VIII.) Revelation and Prophecy
In the spring of the year 3319 of the Second Age, fifty-seven years to the day after the so-called Great Victory over him, and nearly two years after the burning of the White Tree, Sauron, standing in the King's Chambers, gazed out a window, and listened with veiled anger to the King's abuse.
"You have promised me eternal life, slave!" shouted Ar-Pharazon, who lay on his bed, decked out in his favourite robes of purple and gold. "Look at my face! Is this the face of an immortal? Is this the face of a living god? Look at me and answer truly, dog of Mordor!"
Sauron turned to the aging King and stared at the Man with his clear blue eyes, his chiseled features betraying none of the mounting displeasure he felt underneath. Fifty-seven years was the merest fraction of the time that Sauron had walked the Earth, but it felt more than long enough to have to have endured the threats and rants of Ar-Pharazon the Golden.
Schooling his face to a look of inquisitive concern, Sauron replied "I must confess, my liege, it is not yet the face of an immortal." Given the ever-deepening lines on the King's haggard face alone, he could hardly say anything else.
Moreover, the day had not gone well for Ar-Pharazon. That morning, as he was leaving the chamber in which he customarily held his nightly debaucheries with the Palace's youths and maidens, Ar-Pharazon had collapsed suddenly. His doctors had quickly attended to him, and revived him in his scarlet, silk-cushioned bed.
But after performing their mummery over him, they had talked with glum faces amongst themselves. Then, the bravest one of them informed the King that he had suffered from a seizure of his heart. Moreover, given his age of two-hundred and fourteen years, he could only expect more such seizures in the future. In the learned doctor's opinion, Ar-Pharazon the Golden could not expect to live more than another few years before one of the seizures brought his time on Earth to an end.
That doctor's severed head now decorated a pike by the gates of the Palace. Sauron had been summoned from his Temple by one of the King's red-tunic'd messengers, who had informed him that the King demanded his immediate presence in the Royal chambers.
Sauron had offered the best response he could, in the circumstances. Yet, it appeared that the King was no more amused by Sauron's reply than he had been by the late doctor's.
"Not yet?" shrieked Ar-Pharazon, his face flushing red. "Not yet? When will it be the face of an immortal then, eh? When will that be, you lying, incompetent fool! Speak!"
Sauron glared at the King, his fair face twisted with wrath. The script on his golden ring flashed brightly. "SILENCE!" he shouted, in a suddenly deep voice that shook the room to its foundations.
Just as suddenly, the King's mood shifted from anger to contriteness. "Forgive me!" he whimpered, teary-eyed, a trail of drool running down his bearded chin. "Forgive me! I have lost my head...I have..." Ar-Pharazon started whining incoherently.
Sauron then schooled his face to a look of warm benevolence and concern, the helpful friend and counselor to the poor old Man. "Nay, forgive me, my liege" he said, his voice once again clear and smooth. "I should not have lost my temper with you a moment ago. After all, it is I who serve you. And I can well understand your own mood, for you have had a frightening experience today, and those imbecile doctors did you more harm than good."
"The doctors...but are they right?" cried Ar-Pharazon. "How can they be right? You said that if I served Melkor loyally, I would live forever! Is that not so? Have I not served Him loyally?"
Sauron appeared to ponder the King's words for a few moments, and then looked at him, a slow, confiding smile spreading over his smooth features.
"You have served Him loyally, my liege. Indeed, you have served Him more faithfully than any Man who ever lived. Melkor is well pleased with you. He is so pleased, that as I was conducting His rites in the Temple this morning, I had a vision in which Melkor Himself appeared to me. He had words to say concerning you!"
"Did He? Did He?" said the King, his lip trembling. "What did He say? Please!"
"He said" intoned Sauron in his fairest, clearest voice, "that the time has come for me to reveal to Ar-Pharazon the Golden the secret of eternal life. The secret that shall turn him from a mere mortal Man, into a God himself!"
The King was ecstatic. "He did? He did! I knew He would!" he cried. "Tell me, what is it? You must tell me!" pleaded the King, looking for all the world like a child about to receive a coveted present.
"It is quite simple, Your Majesty. So simple that you will deem it obvious when I reveal it to you. Do you recall the chronicle of your ancestor, King Tar-Atanamir the Great? He who received emissaries from the treacherous Valar, when the Men of this isle first began to grumble openly that they had been cheated of the gift of eternal life granted to the Elves?"
"Yes, yes!" spat Ar-Pharazon, his old impatience and confidence beginning to reassert itself. "What of it?"
"Do you recall" said Sauron, "that the messengers of the Valar informed the King that he should not seek to journey to the Undying Lands of Valinor, in vain hope of life eternal? They said that it was not the Undying Lands that made those that dwell therein deathless. Rather, 'the deathless that dwell therein have hallowed the land.' I believe those were the messenger's words, if they were reported correctly in the chronicle. I believe the messenger even told your ancestor that if mortal Men set foot in the Undying Lands, they would die all the sooner, 'as moths in a light too strong and steadfast'."
"Yes, I heard all of that from my tutor, ages ago" snapped Ar-Pharazon. "What is the secret?"
"Can you not guess, my liege? As with many things, the Valar mixed truth with falsehood to deceive Men. For it is true that the Valar, their Maiar servants, and the Elves, are deathless no matter the land in which they dwell. But, it is not true that the Undying Lands do not confirm life eternal on those who dwell within them. The ultimate secret is this: the Undying Lands are so infused with the immortal essence of those who dwell therein that, should a mortal Man set foot on their shores, he becomes at once an immortal like them!"
