Homecoming

Summary: Companion fic to Return to Life. Elendil's POV following the loss of his son in Middle-earth until the moment Isildur finally returns home.

It was actually more difficult to find a voice for Elendil, as I really wanted to do him justice. Lloyd Owen does such a fantastic job expressing all the subtleties of his character's emotions, that it took quite a while for me to sort out the complexities of what he must be feeling.

I might have fiddled a bit with the timeline. We don't know when Isildur's mom died, but based on the interactions of the surviving family members, I'd put it at about a year before the events of season 1. I know there's that part in episode 6 when Elendil talks about watching the sun set over the land and rise from the sea for most of his life which seemed to indicate that his wife's death and the move to the eastern part of Númenor happened much earlier, but then I got to thinking: he's a sailor in the Sea Guard, he most likely doesn't have a 9-to-5 home by dinner job. If he's patrolling the seas close to Númenor (always on the eastern side, as the Númenóreans weren't really allowed to sail west) then he'd see the sun set over Númenor and rise from the sea most of the time, even if when he was living in the western part of the island.

His wife and son die within a year of each other almost to the day. Elendil wonders if he is being tested or punished. If it is punishment, he would gladly take back everything he has done in his life to make it stop. If it is a test, he does not want anything to do with a force that would think it has the right to use one's own children for a trial of loyalty or faith.

He remembers the day his wife died. It had been sunny and warm, deceptively peaceful – mockingly peaceful, he had often thought afterwards. Just as the day when he loses Isildur is at first bright and joyful and full of promise, and all are so certain the might of Númenor is unbeatable. Then a mountain they did not even pay attention to until then wakes up with wrath and murder in mind, the Southlands fall under ash and fire, and half of Elendil's world is buried under a pile of rubble.

xxXXxxx

He knows immediately something is wrong. He probably knew from the moment he opened his eyes to find the world burning all around him. He calls for Isildur as soon as he can find his voice – even before he calls for Míriel, because at that moment he cannot be anything else but a father whose son is lost somewhere in that fiery landscape – and he knows when he receives no answer that this is the day his life will be overturned once more.

Later, Elendil will find it hard to piece together what happens in those first hours of darkness. Worry for Isildur is a constant, painful sensation clawing at his chest, but as always, he must remain a slave to his duty, even when all he wants is to abandon everything and everyone else and focus on his son. He finds himself surrounded by a group of Númenóreans and Southlanders, and Míriel is not there, and neither is Galadriel or even Halbrand. Elendil is the highest-ranking member of either group. It is up to him to get the people to safety – hopefully the Númenórean base on the shore was out of the range of the mountain of fire. If Isildur is alive, he will head in that direction himself.

If Isildur is alive…But he concentrates on the task at hand and does not try to think of the alternative. While he gathers as many people as he can and issues orders, there is only one thought in Elendil's mind: He is fine. My son is alive. He is alive, otherwise I would know it. He tries not to remember that he had sensed nothing, known nothing was amiss on the day his wife had drowned.

xxXXxxxx

The waiting is the worst part, Elendil thinks. He stands upon the hill, as Númenóreans and Southlanders pass him one by one, familiar and unfamiliar faces, but none of them the one he needs to see. There is a moment when he spots Berek, and he is sure Isildur is with him. Joy swells inside Elendil then, joy and relief so bright and warm that it takes away the memory of the shadow and the flames of Orodruin and the dead left behind in the beleaguered land. Elendil is ready to call out to him, to rush to him and pull him in his arms and never let go.

By the Valar, he prays, if he is safe I swear I will never let him go again. I will never let him think I am not proud of who he is, never let him fear that there is anything he can do that would make me not love him as if he is the very light of my eyes. So many words left unsaid between Isildur and him, and Elendil swears to spend the rest of his life repeating them to his son over and over, if only he is given this one chance.

Then Elendil realizes the young man leading Berek is not Isildur. Disappointment crashes against him like tempestuous waves on an empty shore. He hears the cries of birds in the distance, panicked probably by the commotion and the explosion, but all he can think of is that they are mocking his dying hope. You've had your chance. The words he told Isildur not long ago come back to haunt him. You've had your chance. He thinks those words will torment him until his dying day.

