Remember Tamar who was stirring up trouble in Numenor in episode 4? Would you like to meet him again :)? He's making a cameo in this chapter where he'll be his usual charming self. And Midnight the mastiff from "Relearning home" is also making an appearance, because I say so and he's awesome.
Chapter 2
They pull into harbor at dawn. Isildur is standing between Elendil and Valandil, nervous but elated. Elendil senses that his son is trying his hardest to remain in control of his emotions. He has also noticed Isildur glancing several times at the other captives who are coming home, as if to check how they are managing. He catches one of his reassuring smiles towards them and feels his heart soar with pride.
There are more people than usual in the harbor. News of their arrival has reached them and now they have come to see with their eyes whether they are, indeed, bringing more survivors from the Land of Shadows. Elendil feels almost guilty when he thinks of all those that will have their hopes crumble for a second time today. He remembers what he told Valandil: they are only bringing joy to a limited number of people, after all. But even this counts, he firmly tells himself. It has to count.
"Is Dinsír's family here?" Isildur wonders. "I should tell them…"
The messenger is never treated kindly when bringing such news. Dinsír's parents will forever resent Isildur if he is the one informing them of their son's death. Isildur does not need this, and neither do they. One day, it will ease their mind a little to speak to the man who was with their son during his final hours. They will need Isildur later, not now, when the only emotion they will feel for him is bitterness.
"Let me handle them," Elendil says, then noticing the frown on Isildur's face, adds quickly: "Trust me, it will be better both for you and for them if someone else brings them the news. You will talk to them later. That is when they will need you."
Only Amandil is waiting for them on the docks, and Elendil thinks this is a good choice, as having his enthusiastic siblings pounce on him as soon as he has set foot in Númenor might have been a little too overwhelming for Isildur. Amandil strides towards the two of them once they are on solid ground and folds Isildur in a strong embrace as soon as he gets within reach. Elendil notices with some concern that Isildur tenses slightly, but then appears to lean into the embrace only moments later, so Elendil decides that maybe there is no need to worry.
Amandil holds on to Isildur, his hands trembling, which surprises Elendil. Not because he thinks Amandil does not love his eldest grandson – no, for all the accusations Elendil has thrown in Amandil's facewhen he felt raw and torn apart and thought Amandil's calm was an insult to his grief and to Isildur's memory – he knows Amandil cares. Still, the resigned, steady air with which Amandil has tackled Isildur's death led Elendil to believe that his father had come to terms with the loss. Now, he understands that Amandil only hid his own sorrow – for Elendil's sake, so Elendil could pay attention to his own grief, and the grief of his surviving children.
Then Amandil pulls away, framing Isildur's face with his hands.
"Let me look at you," he says shakily. "Oh, you're home. You're home."
He takes Isildur in his arms again, then pulls away, still eyeing him critically. Elendil watches as Amandil seems to compare in his mind the memory he has of Isildur with what he sees now, relearning his grandson and who he has become. Amandil's eyes fix themselves on the staff.
"I do not really need this," Isildur says quickly.
Elendil makes a mental note to talk to Amandil and offer him Bronwyn's version concerning Isildur's health instead of Isildur's.
"Yes, he does," Elendil puts in. "For a while at least."
"I was only admiring its workmanship," Amandil says, probably guessing this is a topic that makes Isildur self-conscious, especially around so many people. "It looks quite exquisite."
"It was made especially for him," Elendil feels the need to say. "You will find that our Isil has made quite a few friends, father.
Elendil still has work to do now that the ship has docked, supervising the unloading of its cargo and of the horses (including Berek), and, of course, delivering the less than pleasant news to some of the families who have come to greet the ship in the hopes that their sons and daughters might be among the survivors from the Land of Shadows. He tells Amandil to take Isildur home, adding that he will join them as soon as he can.
He notices that Isildur balks at this idea immediately. He stammers something about staying on, after all, he can wait for Elendil, and he wants to wait for Berek too, and shouldn't they all leave together? Amandil quickly interferes.
"Come along now home, Isildur," he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There is no way of telling how long this will take. Anárion and Eärien are waiting for you. They have waited long enough, don't you think?"