The King appeared astonished. Sauron smiled. "It is for this reason" continued Sauron, 'and not some special dispensation of the false oracle Eru, that your ancestor Earendil the Mariner became immortal when he set foot on the shore of the Undying Lands three and a half thousand years ago. Once in Valinor, he was bound to become immortal whether the Valar wished it or not! They sent him up into the skies in his ship, and banned him from ever again setting foot in mortal lands, so that he could not reveal this secret to mortal Men!"
The King stared up at Sauron, enraptured.
"And" continued Sauron, "it is for this reason that the Ban of the Valar was issued. For they know that if all the mortal race invaded the lands of Valinor, mortals would become immortal themselves; and to this the Valar, who desire immortality for themselves, the Maiar spirits, and their Elvish pets alone, are unalterably opposed. They know there is so much more vision and strength of will inherent in Men than in Elves that, should Men ever seize control of the Undying Lands, they will displace the Valar and Maiar, and rule as the new Gods of Valinor! And at this Melkor would be well pleased, for He longs to see the rebellious Valar and Maiar and their Elvish lackeys punished, while those Men who have been loyal to Him take their place as Gods in their own right!"
"By Melkor!" shouted the King, exultant. He leapt out of his bed, all his vigour seemingly restored. "By the fiends! This has gone from being the worst day of my life, to being the greatest! I have only to defy the ban of the Valar and set foot in the Undying Lands..." For some minutes, Ar-Pharazon laughed like a young Man, delirious with joy. Eternal life would soon be his!
But then Ar-Pharazon grew silent, and frowned, his joy tempered by consideration of what was involved in such a feat. "Mark you" said the King, "there are two obstacles to my attaining life eternal. First, the treacherous Valar have girdled the Undying Lands with a belt of enchanted islands, which lie between our isle of Numenor and the land of Aman, wherein lies Valinor. They have cursed them with their magics, so that it is well known that while Elvish ships may sail safely between Valinor and Middle-Earth, mortal ships that seek Valinor dash themselves to pieces on the rocks of those isles. More than one Man of Numenor has defied the Ban of the Valar, if only out of a longing to gaze upon the Undying Lands, only for the wreckage of his ship to wash against our shores months later."
"And" continued Ar-Pharazon, "there is a second problem. Even should I navigate the Enchanted Isles, and sail through the Bay of Eldamar to set foot upon the shores of Aman, how will I return? For when my ancestor Earendil accomplished this feat, the Valar, as you yourself pointed out, lifted him up into the skies, and now he may never set foot again in the lands of Men. Will they lift me into the skies too? Or will they bind me with magic chains and make me their immortal prisoner? What is to be done, Lord Sauron?
Sauron appeared contemplative. Then, after a time, he offered a reassuring smile. "Both excellent points, my liege. As it happens, I have solutions for both problems. The first problem, the Enchanted Isles, has a simple remedy. For my skill in lore is far greater than that of any Elf or even High Elf, and I can easily craft for you a device that any of your sailors could use to navigate their way safely through the Enchanted Isles."
"As for the second problem, what to do about the hostility of the Valar once you arrive upon the shores of the Undying Lands...the solution is more ambitious, but I have already given it to you. I told you that a great host of Men, could they but sail past the Enchanted Isles, could seize control of Aman from the Valar and their servants, and rule the land as Gods themselves!"
"A host..." whispered Ar-Pharazon. "You mean..."
"Yes, my liege" smiled Sauron. "A Host. Your Host."
"My Host" repeated Ar-Pharazon. The King then drew himself up to his full height, years seemingly dropping from his withered face as he looked up at Sauron. "My Host" he said exultantly, in a firm, commanding voice. "My Army. My Navy. The Army and Navy of Numenor, Lord of the Seas and Lord of the Earth, under the command of King Ar-Pharazon the Golden! The mightiest armada ever assembled in the history of the world! One that will dwarf even the armada I sent against you before you swore fealty to me, fifty-seven years ago!"
"Yes, my liege" answered Sauron. "Your armada defeated and tamed me, it brought Sauron of Mordor into your loyal service. I well recognize when I am bested, and have long been proud to serve my King, master of the world, soon to be a God, the King of Gods himself!"
Sauron raised his long arms, and lowered his voice, to emphasize the import of his words. "For the time of Melkor's return is at hand! Melkor has tolerated the Valarian rebels thus far, only because from their high seat they order the rythyms and cycles of the World. Were their places left vacant, the World would descend back into the chaos from which it was born. Melkor could not find those both numerous and deserving enough to rule Valinor and govern the Circles of the World in the place of the Valar. The days when He created new races have long since past; and I myself, after all, am but a lone servant, and cannot take the place of all the Valar in my own person. But, now you have emerged, my King! You have embraced the darkness, have led your people away from the false light of the Valar, and down the shadowed path of truth. Melkor now deems that he need tolerate the Valar's rebellion no longer, for he believes that in you, and the Men of Numenor, he has found the replacement for the Valar that he has long sought!"
"Magnificent!" laughed the King, delighted to have won Melkor's favour.
