Peaceful Protest
Inside the palace, Tindomul found his father alone in his study. Tar-Ciryatan was reading a letter. Dozens more littered his desk.
"I've been flooded with messages from concerned citizens. Different handwriting, different words, but they all said the same thing. 'Don't break the Ban.' We tried to keep it quiet, but the midnight work on the new ship seems has stirred up the Faithful."
A servant knocked on the door. "Sir, a group of citizens requests an audience with you. They'd like to present a petition."
Tar-Ciryatan sighed. "Show them to the throne room. I'll be there in a moment." He turned to Tindomul. "This has to stop, or it will endanger the mission."
Tindomul followed Tar-Ciryatan to the throne room, then stood on the dais beside his father's throne, his hands on the hilt of his two-handed sword. The petitioner read from a scroll, and his supporters stood around him.
"I bring this petition from those of us who honor the old ways and who choose to obey the Valar." The man's face was pale and he was trembling, but his back was straight and he looked Tar-Ciryatan right in the eye.
###
That afternoon, Tindomul cut through the marketplace in the newer part of the city. The walls were painted deep reds and oranges, and the larger buildings were decorated with metal roofs.
In the center of the marketplace, a bronze statue of Tar-Ciryatan stood on a stone plinth. The statue captured him in mid-stride, the heel of his leading foot barely touching the stone. He carried a model ship, one of his own designs.
Among the handbills tacked to posts in the marketplace, the usual "lost dog" or "new shipment of silks just arrived" was something new. In huge letters, "Don't Break The Ban", stood above small print asserting that the Ban exists for a reason, the safety of every citizen on the Island.
Tindomul tore it off and crumpled in his hand. A row of ten more decorated a wall nearby. Identical handbills fluttered from every pillar in the market square.
In a corner of this market square, one of the Faithful stood on a crate, speaking to a dozen people crowded around him. Tindomul was too far away to catch the words of the speech, but the man was holding up his arms, and his face reflected strong emotion. As Tindomul watched, more people left the market stalls and drifted over to listen. This was not good.
###
Another day, another audience. Tindomul stood beside Tar-Ciryatan's throne. An assembly of the Faithful stood before the king, all of them in their most formal clothes, in the Elvish style.
A man stepped forward from the rest of the group. "We have a concern about the new ship. We believe it was built to sail to Valinor."
There was a long pause, and then Father spoke in his most soothing tones. "I assure you, the new ship has only one purpose, to carry messages to the Mainland," said Tar-Ciryatan. He lied easily. Tindomul was a little shocked.
"Will you give us your oath on that?" asked the man.
"I try to stay away from oaths. If you're familiar with the Elves and their doings, I'm sure you'll agree that swearing an oath can end very, very badly."