Then Valandil and the Queen arrive, and there is a shadow on their faces, and neither of them would look Elendil in the eye. And Elendil knows then beyond any doubt, he knows even before they tell him the story of a family trapped in a burning house, and how Isildur had fallen while he was rescuing them, like some ancient sacrifice, the one to pay the toll for the others to escape alive.

All that is left for Elendil now is to hope that his eldest son was killed outright when the roof had collapsed, because he cannot bear the thought of his Isildur suffocating or worse, burning to death, in pain and alone in enemy lands. Elendil knows his dreams will be troubled by that image for as long as he lives.

xxxXXxxx

He loses Berek soon after…

It is a kindness, Elendil knows, to allow the horse to go, even though he's running towards the fire and the darkness. For a moment Elendil is nearly tempted to go with him. But he cannot. He is the Captain of the Sea Guard and his duty is to his people. And he still has a son and a daughter back home and they have already lost enough, they cannot lose more. His responsibilities keep him tied to Númenor, and just for one moment he wishes it was not so. He wishes for Berek's freedom, that he could hurl himself into some burning chasm and join his wife and son beyond the circles of the world. If there is anything for them beyond the circles of the world…

xxXXxxx

That morning, on the shores of Middle-earth, with the memory of smoke and ash still clinging to them, Queen Regent Míriel forgives Galadriel any involvement she might have had in the losses suffered by Númenor. Elendil can give her no such quarter. Not for his loss. Not when he knows if she had not arrived in Númenor – if he had not brought her to Númenor – Isildur would have been alive today.

Elendil does not talk to Galadriel, because the only thing he wants to do is curse her: doom her and her future kin to eternal sorrow, to experience the grief and loss that he is feeling now, the pain that only mortals can feel. If he could, he would sail straight to Valinor, ban of the Valar be damned, and demand to be taken to Mandos himself, not to beg for forgiveness and mercy, as his ancestor, Lúthien the Fair once did. His is not that kind of grief. His grief is wrapped in anger and indignation. He was mine! he wishes he could shout. Mine to raise and mine to care for. You cannot take what's mine. Except Elendil knows this is not true, especially since all his life, Isildur belonged to no one but himself.

As they make ready to leave, Bronwyn, the woman from the Southlands, takes his arm.

"You saved us, Captain," she tells him. "Regardless of what happened afterwards, you saved us. I know it won't make you feel any better – I am a mother myself, so I know it would not bring me any comfort – but we are alive because of your queen and because of you. And because of your son. You should be proud. I hope one day this will bring you peace."

"One day," he agrees. "A long time from now."

Bronwyn means well, but she does not know about that day on the docks when Elendil had all but disowned his son. Nothing would make me prouder, he had said. But you've had your chance. It's not Galadriel he should be angry with, Elendil thinks disgusted. It's himself.

xxXXxx

On the first night of their journey home, Elendil dreams of Isildur. His son is standing in his cabin, not saying anything, only looking at him, and Elendil wonders why he cannot read the expression on his face, because Isildur was never good at hiding his emotions. Still, he reaches out to him before he can stop himself. If he is to be granted one last moment with his son, he will take it. But when he touches Isildur's shoulder, his hand is burned, and Isildur vanishes in front of his eyes in a burst of smoke and flames.

Elendil wakes with a gasp, the dream so real that for a moment he can still feel the pain in his hand and smell burnt flesh. It takes some time before he can distinguish dream for reality. He does not sleep for the rest of the night.

xxXXxxx

"I judged him wrongly."

It is high noon during their second day of their return voyage. They are all dazed and subdued, and none of them mentions their losses, even though they all feel the absence of those who are no longer there keenly. Elendil passed Valandil when the young man speaks, his words terse and clipped. He is staring at the horizon, still not making eye contact with Elendil, as if the loss of Isildur stands between them.