"Of course" cautioned Sauron, lowering his arms in a demure gesture, "Melkor respects strength alone. He believes you are worthy - yet even so, you must pass one final test in order to prove yourself to Him. You must win your way to Taniquetl, Mount Everwhite, by your own strength of arms. You will, naturally, have His grace if the proper sacrifices are made. But, when He sees that you have broken down the doors of Manwe's Palace, He will deem the Valar dethroned. At that moment, the Hour of Doom, Melkor shall come forth from the Void. In his wrath he will smite the Valar utterly. No trace of their presence shall remain. Then He will enthrone you, Ar-Pharazon the Golden, as King of the Gods, to rule within the Circles of the Word forever!"
Ar-Pharazon was speechless, tears of joy rolling down his withered cheeks.
"Of course," continued Sauron, "Melkor has set no small challenge for you, my liege. You shall indeed require the mightiest armada ever assembled, if you are to make war against the Valar and their servants. For the Valar, Maiar and High Elves are powerful, and they are proud and stubborn. Only with a mighty struggle, and the grace of Melkor, shall the armies of Ar-Pharazon the Golden defeat them."
"And defeat them we shall!" shouted Ar-Pharazon, triumphant. "We must recall to Numenor every one of our ships, which we have dispatched around the World. We shall muster every Man of Numenor, from the youngest lads to the oldest grandfathers who are capable of bearing a pike or a spear! We shall build new ships to accommodate our new soldiers! We shall recall all our armies from active duty, and muster them at the harbour of Andunie, for of all our harbours it lies closest to Valinor."
"And, speaking of Andunie" continued the King, his voice darkening with anger, "I doubt very much the infidel Lords of that place can be trusted to support our venture against the Valar, when they have worked to support heresy and Elf-friendship in this land. They have even sheltered that Wolf's Head Isildur at Romenna, so that no assassin has been able to claim the bounty I placed on him. And thanks to them, the presence of foul Nimloth has not been extirpated from our soil. How shall we deal with Amandil and his brats, Lord Sauron? "
"A wise question, your Majesty" replied Sauron with a frown.
Sauron nursed a keen hatred of the Lords of Andunie. They had insulted and abused his loyal followers; they had refused the worship of Melkor; they sheltered their fellow heretics at Romenna; they had sought to disrupt the efforts of Melkor's priests to convert the people to the new religion; they had not allowed their brat Isildur to face justice for his theft of the Fruit of Nimloth. Isildur – for it must have been him - had even managed to retrieve the Palantir from Minastir's chamber, right under Sauron's nose. That was as almost as grevious as his preserving the seed of Nimloth, for Sauron had long wished to study the Palantir's secrets, once he no longer had any use for the late Admiral of the Fleet. In all these things, Amandil and his offspring had dared to defy him. Sauron would not tolerate such insolence from anyone, and least of all from mere mortals.
"The fact is this" continued Sauron, gravely. "Amandil is your vassal, and you his liege-lord. If you command him to muster an army and send it to war under your banner, he must obey, no matter his own views. If he refuses, he is a traitor, and his life will be forefeit. If his son and grandsons support his refusal, as they doubtless would, they will also be traitors. Therefore, when the muster of our soldiers is well nigh complete, and our armies at their strongest, send a herald to Amandil, and demand that he turn over to you every Man in Romenna capable of bearing arms. If he and his heirs will not assent to this; then dispatch your own Men against him, and cleanse him and his accursed brood from the face of this Earth!" Sauron's eyes glittered, and the script of his golden ring flashed brightly.
"Yes" said the King, somberly, "I have long chafed at the presence of that heretic Amandil and his brats in this land. He is no doubt fool enough to seek some pretext to refuse my summons. No matter – he is already a heretic, and also a minor felon, in that he shelters a Wolf's Head. If he does not comply with my commands, to the letter, then he will be a traitor as well. I shall have all the cause I need to move against him openly!"
Ar-Pharazon laughed at the thought, and then looked up at Sauron. "How long will all these preparations take, Lord Sauron? Your crafting of our navigational device, and the muster of our armies and navies?"
Sauron appeared contemplative. "For the device, one month. The muster can begin at the same time I start work on the device. Between the recall of our forces, and the muster, training and equipping of our additional forces, and the building of new ships for them, I should think some five months if our armourers and shipbuilders, and their slaves, work night and day."
"Then you will commence work at once, and I shall command the recall and muster of our forces to begin forthwith!" cried the King. "I shall summon a council of war to discuss with my generals and admirals our strategy and tactics for attaining victory over the enemy. The maps of Valinor those High Elvish fools long ago gave my ancestors as gifts shall at last prove useful! And in five months, we shall set sail for Valinor, and my destiny!"
"Indeed you shall fulfill your destiny, my liege. I shall begin work at once" said Sauron. Smiling again, and bowing, he turned from the King and strode out of the room towards the many tasks that awaited him.
Staring out the window of his chamber at the starry skies of the night, Amandil was deep in contemplation. Having recently passed his one-hundred and ninety-seventh birthday, he felt every day of his long years bearing down on him like a heavy weight. For in recent months, events had taken a new, ever more disturbing course.
Every week, refugees sought sanctuary in Romenna. If their intentions were honourable, they were always admitted to the city - after they had endured close questioning by the guards, to ensure they were not spies or sabouteurs. These refugees carried word of great armies being mustered, of many ships of war being recalled, summoned to the harbour of Andunie.
