Chapter Twelve: Something Unexpected
There were many times on the voyage back when I took Gil-galad's scroll out of its chest and turned it over lovingly in my hands. It was the key to glory, worth more than all the seeing stones in the world, no question. But I dare not break the seal to read it for myself, lest the paranoid old man in Armenelos suspect foul play. How bad had my uncle's terror got in my absence? I was not looking forward to finding out.
"Only those who have something to hide need fear Tar-Palantír," said Elendil to me one day, as I sat in my cabin studying a detailed map of Mordor. I sighed. After his efforts in Lindon, I had thought he was learning.
"More than a few King's Men said much the same during the reign of Ar-Gimilzôr," I said wearily. "Look how that turned out for you Faithful. And shouldn't you be off being sea-sick somewhere?"
Elendil looked affronted. "Ar-Gimilzôr and Tar-Palantír cannot be compared!"
"That is true," I said. "My grandfather neglected a tree. My uncle had whole swathes of the nobility executed because he can't accept that his wife died of natural causes."
Elendil's no doubt stellar reply was interrupted by the arrival of our captain. "My lord, Meneltarma has been sighted," said the seaman.
"Excellent," I said. "It will not be long before we arrive in Andunië." The prospect of returning to Númenor was not as exciting as it been on my last voyage. Familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying goes.
The captain bowed and left.
"I cannot wait to tell everyone in Andunië about my encounter with High-King Gil-galad," said Elendil. "He was most generous."
"No doubt," I said. "Have you tried out the crystal balls yet?"
Elendil smiled. I would have called it smug, were it not for the fact that the lad was so damn naïve.
"No, Pharazôn, that is not how the stones work. You need to separate them out first. They communicate with each other."
"Bah," I said, going back to the map. "Give me a messenger on a fast horse over these Elvish playthings. There are things, Elendil, that Men were not meant to know or do, and tampering with Elvish devices is one of them." I remembered the look in Gil-galad's eyes, and shuddered.
Within the day, we had arrived at Andunië. Though the day was fine, the port was strangely quiet. A few fishermen glared at us as we made our way through the streets. I paid them no mind. On our arrival at Lord Numendil's Palace, Amandil came running down the steps towards us. Embracing his son, he looked as cheerful as I had ever seen him. Soon father and son were chatting away in Elvish about the journey and the adventures in Lindon. It amused me no end, however, to see Amandil look rather indignant when Elendil corrected his pronunciation.
Later that evening, with Elendil having gone to bed early, Amandil and I sat in the library and conversed over some wine.
"So how goes it in Númenor?" I said, sipping the passable vintage. "Is my uncle still hunting after traitors?"
"The treason trials have waned of late," said Amandil. He chewed his cheek thoughtfully. "But that is more to do with the King running out of people to accuse than any great relaxing of Tar-Palantír's zeal. The merchants are grumbling that the terror has been bad for business. "
"Good to know where their priorities lie," I said. Merchants are the same the world over. Men utterly without conscience who think only with their purses.
"Well," said Amandil, "it is more to do with people being too terrified to converse in public, lest they be accused of something. Many merchants were happy for a time to see their competition weeded out, but it is just that the King has dragged his purges out too long to help anybody."
I decided I had heard enough of the poor moneymen. "And my parents?" I asked. "Are they still well?"
Amandil shrugged. "The King has not touched them, as far as I know, but he is known to keep a very close watch on those who leave or enter your family estates. Wise men steer well clear of your family."
"Will I be allowed to visit them?" The prohibition imposed on me still made my blood boil.
"I do not know."
I resolved to find out. Taking my leave from Amandil a few days later, I rode to the family estates. The road was quiet, so I made good time. To my right loomed Meneltarma, cloaked in cloud, and as inscrutable as the madman in Armenelos. It was midday when I arrived. Pulling up outside the gates, I was relieved to find the old guard still in place. So, I thought, the King has seen fit to leave my family retainers alone. That was a start, anyway.
"Greetings, Lord Pharazôn," said the guard. He looked tired.
"Greetings," I said. "I have returned once more from Middle-earth. Am I still prohibited from entering?"