Elendil does not know what took place between Isildur and Valandil – and Ontamo, too, he supposes – after their dismissal from the Sea Guard. Whatever it was, the journey to Middle-earth seemed to have erased the rancor, but Elendil guesses that words have been said that now lie heavy on Valandil, dragging him like boulders into a sea of despair.

"You did," Elendil says bluntly, because he does not have it in him to spare anyone right now. But, because he is a fair man and has already acknowledged to himself that he holds most of the blame, he adds: "So did I."

He stands on the prow of the ship and remembers Isildur as a young boy, arguing with others about the politics of Numenor, his thoughts clear and sharp for someone his age, his allegiances built not on blind faith but on logic. Elendil had taught his children to think for themselves, and Isildur certainly did that and was not afraid to show others how he thought, no matter how politically inconvenient it sounded.

Elendil remembers how that enthusiasm vanished from Isildur after his mother's death, how grief turned him moody and confused, uninterested in anything, uncertain of what path he should take. Elendil had tried to guide him, but now he thinks he had guided him in the wrong direction. Isildur had been lost and unhappy in the days before his Sea Trials. Then Galadriel had come, and she, at least had given Isildur a spark and a direction – something Elendil had not managed to do. Elendil now thinks that maybe this is why he resents Galadriel so much.

xxXXXxxx

The nightmare comes that night as well. It is the same: Isildur is standing in Elendil's cabin, and, against his better knowledge, Elendil reaches out to him. It ends the same: the fire, the pain, the sense of loss that cannot be put into words and cannot be accepted.

During the day, Elendil buries the pain. He focuses on those under his command, tending to their wounds and their losses. He focuses on the Queen Regent, aiding her and supporting her, putting her pain above his own. Míriel sees right through him, though, and calls him out on it. And, in that moment, when he allows himself to acknowledge at least a small fraction of his grief, he and Míriel make a pact.

For the first time in a long time, Elendil admits his allegiance to the Faithful, because he knows Isildur shared the same allegiance, and this is the only way Elendil can think of to honor his fallen son. As he and Míriel talk about sacrifices and how to make the price they have paid worth it, in his mind, Elendil is only thinking about Isildur. There, he wishes he could tell him, I am following the right path, as you would have wanted me to do. I hope you'll be proud of me. Then he adds: I hope you can forgive me.

xxXXxxxx

Isildur might be able to forgive his father from wherever he is now, but Eärien certainly is not. After the initial outbreak of shared grief, she tears herself from her father's arms and glares at him.

"You brought this upon us," she says. "You, and the Queen, and the Elf and her Southlander. You should have let them drown."

He looks at her wearily, the weight of his decisions, past and future, heavy on his shoulders.

"Would you really have had me turn my back on two people like that? Would you have preferred me to let them die? Your brother would have never wanted that."

He sees the trace of vulnerability in Eärien then, the tears in her eyes, and he would reach out to her, but he knows she does not want him. Then, Eärien's face hardens.

"I think it is too late for you to pay attention to Isildur's wants, father."

xxXXxxx

It takes several days to track down Anárion from where he has run off in the West. Elendil's father helps – he probably already knows where Anárion is, but there is nothing Elendil can do about it, as he knows what Amandil thinks about Elendil's move to Armenelos and his supposed rejection of the Faithful. Not that Amandil would mention this now. It is funny, Elendil sometimes thinks, what grief and loss can do to a family. How it can erase old offences and bring forth new ones.

It is raining the day Anárion finally arrives. He stands in front of his father, shivering and lost, looking at Elendil as if begging him to say that nothing of what he has heard is true, that this was only a ruse to get him home, that Isildur is alive. He has heard only vague rumors of the expeditionary force to Middle-earth and Galadriel's arrival, and Elendil wonders wryly what kind of people his youngest son has been associating himself with, and what kind of life they lead in complete isolation, pretending there is no schism in Númenor, clinging to the old ways so hard that they now almost believe there are no new ways. It is not safe, Elendil thinks, and if the Faithful are to regain their hold on Númenor, they should be actively playing a part in the life of the island, especially now, instead of hiding in mountain valleys and mourning their past traditions.