There was chaos in the land, they said, for in recent months practically all the people seemed to have been infected by an even greater madness than the worship of Melkor. There was much wild revelling, and fighting, and slaying too, with many acts of depravity, as if the people of Numenor were now as wild and lawless as the dark god they served. Death came to the people in many guises, grim and terrible, and they cursed themselves and everyone about them in their misery. Only within the swelling camps of the King's armies was there order, and that was only enforced by the axe and the gallows, which were frequently applied to unruly conscripts.
Amandil sighed, and then turned and headed towards his bed. His wife had died in childbirth long ago, and he had slept alone ever since. Lying down on the soft mattress, he felt a great weariness come over him. Soon, he slipped into a deep, dark sleep.
There is never any sense of passage of time in a deep sleep, so Amandil could not say precisely when the dream began. In his dream, he found himself hovering high up in the air, far above the Earth. It was as if he were a great bird, a hawk or an eagle, although he must have been much higher than even the mightiest bird could fly. It was daytime, and glancing down it appeared as if the whole Western half of the great disc of the world were laid out beneath him. All about lay the glittering blue Sea, wisps of cloud rising up from it here, only to plunge back down to it in rainfall there. Beneath him lay the emerald green isle of Numenor, and he could clearly see every city and town. There was quaint Romenna in the East, and mighty Armenelos in the Centre, and fair Andunie to the West, and many other towns to the North and South. In the heart of the island stood Mount Meneltarma, its grassy slopes rippling in the sea breeze.
Amandil looked to the East, and there he saw the vast sweep of Middle Earth, cold and gray in the far North, then pale green with forests farther South; below that the land was stained brown and beige with the grasses and sands of the deserts of Near Harad, and farther South still was the mighty dark green jungle of Far Harad. Strewn along the coast were the city-colonies and settlements belonging to Numenor. Amandil could also see the havens of the Elves by the Gulf of Lune to the North, and colonies of the Elves scattered amongst the Northern forests. But much of the land was empty, although here and there the cooking fires and rude huts of the wild Men of Middle Earth spotted the landscape.
Then, Amandil looked to the West, and to his delight, beyond the misty barrier of the Enchanted Isles, he saw the Undying Lands themselves! They were as they had been described in many songs and stories of the High Elves. There lay the emerald jewel of Tol Eressea in the Bay of Eldamar, the beacon of the White Tower of Avallone clearly visible. On the far shores of the Bay lay fair Aqualonde of the Teleri Sea Elves, its white houses and gilded towers ornamented with gleaming pearls and the marbled blues of lapis lazuli.
There was the Calacirya, the Pass of Light, in which stood the great white and pink marble fortress of Tirion, home of the Deep Elves, the Noldor. The mighty wall of the Pelori mountains rimmed the Bay to the North and South, stretching the whole length and breath of the coast of Aman. Only through the Calacirya could one advance into the interior. Beyond the Pass, and the Mere of Shadows, Elendil could see the deep green plains, enchanted forests and sparkling lakes of Valinor itself. He could see the hill where once the shining Two Trees had stood, before the dawning of Sun and Moon. There was the golden city of Valimar, home of the Vanyar Light Elves, who had but rarely been seen by Men, and home of many of the Valar themselves. Above all stood Taniquetl, Mount Everwhite, highest mountain in the World. From Oliosse, the uttermost summit of Taniquetl's vast, snowy peak, a great beacon of pure white light shone forth – the Seat of Manwe and Varda, the King and Queen of the Valar.
Amandil gazed at this fair scene enraptured. He had, in the past, used his Palantir to gaze longingly upon Avallone and the mountainous coast of Valinor beyond. Yet now, the entire sweep of the Undying Lands appeared before him! He felt blessed to have seen, if only in a vision, a sight that so many Men had longed for in vain.
But then Amandil felt compelled to tear his eyes away from the Undying Lands, and look once again to the East. Thought it had somehow been veiled from his sight before, now he could clearly see Mordor, the Black Land of Sauron. Shadowy mountains rimmed its borders, while barren plains of ash and dust littered the interior. At the heart of the realm lay Orodruin, where Sauron had forged his One Ring, centuries before. A great column of black smoke ever issued forth from its fiery interior, covering the lands below in perpetual twilight. Amid the plains, Elendil could see through the shadows the vague shapes of vast armies of Orcs and wild Men. Their true numbers were hidden from those beyond Mordor by the encompassing Mountains of Shadow. In the North of Mordor, Amandil could see the Barad-dur, the pitch-black fortress of Sauron, rising battlement upon battlement, pinnacle upon pinnacle, more than a mile above the plains below. Amandil was both awestruck and terrified when he saw the immense fortress, which could never have been reared by the hands of Men. He could see that the Barad-dur far surpassed in scale the Temple of Melkor, or any other building ever known to Men.
The Temple of Melkor! Why had he not seen its black stain of its smokes when he had earlier gazed upon Numenor? As Elendil wondered this, he noticed that the great shadowy cloud that spewed forth from Orodruin was beginning to spread beyond the borders of Mordor. North, South, East, West, it grew in all directions, covering all lands in darkness. Soon the whole of Middle Earth was under the sway of the Shadow, save only the scattered havens and colonies of the Elves to the North.
But the Shadow was not done. Gazing downwards, Amandil could see that the Shadow crept west over the Sea, until it had encompassed the whole of Numenor. Now he could see the Temple of Melkor, the foul smokes and reeks that ever spewed forth from it even darker than the Shadow. Yet still the Shadow was not done; westward it crept, until it came to the misty borders of the Enchanted Isles, which seemed to form a barrier to its further progress.
