The True Mission

After the launch, Tindomul followed Father and Atanamir to the private apartments within the Palace. A servant set a tray of wine goblets in front of them. Father leaned back in his chair. "I think that went pretty well."

"The new ship didn't sink," said Atanamir.

"I meant, there wasn't rioting between the two factions," said Father.

"The Faithful. What a bunch of Elf lovers. You know, Tindomul, with your clean-shaven jaw and long hair, you could pass for an Elf," said Atanamir.

Tindomul was proud of the blue-black hair that fell halfway down his back. He wasn't about to cut it."I may have Elvish blood, but that doesn't make me Elvish," he said, annoyed.

"I believe you. You don't act Elvish. I haven't seen you swear a really unfortunate oath, then kill your relatives. Oh wait, that would be us," said Atanamir.

Not funny. Tindomul was tall and slender, but he was Númenorian to the core of his being.

Tar-Ciryatan waved a hand to break it up. "Speaking of Elves, I heard a good one. How any Elves does it take to refill a lamp?" He waited. "It doesn't matter. They wouldn't actually refill the lamp, they'd just sit around lamenting about great it was in the old days before the oil ran out."

They finished the last course and the dishes were cleared away. The lamps burned low and began to sputter. Father dismissed the servants, then closed and bolted the door behind them. "We're alone now. We can speak openly."

"Is that a good idea?" asked Atanamir.

Tar-Ciryatan returned to his chair and rested a foot on the low table.

"Let's speak plainly. Tindomul, you will captain the ship. You'll sail west to Valinor, make landfall, and set foot on the beach. Once you're there, you'll collect a handful of sand and bring it back to Númenor. Whatever happens, don't be seen, and don't get caught."

Finally, behind closed doors, Father had said it aloud. They were going to break the Ban.

The Ban of the Valar. Men were forbidden to sail any further west than within sight of their own island. That was the closest they could hope to come to Undying Lands, home of the Valar. For a sea-faring nation, it was a hardship to stay within sight of land. For a culture preoccupied with mortality, it was was taunting and cruel.

No such constraint lay upon the Elves. The Elves were welcome to visit Undying Lands, home of the Valar. Consequently, the Elves were immortal, while Men aged and died. The Elves' favored status was the main source of friction between the two races.

Father continued. "We know the Undying Lands confer immortality. But does that mean setting foot on the beach, or going there to live? Will the effect wear off if …"

"Father, I want to sail West. I want to be the one to break the Ban." Atanamir stood rigidly, with his fists clenched at his sides.

"You're a courtier. You barely know how to pilot a boat. Tindomul's a famous mariner and explorer, the honor goes to him." Tar-Ciryatan's eyes narrowed.

Atanamir swept out of the room, and the door slammed behind him.

###

Tindomul never slept well, but tonight was particularly bad. He kept starting awake from dreams about the western seas, of waterfalls spilling over the edge of the world, of whirlpools that could devour a ship, of lightning bolts striking too close to the ship and threatening to splinter the mast.

He didn't need the astrologer to interpret his dreams for him. He was terrified about sailing to Valinor. He didn't dwell on it when he was around light and people, but alone at night, the fear weighed heavy on him.

The hiss of fabric against curtain rod reached him in his sleep. He struggled to come fully awake, but it was like trying to swim to the surface from deep underwater. His fingers closed around the dagger under the pillow. The heavy bed curtains gapped open, showing a triangle of moonlit sky against the darker shadows of the room.

The edge of the mattress sank beneath someone's substantial weight. Whatever it was had breath like rotten fish. A damp nose pushed under his chin, and something thump-thumped against the ceramic floor tiles. Griffin.

He moved over to let the great mastiff into the bed beside him. Griffin thought he was still a puppy, even though, by now, he outweighed his master. Tindomul draped an arm around him and fell into a dreamless sleep.