Where were you? Elendil nearly asks. There it was, the chance to prove where your loyalties lie and you were no where in sight. Your brother fought and died for his convictions. Where were you? But he has already made this mistake with one son, he is not about to repeat it with the other, so Elendil welcomes the wayward Anárion with open arms.

xxxXXxxxx

Days pass. Elendil and his family settle into an uneasy routine, Isildur's absence growing on his mind instead of diminishing, the loss finding new ways to torment him with every day that passes. There is an empty place at the table, and an empty room that Elendil has not dared to walk into yet, even though he knows Anárion and Eärien have been there many times, reminiscing about their older brother, laughing and crying as they recounted the good times and knew they could not get them back. Elendil cannot face the memories, not when they are tainted with the image of his son's body alone in the dark unfriendly Southlands, so far from home.

The nightmare comes to Elendil almost every time he tries to sleep, always the same, always Isildur standing in front of him, but when Elendil tries to reach out, he vanishes in a cloud of smoke. Elendil wonders if this is a sign, but, if it is, he does not have the skills to decipher it. Perhaps it is Isildur telling his father to let him go. But this is the one thing Elendil cannot do.

Eärien still tries her best to avoid him and, sometimes even Anárion as well, clearly holding him just as much responsible for Isildur's death. There is something else, Elendil is sure, a shadow behind his daughter's eyes that has nothing to do with Isildur. Eärien carries a secret of her own, but Elendil knows she will not share it with him. He has lost his daughter to Phârazon and his convictions. Elendil could argue with her, could accuse her of disloyalty against her family and their age-old beliefs, but what good would that do? He has taught his children to think for themselves, and, if this is what Eärien thinks and believes, what right has he to reproach her?

One morning, Eärien leaves a piece of paper for him on the table. Elendil glances at it, and notices it is a drawing of Isildur. He's standing on the shore with the sea at his back, his hair flowing in the wind. He is smiling, that half smile of his that always made his mother shake her head. Watch out for that one, Elendil, she would often say. He's up to something again.

Elendil is at first hesitant to touch the drawing, afraid it will burst into flames in front of him. He finally reaches out and picks it up gently, as if he is holding the most precious thing in the entire world.

Then he is sitting at the table, clutching the drawing in his hand, and weeping as he cannot remember ever weeping before. He cries for the things he has lost and the things he still has to lose, for the wife taken by the sea and the son perished in the flames, for choices he knows he will be forced to make and sacrifices still to be asked of him. There is not much healing in his tears, but they do bring a certain amount of relief, and maybe, for a loss like his, that is all Elendil can hope for.

He takes the drawing and puts it away in his room. When Eärien gets back that evening, she does not mention it. Elendil thinks briefly that he should thank her for the gift, but then realizes that is the last thing Eärien wants. The drawing is an acknowledgement of her father's grief and proof of an uneasy truce between them. But it is not forgiveness. It is not absolution, and Elendil knows he has no right to expect Eärien to give him more than she is able to offer.

xxXXxxx

One morning, about two months after the return of the disastrous expeditionary force to the Southlands, Elendil wakes up with the feeling of something looming over him, some doom, some change he cannot pinpoint but knows is there. Outside everything looks normal, but Elendil has already learned not to allow himself to be deceived by appearances.

He is out on the street when one of the guards suddenly stops him. Elendil cannot remember his name, he is Armenelos-born and young, maybe about Anárion's age, if not even younger. He is fidgeting nervously.

"Captain," he says, "The relief ship from Pelargir has arrived. We've picked up some survivors from the blast, people we thought were lost for good."

The last thing Elendil wants to be reminded of is that day in the Southlands, but others will find peace today, even if this is not in the cards for him, and this is important.

"Good," he says. "Then go let their families know, they should have their loved ones meet them at the docks."

The guard shifted from foot to foot.

"This is what I was doing, Captain. Sir…your son…Isildur, he is one of them. he is alive."

Elendil cannot believe it. He thinks this is a dream, or some cruel jest, and he does not dare to hope that there can be truth in the guard's words. Then, he does what he is best at: he tries to remain in control, as much as he can. He tells the guard to find Eärien and Anárion, and heads for the docks.