Isildur bites his lips, clearly torn. In the end, however, he seems to agree to follow Amandil. They walk away from the docks, and Elendil notices that Isildur keeps throwing glances back at him. He tries to keep a smile on his face for Isildur's sake – but he is just as uneasy about having Isildur out of his sight.
xxxXXxxx
Isildur follows Amandil away from the harbor. At times, people brush against him, not meaning anything, as the streets of Armenelos are usually packed this time of morning. He schools his features, trying to keep his breath even and his fists from clenching. It is getting harder and harder when all he wants is to throttle those who are getting too close to him, and he does not even know why. When Amandil takes a side street, he is so relieved he could weep. It will take longer to get home by this route, but he is sure he would not have made it across the square.
It is Elendil's absence that bothers Isildur the most, and he does not know why. It is not as if they were together all the time at Pelargir. But Pelargir was a much smaller place, and for some reason it feels unexpectedly strange and lonely to navigate the streets of Armenelos without his father. It should not feel this way, Isildur thinks. He cannot cling to Elendil for the rest of his life. Besides, it is not as if he is alone with a complete stranger. He trusts Amandil, he tells himself. He trusts him and loves him and holds him in awe in ways he cannot explain. Still, he does not think he trusts anyone else the way he trusts Elendil.
"I worry about father," he finds himself saying.
He sees Amandil's steps falter. Still, Amandil's next words are calm, almost unconcerned:
"What exactly worries you?"
Isildur bites his lips. It is hard for him to explain. He can see Elendil is tired, that he looks as if he is barely sleeping, that he tries so hard to be steady and patient with Isildur and he is, he always is. But beyond this new understanding that is between them, Isildur senses his father's exhaustion. He does not know the dark journeys Elendil has been on in the month when he has thought his firstborn dead. But Isildur can sense that there has been darkness and is afraid that he cannot help Elendil all on his own.
Still, he wavers. He does not know if Elendil will appreciate him revealing any secrets to Amandil. But Amandil is the only person Isildur can turn to for help in this matter.
"It must have been a difficult month," he finally says. "Especially for him. Before we left for Middle-earth…we said some things to each other. I regretted what I said immediately – and I regretted it even more back there when I thought I would never have the chance to settle matters between me and him."
"Fathers and sons do quarrel, Isildur," Amandil points out reasonably. "I should know. I have had my fair share of quarrels with Elendil."
Isildur remembers them. He has often taken Amandil's side in those quarrels – and that had been the start of the widening rift between him and Elendil.
"I should have been on his side back then," he says. "Because he had his reasons, and I should have tried to learn them. For loyalty's sake if not for anything else. He is my father."
"You were keeping a different kind of loyalty," Amandil says. "Elendil did tell me you have always been loyal to Númenor. To its true ways."
A bitterness he cannot identify wells in his throat.
"And look where it got me."
In truth, he does not know why he has said this. He is still loyal to the true ways of Númenor, just as he now understands Elendil is as well.
"It cannot have been easy for him," he repeats. "Especially after he rescued Commander Galadriel. Especially after what followed – with Pharazôn breathing down his neck."
Amandil's sharp glance warns him that the open street is not the best place for such talk, which Isildur finds strange. Númenóreans are nothing if not outspoken, in Armenelos most of all. People can complain about the Queen and the chancellors to their heart's content right in the open square, no one stops them. Amandil's unspoken warning against openly criticizing Pharazôn does not bode well.
"It seems a lot has indeed changed since I was gone."
"And a lot will change now that you are back. I suppose your father has mentioned why Pharazôn wanted him to go to Pelargir?"
Isildur nods curtly.
"That is handled. And if you are afraid father had to renounce his honor in the deal he made with the Southlanders – don't be. He has done his utmost to make sure both Númenor and the colony come out at an advantage."
If Amandil is surprised that Isildur seems privy to his father's plans, he does not let it show. He seems more impressed by Isildur's newfound protectiveness towards Elendil. Isildur could tell him of the Land of Shadows, of that moment when he had discovered the overseer strangling Elendil, but even if he could make the words come out without him breaking down, what would this do to Amandil? He sees the way Elendil has been around him since the rescue, he understands that no parent would want to see their child in danger. No, he thinks, better for Amandil not to know. Or, at least, better if he does not find out from him. If Elendil feels the need to mention that moment to his father, that is his choice, and Isildur does not think he has the right to take it from him.
