed. Then they would have to warily follow, making sure they drew no attention to themselves. With so many ships, Pharazôn was sure to find Aman easily.
"We wait," he answered.
Once the sails of the ship had been hidden beneath the deck, they lowered the little boat into the sea. With the Great Armament still some leaguers away, they were able to row out of the cove and find a cave on the outer side of the isle, where they were to remain unfound by Pharazôn, yet they would still be able to keep watch. Here they hid in the darkness of the cave, sitting in their boats and trying their best to resist the urge for sleep.
Then, they sat in silence, they watched and waited.
Not even an hour had passed before the lights in the distance transformed into the glistening battle ships of Ar-Pharazôn, King of Númenor, all equipped with strong slaves to row, and brave soldiers to fight their King's war against the Immortal.
The four of them watch wordlessly at the overwhelming sight, the countless rows of ships following after one after the other, the grim faces of the captains on deck, the dangerous silence of all except the water parting to make way for the ships.
Amandil's breath stopped short in his throat as he watched. Even the slightest hope that he had had before when he had first seen the lights was now gone. He had never seen so many ships at the one time. Great indeed was the armament of Pharazôn. How were they ever to surpass such an army and reach the Blessed Land first?
"It is useless," Isilmo whispered. "They are too great in number; we will not be able to overtake them without being captured. Our journey has been in vain."
"Indeed," Lórindur said, "at least if we had remained in Elenna, then you might have dissuaded the King in commiting such evil feats."
Amandil watched the ships.
"No, my lad," he said softly, "I would have failed in that quest also."
The silence that followed his words made him turn to look at them. The hopelessness in the boys' eyes was a strangling hand to Amandil's heart.
He clasped a loving hand on Lórindur's shoulder, looked at him and the other two.
"We can still try."
Silently, they all nodded. The despair, though, did not leave their faces. The despair didn't leave Amandil's heart either as he turned back to watch the ships.
With so many ships, it took a while for them to pass, and even more time for the danger to pass. Once Amandil was certain that they could row out into the open without being seen, they left the cave. Warily, they began to follow the lights, through the Enchanted Isles and closer to the Blessed Land.
Amandil and Isilmo went in one boat and Eldaron and Lórindur went in the other. Amandil doubted that Pharazôn would have left anyone behind to keep watch in case they were followed, for whom would there be to follow them? Not the Eldar of Avallonë, and definitely not the fishermen of Númenor. Yet still, they followed warily, watching for anything suspicious and keeping close to the islands for some form of cover. As close as they were though to the Isles and even though the sun had long begun to pass over the western horizon of the earth, Amandil had never felt more awake since the time they first entered the mesh of the Enchanted Isles.
Most of the Isles that they first passed while following Pharazôn were familiar since they had often sailed around the same few isles in circles accidentally, but soon they rowed into waters unknown to them and looked upon the terrible cliff faces of isles they had not seen before. As they grew closer to the Blessed Land, they caught up with the last rays of the sun and Arien's fair gaze.
"Look, the sun. We are close now," Isilmo said quietly beside him. "We will soon have nowhere to hide, for surely all these ships are enough to occupy the Bay of the Eldar."
As the last of his words slipped from Isilmo's tongue, Amandil found himself staring out in front of them in utter awe at the sight before them.
They had finally reached the end of the maze and before them lay the Bay of Eldamar and the Lonely Isle of Eressëa in the centre. The white tower of Avallonë stood alone, fair as any dream. The sands upon the shores glittered gold and the trees were evergreen. They were yet far from the Isle, but Amandil was sure that he could smell the scent of their sweet blossoms.
But all was not fair as they should have been, Amandil realised. He was sure that he could hear the frightened and mournful cries of the Teleri, see their abandoned ships, delicately shaped as the swans that fled from the shore as the Great Armament encompassed the Isle and shadowed the waters and the world in darkness.
Isilmo looked at him wide-eyed.
"What are we to do?" he asked.