He all but runs to get there. People glance at him, probably surprised by his uncharacteristic behavior. By the time he reaches the docks, word has already spread. Everyone moves aside from his path. He can hear the whispers, but he does not listen to them. He is both hopeful and terrified and he does not know what he will do if this sliver of hope turns out to be false.

Isildur is one of the last to step onto the shore and stops as soon as he spots his father. He is thinner and paler than Elendil remembers him and there are memories of darkness behind his eyes. But it is him, no doubt about it. His Isildur, his son, who found his way back home against all odds. The joy is painful and all-consuming, and Elendil does not know what to do with it. After two months of numb sadness and dreadful loneliness, he is not sure how he should respond to joy.

He is rooted to the spot. He cannot move, afraid that this is his dream again. If he reaches out, Isildur will vanish, for good this time, and then what will Elendil have left? Isildur does not move, either, but he calls for Elendil, and it is a call Elendil cannot ignore. He reaches out and touches Isildur's face, and it is warm, but with the warmth of life, not of devilish fire, and the discovery takes his breath away.

Elendil is brought back to the day Isildur was born, how proud and humbled he had been back then to be entrusted with this new life, how he had vowed to hold on to his son, to guide him and keep him safe for as long as he drew breath. Elendil thinks he might have wavered along the way, he might have allowed other things to come between him and his eldest son, but no more. Here is his second chance, and Elendil vows to himself not to squander it. Isildur has been returned to him. Elendil does not care how – he only sees it as his chance to do right by him this time, to stand by his side and support him no matter what.

Isildur makes to say something, but he seems to have lost his voice. It does not matter. They both reach out for each other at the same time, and before he knows it Elendil is holding on to his son with all his might. It is probably too tight, he is probably hurting him or, at least, making it difficult for him to breathe, but Elendil is afraid the world will shatter into a million pieces if he lets go now, and, anyway, Isildur isn't complaining, in fact he is holding on just as tight.

There is so much Elendil puts into that one embrace. Hope and joy and love, and gratitude – to the world, to Isildur, to whoever has deemed Elendil worthy enough to give him back his son. To draw away the veil of darkness that has covered Elendil's heart since that dreadful day of fire and shadows.

"Isil," he says, pronouncing the name as if it is a blessing.

His voice is shaking. He is crying, and he thinks Isildur is too. The world is moving on around them, but Elendil can only focus on this moment, when it's just him and his eldest son, his Isildur, who has braved fire and darkness and nightmare to come back to him.

Elendil holds on to his son, allowing this moment to wash away the sorrows and loneliness of these two months. He holds on, and he swears that this time, he will never let go.

-This was much more convoluted than Return to Life, but I think it works better like this. In Isildur's story, we had a straight, linear process towards homecoming and healing. With Elendil it's at best an attempt at adjusting on his part and coping, but I couldn't offer any true acceptance and healing in the short time frame I put in this story (two months isn't enough time for someone to come to terms with a loss of such magnitude).

-I was worried in episode 7 that Elendil might have an "angry period" when he might side with Pharazon, and I was relieved to see him pronounce his allegiance to the Faithful in episode 8. I think one of the reasons he does this is because he knows this is where Isildur's allegiance would have been also and he is trying to honor him.

-From the little we've seen of Eärien, she clearly favors more Pharazon's way of thinking, and she was against the expeditionary force. This leads me to expect some tension between her and Elendil in season 2, especially where Isildur is concerned. Also, whatever she saw in the Palantir, I'm willing to bet my new Fall of Numenor copy that I'm not supposed to know my brothers are getting me for Christmas that she's not going to share it with Elendil.

-I'm hoping we'll get to see Anárion sooner rather than later, and I think it's reasonable to assume that they'll at least try to get a hold of him to let him know what happened to his brother.

-I think this series deserves a proper conclusion. Something from both their povs about the days following Isildur's return and the family's period of adjustment (with some possible hints at unrest on the island). I'll probably have this done in the next few weeks or, at the latest, at the beginning of 2023.