"The prohibition has been lifted," said the guard. "The King knew of your impending arrival, and decided to be magnanimous."
That was both relieving and terrifying. On one hand, it was nice to be able to see my parents; on the other, it was disturbing how swiftly news had come to Inziladûn. He had even had time to send out a messenger to announce his 'generosity'.
"A magnanimous Inziladûn is a dangerous Inziladûn," I muttered, riding on through.
My parents were thinner and visibly older, but both were overjoyed to see me. Notwithstanding that I was dealing with perhaps the two staunchest King's Men in the Empire, much to my amusement I was peppered with questions about Lindon, and Gil-galad.
"Yes," said my father, nodding approval as I told him of my encounter with the Elves. "Elves are dangerous creatures. Men are best leaving such monsters alone."
My mother smiled. "You have no idea how glad we are to see you, Pharazôn. Since the terror began, we have had almost no visitors."
I asked them if they knew of any reason as to why Inziladûn may have had a change of heart. They both shook their heads.
'Perhaps," said my mother, "Ar-Inziladûn has regained his sanity, and the terror is winding down."
"He never had his sanity," muttered my father.
After that, we talked long into the night. It felt good to sit there, carefree, and safe from the brutalities of the outside world. At last, I retired to bed. My dreams were vivid. I was standing there in Mordor, on the very plains of Gorgoroth, at the head of a vast army. Legions of orcs fell before my sword, and Sauron surrendered to us, his forces in utter rout. Laughing, I forced the defeated tyrant to watch as we burnt Barad-dûr. Why, I could almost smell it. Burning…
I awoke with a start. The sharp pang of smoke was in the air. With my old campaign instincts, I immediately shook off the grogginess of sleep. Yes, I realised, this was no dream: the house really was on fire, and I had no time to lose. Leaping from the bed, I ran to the storage chest, and grabbed the precious scroll. Then, having no time to dress, I went in search of my parents.
Wandering through the smoke-filled passage-ways that night was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, and I have been in many hair-raising situations. I had no idea where the fire had started, or how extensive it had become. All I knew was that I needed to find my parents. They were still asleep, it turned out, and it was only with great effort that I woke them.
Bundling them out of bed, I herded the pair downstairs. My father was coughing, and while it was not cold, he was shivering in his nightgown. My mother seemed to be faring better. Surprisingly, there were no household slaves to be seen: perhaps they were still abed, lying there unaware of the danger? Still, I thought, they could wait. Saving my parents was first priority. On reaching the ground floor, I was relieved to find the air somewhat clearer. I tried the front door. It was locked.
"Where is the key?" I asked.
My mother coughed, and pointed to a nearby vase. I ran over and turned it upside down. No key fell out. The vase was empty.
"It is not here!" I said, vainly trying the door handle again. "We're locked in."
It is a terrible thing to hear one's own mother scream. The sound still rings in my ears to this day. My father had fallen to his knees. I knew in an instant that there was no use going back through the myriad passageways in search of one of the back entrances. I needed to find a way out and find it soon.
My eyes settled on a bronze sculpture. Suddenly having an idea, I lifted it with both hands, and swung it at a large window. The glass shattered. Then, as parents panted behind me, I got to work clearing the debris. I seemed to take an eternity, and I cut myself on shards numerous times, but finally I finished. The way was clear. Through the open window, cool night-time air blew into the room, and I savoured it as a man dying of thirst savours fresh water.
The next task was getting my parents out. Grabbing a nearby chair, I thumped it in front of the broken window. My father was still weak, but he was the first to climb out. He howled as his bare feet trod on fragments of glass, but there was no time to worry about that. Then my mother climbed out, followed by myself. We stumbled and ran out a safe distance into the front gardens. I turned to look at the house. The upper stories were now well-ablaze, and I could hear screams from within. Some slaves were awake then. Chattel though they were, I pitied them, for burning to death is indeed a horrible way to die.
The night air gave me goose-pimples. I shivered there, naked. Then my mother screamed again. I turned. My father had collapsed, clutching his chest. Pushing him onto his back, I beat frantically at his chest, trying to get his heart to start. But it was to no avail. My father, Gimilkhâd son of Ar-Gimilzôr, was dead.