Then, Amandil noticed the mighty armada of ships and soliders that had been assembled by the harbour of his old home of Andunie. It was an awesome sight, far surpassing in size even the growing armies of Orcs and wild Men hidden behind the walls of Mordor. To his bafflement, the vast armada, which had now slipped away from the habour, did not turn to the East, towards Middle Earth – it sailed into the West, towards Valinor. Were the Admirals mad? They would be dashed to pieces amid the rocks of the Enchanted Isles!
To his wonderment, and growing horror, the armada, at least two-thousand ships strong, sailed though the misty barrier of the Isles as if it were but an illusion. Not a single ship appeared lost. They sailed ever westward, through the Bay of Eldamar, their black and gold sails gleaming in the Sun, unchallenged by any Elvish ship, until they came upon the shores of Aman itself. What was this? Why, the red-tunic'd armies of Numenor were embarking on the shore, bearing their crimson and sable serpent banners above their heads! Quickly forming into columns, they marched past Aqualonde, which seemed abandoned, and up the Pass of Light to the Walls of Tirion. There, they encamped, and began to lay siege to the fortress of the Noldorin Elves!
Amandil's gaze then turned to Mount Everwhite. The beacon at its peak now shone forth with a golden, even a reddish light, as if burning with the fierce anger of the Valar at this act of blasphemy! Now a shadow began to grow over Valinor, but not the Shadow from the East – this Shadow of the West was formed of the healthy clouds of the Sea, which drifted westward, forming dark thunderheads. Amandil could the din and clamour of war echoing from the Undying Lands.
Then, from the heavens above, a mighty voice pealed forth, deeper than the depths of the Sea, and stronger than the foundations of the Earth:
"The Doom of Numenor is at hand!" rumbled the voice. Elendil looked beneath him, and to his horror he saw that the whole of Numenor was on fire! A great pillar of fire arose from Mount Meneltarma, tormenting the land with its fearsome heat. Giant waves lashed in fury at the island's coasts. Screams of terror and anguish echoed across the island, which began to sink beneath the waves...
Amandil awoke with a start, beads of cold perspiration drenching his aged brow. He often had dreams, sometimes rare and ethereal visions, at other times mundane reflections of the waking world. Yet never before had he had a dream so vivid, or one that had lurched so shockingly from dream to nightmare.
Shaking his head, Amandil, his eyes blinking in the daylight pouring through the open windows, pulled on his grey robes, and then walked towards the door to the palace watchtower, which lay adjacent to his chambers. It was highest tower in Romenna, and he often went there when he needed time to think without interruption by others.
Ascending the stone-flagged spiral staircase, Amandil came at length to the Oaken door to the tower's roof. He stepped through the doorway, gasping at the stiff Sea-breeze, and walked towards the parapet, gazing at the scene before him. It was late morning, and Amandil felt disturbed he had slept later than his wont –another sign that old age was fast pursuing him. He stared over the houses and courtyards of Romenna, past its harbour to the Sea beyond, its blue waters speckled with sea foam by the wind.
He then gazed into the courtyard at the base of the tower. From the center of the marble-walled courtyard sprang a small white sapling, surrounded as at all times by four of his blue and white tunic'd personal guardsmen. This was, in fact, the first growth of the Fruit of Nimloth, the White Tree of Armenelos, which Isildur had rescued before its parent had been consigned to the Fires of Morgoth by the Usurper-King and his daemon priest.
When Isildur had returned to Romenna with this seed of Nimloth, several years before, Amandil and Elendil had been both shocked by his audacity, and alarmed by his grevious wound and exhaustion. Yet, Amandil was grateful that Isildur had chosen to act, when his elders had still vacillated. Isildur was a hot-blooded youth, yet he had the vision and courage required of a true leader. He was indeed a worthy heir to Elendil, so long as he was willing to listen to the counsel of cooler heads. Amandil frowned bitterly at the humiliation heaped upon his House yet again by Pharazon the Usurper, who had declared Isildur a Wolf's Head, and placed a bounty on him. Although Isildur had become a hero to the common folk of Rommena, he could not leave the safety of the palace without an escort of armed Men, lest he be felled by a hidden agent of the King. Nor did he dare to journey beyond sight of the city's walls, lest he be captured and slain by a party of the King's Men.
On the subject of cooler heads, Anarion had proven his worth yet again. The doctors had despaired of healing Isildur's wound, which had begun to fester, and even Amandil's own healing skills had not cured Isildur of his ailments. Anarion had then suggested that the Fruit of Nimloth should be planted in the courtyard of Romenna. He seemed to sense intuitively that Isildur's fate was bound to that of the seed of Nimloth that he had saved. Amandil had assented to Anarion's request, and was overjoyed when the white sapling raised its head above the soil of Romenna. For not only had the offspring of Nimloth taken root – signaling hope for the heirs of Elros – but as the sapling grew, Isildur's wound was miraculously healed of itself, and all his old strength was restored to him. That happy memeory brought a brief smile to Amandil's aged face.
But then, the dark vision of the previous night surfaced in his mind, and he frowned once gain. Could its import be true? Could Numenor be facing not merely a dark hour, but its last days? Amandil lost track of time as he stood on the parapet, deep in contemplation. He had not broken fast that day, yet even as the Sun began to sink toward the West, he remained still and silent, absorbed entirely in his own thoughts.