Amandil motioned for Eldaron and Lórindur, both still rowing laboriously behind them, to stop.
"I've not a clue," he answered truthfully as he looked at Isilmo.
They could go no further now, they had no where else to go. If they turned back or tried to sail north or south and land on another part of the Isle they would almost certainly be lost as they were before. If they were as foolish to leave the shelter of the net of Isles though, then they would be caught by Pharazôn and killed, or even by some daring Telerin mariners we would think them to be part of the Great Armament.
Through the many ships, he saw the men land. The flag of the King was raised on the hallowed earth. And there was nothing they could do about it.
From the faces of the others, Amandil could see that they too had realised this. They looked at him, wearily yet somewhat hopefully, waiting for his brilliant plan of action. He had none, and so all that he could do was look at each of them regretfully. There was nothing they could do.
"It has all been in vain," Eldaron said sighing. Isilmo slouched in the boat miserably.
Amandil turned away from them, looking to the bay instead. What a fool he was to think that they could actually make it here and plead with the Valar for mercy. He could not even sway the King's thoughts, let alone guide a ship with his wisdom through the mesh of some enchanted isles. A fool, indeed he was, and even more of a fool to lead these three lads whom he loved dearly along with him. He was old, he had lived his life, but they, they were still young.
Eldaron was right, all they had done was in vain. There was no hope, he should have realised this from the start. All good and beautiful in their world would eventually die away, be corroded and defiled by some man's evil.
As a silent tear left his eye, Amandil prayed that Elendil had left Númenor, that he was safe.
In the boat beside him, he could hear Lórindur sobbing. Isilmo too must have been sobbing, for the boat shook beneath him.
Amandil sighed and closed his eyes. So this was how things were to end…
Only with is eyes closed did Amandil hear another sob. Not Lórindur and Isilmo's. No… these distant cries were of a maiden, echoing and mournful as the endless sighs of waves rolling upon the shore.
The boat continued to rock, and he opened his eyes, turning to his companion. Isilmo was not sobbing, his cheeks were dry. Lórindur was no longer sobbing either. No, instead they all sat in horror as the world began to violently shake.
The waves rose up against them and filled their boat, the Isles cracked and groaned menacingly above them. No, there were no more tears of hopelessness, only shrieks of mortal horror.
Amandil could hear the soldiers and the slaves still on board the ships chorusing with him and his companions in a desperate plea to survive.
The boats overturned and with cries lost in watery depths, they were cast into the sea. Amandil's arms were tangled with Isilmo's and though he struggled, he could not break free from the desperate clutches as they both tried to reach the surface of the water.
Down and down they tumbled in the cold water, their bodies twisting and turning, whirling into the deep unknown as the harsh underwater currents tugged mercilessly and drew them deeper.
Amandil could still hear himself screaming, along with other lost voices. His mouth opened and he breathed the salty death in deep long draughts. His insides cramped and convulsed and his lips sucked and choked upon the water. The watery underwater world of blue slowly began to diminish in his view and his head and ears pounded and unbearably.
At last, before he fell into eternal sleep he saw her, the maiden who wept for him and all the other souls lost in the tumult of waves. The last of his alert senses saw her sad and sorrowful beauty, her eyes of the deepest shades of the sea, her skin smooth and clear, some water substance. Her hair laid spread across all the waters in marvellous colours of aqua and turquoise.
She gathered into her arms the bodies of all the perished innocents and she wept her tears upon their wounds, their broken bodies. Amandil gave into her will and the last that he saw of the world was her deep gaze. And all that he saw was blue.
Author's Note: I had originally wrote this for a HASA challenge, but it was just too big and I can't really bare to cut it down. I've had so many ideas for what happened to Amandil (endlessly drifting out at sea was my most loved notion, but of course who is going to want to read about four people endlessly drifting?) but I chose this one in the end, because I thought that for all that he had tried to do for the good of his family and his people that even though he could not achieve what he has planned to that he still deserved to see Aman, even if it was only a glimpse from far away.