Amandil looked up with a start when, suddenly, he heard the door to the tower's roof open behind him. Turning around, saw his son Elendil walk through, dressed richly in robes of blue and red cloth, as if to attend a feast. "How goes it with you, father?" asked Elendil. "We have not seen sight or sound of you this day. I was beginning to grow worried."
Amandil smiled wanly. "It goes as well as it can, my son, when I contemplate the strength of our enemies, and the growing darkness in this land, and know that the Valar do not answer our prayers for deliverance from evil."
"Perhaps they cannot hear them, father" said Elendil.
Amandil frowned. "No, perhaps not. Mayhap the reek that ever rises from the accursed Temple of Morgoth has led them to turn their backs on our island and our people, and let us suffer whatever misfortune awaits us. You can see that even from this distance, that reek is visible, its sight and smell an offense to the Valar."
Elendil looked towards the West, where the Sun was fast sinking beneath the horizon. It was true; even from so many miles away, a thin black coil of smoke could be seen drifting up from the distant Temple, staining the rosy Western sky.
Amandil sighed deeply. "Last night, my son, I had a dark dream, more terrible than any I can recall."
"What happened, father?" asked Elendil softly.
"It began well enough, indeed was marvelous fair in parts" replied Amandil. "I hovered high in the sky, as if I were one of the Eagles of Manwe, and the great disk of the World was spread out beneath me. I saw the sweep of the western shores of Middle Earth, from Forochel to Harad. I saw fair Numenor beneath me." A misty light played in his eyes. "I even saw holy Valinor itself! Not merely Eressea, and the coast of Aman, which we have both seen through the Palantir. The whole of the Blessed Land was laid out before me, and looked just as described in the songs of the High Elves!"
"That sounds a wondrous dream to me, father" said Elendil, puzzled. "Why has it darkened your heart?"
Amandil frowned. "That was not all. For I saw a Shadow from the East, which originated in the Black Land, and spread across the whole world, nigh to the shores of Valinor."
"Indeed" said Elendil, glumly. They both knew well what the Shadow from the East symbolized. Elendil saw in his mind's eye Sauron's fair face, as it had first appeared when the Dark Lord surrendered himself at the Crossings of Harnen, all those long years ago. Elendil wished he had cut the fiend's head from his shoulders, instead of leading him to the King's Camp! Much good that it would have done, had he attempted it...
"Elendil, are you listening?" asked Amandil, sounded vexed.
"Forgive me, father" said Elendil, blushing. "I meant no disrespect. I was merely troubled by my own dark memories, for a moment."
"I understand, my son" replied Amandil, more gently. "But you must focus your mind on what I am saying, for it is of the utmost import. The Shadow from the East was but the least of the evils that I saw in my dream."
Elendil started, looking shocked. "How could there be a greater evil, father? Only One can be deemed a greater evil than the Dark Lord of Mordor, and that One was cast from the Circles of the World more than three thousand years ago."
"It was not who I saw, but what I saw that has chilled me to the bone" replied Amandil. "First, I saw a great fleet of the King's ships, mustered at our ancient home of Andunie.
The fleet was vast beyond reckoning. It set forth, and sailed – West!"
"West?" asked Elendil. "Then you saw it founder upon the shores of the Enchanted Isles?"
"No, my son!" replied Amandil. "Listen, and do no interrupt. It sailed west, and passed through the Enchanted Isles as if they had no substance, but were mere mists and shadows. It sailed nigh to the shores of Valinor – and then a great army of the King's Men disembarked on the shore! They marched up the Calacirya to Tirion, and made war upon the Noldor, on the very doorstep of the Valar's realm! And the Valar waxed wroth at this blasphemy."
Amandil turned pale. "Yet that was not all. A great voice cried out that the doom of our people was at hand. And looking down, I saw the supreme horror! The whole isle of Numenor was aflame! The cries and lamentations of the people rose to the heavens, yet it was too late to seek repentance, or ask for aid. The land itself shrieked and groaned, and then began to sink into the waves, consumed at last by the angry Sea."
Amandil shuddered, for his words could not begin to convey the horror of the dream, so vivid had it been in his own mind. Elendil looked grave, but remained silent.
At length, Amandil spoke again. "I believe we have been given a warning my son, a warning sent by Manwe, Lord of the Valar, or perhaps even by Eru himself. If we do not bring an end to the evils that have cursed this island, then the King will lead us all to our doom. I know not if Pharazon will, in literal truth, wage war upon the Valar – though I would not put it past the man, for he has no honour and knows no shame, thinking only of himself and his own pretentions to glory. He already makes war against the spirit of the Valar in our land. But of this I have no doubt - if Pharazon is not stopped, there is no hope for Numenor."
Elendil, nodding, turned from his father and stared over the parapet, far out to Sea. He placed little stock in dreams himself, yet he did not wish to gainsay his father's mastery of dream-lore. He could not disagree that the King posed a grave threat to the future of the Numenoreans. Yet, neither could he see what further actions they could take against him, beyond those they had already attempted. His power, his hold over the people, was too great.
Of course, the King's power was only apparent. In truth, Pharazon was but a puppet, for Sauron controlled all from behind the throne. To scour the land of evil, they must expel Sauron's dark presence. Yet, how could that be done? The tragic loss of Admiral Minastir had deprived the Lords of Andunie of their only agent at Armenelos, so Amandil and his sons no longer had any inkling of the events that transpired within the Royal Palace, beyond rumors brought by refugees. Elendil half regretted that Isildur had not offered the Palantir to Queen Miriel, once she had proven her heart to be true. But then, that would only place the unhappy woman in even greater danger, since Sauron knew the Palantir for what it was, and it would be disastrous should he find it in her possession. And in any case, much of the information supplied by Minastir had consisted of falsehoods devised by Sauron, if Isildur had overheard the Dark One's boasting correctly. Mayhap they were fools for ever thinking they might outwit Sauron, the master of lies and deceit.
Elendil sighed, his head spinning as he thought of the burdens that had been placed upon himself and his House. Surely such weighty matters need not be decided upon tonight? What his father needed now, thought Elendil, was a distraction, something to lighten his heart. They could take counsel on affairs of state the next morning.
Turning his gaze to Amandil, Elendil said "There are many cares upon us, father, but we Men cannot spend all our brief days oppressed by their weight. Hark ye; a feast is being held this night, in the great hall of our palace. Many of the leading citizens of Romenna have been invited, good and loyal men and women. I shall attend, and Isildur and Anarion as well. You have not been seen amongst the people for some days now. Come celebrate with us, my sons and I. Some cheer and song will lighten your mood, and lift the cares from your heart, if only for awhile..." Elendil smiled, pleased at the thought of seeing his father obtain joy from life again.
Amandil was silent, and then a slow, sad smile appeared on his face. Looking wistfully at his son, he said "You make your appearance amongst the people at this feast, Elendil. I shall not accompany you, for I have little time left in these mortal lands."
Elendil felt his good humor blown away like a stray pennant of cloth before the sea winds. Gazing at his father, he said "What is the matter, my Lord? Are you ill? I shall summon the doctors for you at once!"
"No, my son, I am not ill" said Amandil. "But my heart cannot be lightened by feasting or frivolity, for I cannot shake from my mind the vision of Doom...The refugees have told us that there is a great muster of the King's forces, that ships have been summoned to the harbour of Andunie. My dream may only have reflected these things, and yet.."
Amandil frowned. "This muster" he continued, "is either the King's latest stratagem, or that of the Dark One, or else is yet another manifestation of the King's madness. We can only guess its purpose, thought I fear that my dream revealed the truth, that Sauron has finally goaded the King into carrying his war against the Valar from this land onto the soil of their own Blessed Realm."
Amandil shuddered at the thought. "Yet" he continued, "let us leave aside this matter for a moment, and consider the broader picture. I will admit that I have become a scholar of lore in my old age, and left many practical affairs to your governance. Yet, I flatter myself that I have not lost my grasp on affairs of state, or the arts of strategy and tactics. I will confess, to your ears alone, that is clear to me our position is utterly hopeless. There is no stratagem that we can Men use to unseat through our own efforts Sauron and his puppet King. We have rescued from Sauron a seed of Nimloth, and reclaimed a Palantir that had almost fallen into his grasp. Yet we are like a man, standing on a beach, who shakes his fists at a vast, dark wave, towering over him, ready to sweep him away. We are vastly outnumbered, and it is only a matter of time before Sauron goads the King into sending his armies to crush us, once and for all. We face either eventual death by siege here in Numenor, or exile amongst the wild Men of Middle Earth, all but a fraction of whom are servants of the Dark One."
"Only the aid of the Valar" concluded Amandil, "may save Numenor now. They have warned us we must stop the Sauron and the King, or face doom. And yet they will not help us to defeat our enemies, despite our beseeching them many times for their aid. That is not sufficient, for we are well nigh powerless to resist Sauron's evil. We cannot turn the tide alone. And so, I deem the Valar must be made to hear the pleas of Men in person, if they will not do so from afar."
Elendil stared at his father, bewilderment showing on his face. "What do you mean, father? We have fought against the evils committed by the King, but as yet we have not commited treason against him, by openly aligning ourselves with powers that seek his downfall. Shall we do so now?"
"Is my meaning still not clear to you, my son?" asked Amandil. "Perhaps I should have overseen your studies better in your youth, if you cannot grasp my design. Our ancestor Earendil the Mariner recognized ages ago that the only hope in the war against Morgoth lay in sailing to Valinor, and appealing to the Valar for their direct intervention. Like him, I have come to realize that our only hope is to send an emissary to Valinor, to appeal for the Valar's intervention against Sauron, and our mad King."
Elendil stared in horror at Amandil. Had his father suddenly lost his mind, driven to lunacy by years of strife and exile? "Father!" he cried. "You speak madness! Men cannot seek Valinor and live! Were we to send a ship, it would be dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Enchanted Isles. Even if by some miracle it should sail past all obstacles and reach the shores of Aman, those Men on it would never be allowed to return to the mortal lands. To their loved ones here, it would be as if they were dead. And in any case, there is no guarantee the Valar would answer such an appeal."
"No, there is no guarantee" said Amandil. "But it is our only hope if our followers are to avoid death in Numenor, or exile from this land forever. And I know full well that any Man who sets sail for Valinor shall never be seen again amongst mortal Men, even should he survive the doubtful journey there. That is why the emissary we send to the Valar must be an old Man, near the end of his days in any case, and one who bears responsibility for the welfare of his people. That is why it must be me!"
Elendil stared at his father, and could read the intent in his aged eyes. He felt tears beginning to form in his own eyes, but stifled them for shame. "Father, I beg of you!" he said. "If in your wisdom you deem we must send an emissary to the Valar, then let it be me! I have given you heirs in my two lads, and they may rule when I am gone..."
"No, Elendil!" said Amandil, drawing himself up to his full height, his aged voice yet echoing with authority. "I am the sovereign Lord of Andunie, the ruler of all our people who now live in Romenna. The responsibility is mine alone. I have already made this decision, and you will respect and abide by it as my son and as my vassal. Ready for me at once a small ship, one of the harbour skiffs, laden with sufficient provision that I may survive the journey to Valinor. I shall depart this very night, for I have no desire to languish in the sorrow of a lengthy farewell to you and your sons. When the sails of my ship are no longer in sight, the sovereign Lordship of our House will then pass to you, Elendil. May you rule with wisdom and justice in these troubled times."
Elendil felt a tear roll down his cheek, but nodded. A noble of Numenor, true to the old ways, he knew his duty must come first. He embraced his father, and then led him down the tower stairs toward the pier.
As they exited the tower, they came upon Isildur and Anarion, decked out in their finery, and three of their oldest and highest-ranking servants. "Where in Manwe's name have you been, father?" asked Isildur. "The feast has already begun, for all the guests are assembled, and we dared not delay it any longer. They were about ready to start a riot, if we did not break open the flagons of ale" he laughed. "And you should join us, grandfather. Many of the guests have already asked for you." Then he noticed his father's mood, and that of his grandfather, and fell silent.
"What ails you, my Lords?" asked Anarion. "You look as though you have seen a wraith."
Elendil said nothing, for he could not find words to express the sorrow of his heart. Amandil mustered a faint smile, and then laid one hand on Isildur's broad shoulder, and while laying the other on Anarion's slim arm.
"My lads" said Amandil softly, "I fear I cannot attend your feast. Duty calls, and this very night I must leave you, upon a mission of the greatest importance. I will not speak of it now" he said, silencing them, "though you may ask your father of it when he is ready to inform you. I know not when or if I shall return."
He sighed, but then smiled more broadly. "If I do not return, then know that I am as proud of both of you as any Man could be of his grandsons. I know both of you will conduct your lives with honour and dignity, and never cease your efforts in the struggle against the Enemy. You are each other's greatest allies, for when your strength and daring, Isildur, are combined with Anarion's cool head and keen mind, then no Man can stand against you. Never fight separately, when you may fight together! Fare you well!"
Isildur and Anarion stood as still as statues, baffled and saddened by this sudden news. They nodded, silently, at their grandfather Amandil then turned to the three aged servants who had accompanied them, and who appeared dazed by the news that their lord would depart them.
"My friends" said Amandil, "if I could prevail upon you, perhaps for the last time. Will you help me gather my belongings, and some provinder, for the journey that awaits me?"
"Aye, my Lord" said one of the Men, his dark eyes staring somberly at Amandil. "We will go to the ends of the Earth to help you, if need be. You know that I'm sure, my Lord."
Amandil smiled, and signaled them to accompany him to his chambers.
As Amandil and his servants departed, Elendil turned to his sons, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Speak to no one of what has passed here" he said. "I shall not attend this feast, but you must return to it now, so that our House is represented. Do what you may to maintain your cheer in front of the people. At dawn tomorrow, meet me in my chambers, and I will explain to you all that has transpired this night. Then we will tell the people what we must."
Isildur and Anarion nodded silently, and then turned and walked slowly toward the great hall, whispering urgently with each other.
An hour later, Amandil's skiff was ready, its small white sails, trimmed with blue and gold, flapping in the breeze from the Sea. Amandil stood by the gangplank, alongside the three aged servants who had helped carry his food, water and some simple belongings to the skiff. They had insisted on accompanying their master, to life or to death, as his crew on board the ship. Amandil, swearing them to secrecy, had revealed to them his destination, and the terrible peril that they would face, but they were not dissuaded from their purpose. Amandil was then touched by their loyalty. Recognizing the difficulty of sailing the skiff single-handedly, he had agreed, with much reluctance, that they could accompany him.
Amandil looked at Elendil, and withdrew from a pouch on his belt the golden Seal of the Sovereign Lord of Andunie. He placed the Seal in Elendil's hands, passing his authority onto his son. Without further word he embraced Elendil firmly. Then, he turned and walked up the gangplank to the skiff, accompanied by his crew. One servant attached a banner, bearing Amandil's personal device, to the mast. The gangplank and the anchor were raised. The ship then pulled away from the pier, and sailed gracefully toward the outer harbour, the passage to which was guarded by a mighty iron chain. Several barques, on patrol, recognized Amandil's device on its banner, and drew back the harbour chain a short distance from the walls. Amandil's skiff passed the walls, and sailed through the outer harbour into the open Sea beyond.
Elendil knew he must not weep before the people of Romenna. He walked quickly towards the palace watchtower, passing through the winding streets and alleys, past the ivied houses of grey granite and their courtyards. His red-rimmed eyes drew curious glances from the citizens, who were already beginning to spread rumours about Amandil's departure.
Once alone on the tower's roof, Elendil wept openly as he watched his father's ship head eastward across the Sea, its sails growing ever smaller, until it was beyond the sight of ordinary Men. But Elendil, with his far-seeing eyes, saw the ship tack towards the northwest as it approached the ultimate horizon. The Sun had set, and pale starlight shone off the white sails of the ship that would bear Amandil to the West of West, or to a watery grave.
And, then, the ship was gone. Elendil, son of Amandil, never saw his father again.