"Tell me something," Amandil says. "Has your father mentioned why he accepted Pharazôn's mission so readily, even though it made him uncomfortable?"
Isildur shrugs.
"I assume to protect you – and Anárion and Eärien. He mentioned threats against you, after all. Pharazôn hasn't bothered you, has he?"
He wonders uneasily what Amandil will think of his sudden fussing. But he cannot help himself. He has seen the way it can all go wrong: victory can turn to defeat in the blink of an eye, everything can end in fire, escape can come at a price too great to pay, and always there is sorrow and pain waiting in the shadows. Isildur knows he has escaped the orcs. He knows that he is home and safe, but "home" and "safe" have become almost foreign concepts to him. They are fragile. Númenor itself feels fragile and vulnerable, although he knows that if he tells Amandil this, Amandil might never understand. Nor will he understand the anxiety that seems forever lodged in Isildur's heart, showing him everything bad that could happen, everything that he could lose, every mistake he could still make.
"Pharazôn has not troubled us," Amandil says, and his voice is calm, although there is a trace of bemusement in it. "But this is not about Pharazôn, Isildur. The truth is, Elendil told me he was looking for a reason to go to Middle-earth. Because, he said, a part of him knew he needed to be there. For you. He said he cannot give you the peace you deserve from here – but maybe he could from Middle-earth."
Isildur stops dead in his tracks. He turns to look at Amandil, searching for the truth of his words, although of course Amandil would not lie. Elendil has not mentioned this, and perhaps he never would have, and Isildur has to wonder why. He feels overwhelmed, the thought that somewhere in his heart of hearts his father must have known he was alive is both marvelous and heartbreaking. Marvelous because Isildur feels like the most fortunate person in all of Arda, to be loved like that. Heartbreaking because now he knows for certain it was a long, sorrowful month for Elendil, and Isildur would never wish such pain upon his father. And yet, at the end of the day, Elendil had followed that voice telling him he should be in Middle-earth. Elendil had come for him. Isildur remembers the markings he has left on the map he gave Lania, ones that only his father would fully understand – and realizes with a jolt those have not been a coincidence. They were both reaching out to each other.
If Elendil was there, Isildur would have pulled him in his arms and never let go. He would have repeated over and over how thankful he was, how grateful that, despite everything he has said and did and the many ways in which he has disappointed his father, Elendil had still loved him enough to hold on to him, to reach out to him, to go to any lengths to bring him back. Isildur does not know what he has done to be worthy of all this, but he will spend his entire life trying to live up to it. He will.
Isildur's thoughts are broken by the approach of three men from further down the alley. Isildur does not think much of it, attributing the tendrils of uneasiness to his ever-present anxiety. This time, however, Amandil tenses as well and places his hand on Isildur's shoulder.
"Come now. We're expected at home."
Isildur does not really know the three, except by sight. One of them is Tamar, and he has quite the reputation in Armenelos. There are rumors that mothers warn their unruly children that they do not want to end up brawlers like Tamar, and that if there is a scandal somewhere in the city, then it is quite likely that Tamar has started it.
Tamar's eyes are already fixed on Isildur, and any hope Isildur might have had that they could simply pass each other and be on their way vanishes.
"Well, well," Tamar says. "Look who's here."
"We are rather in a hurry, Master Tamar," Amandil says. "So, my apologies, but we should be on our way. Maybe you should be too."
Tamar's lip curls.
"We don't take orders from you, old man. We don't take orders from your son. Not when the last time we did, he led this island to darkness and death."
"Hold on just a minute…" Isildur begins, indignation stirring within him, even though he knows he is playing Tamar's game by responding.
Tamar takes a few steps towards him. He is close, too close, Isildur thinks, and something dark wakes inside his mind, demanding to be let out.
The look Tamar gives Isildur is one full of contempt. He takes in everything: the changes in Isildur's face, the staff, the wary look. Judging from his smirk, he finds them quite amusing.
"So, you have hobbled back to Númenor, have you? Why not hobble all the way west where all the good little elf lovers are? We don't want the likes of you in Armenelos."
"The likes of me," Isildur repeats, that dark shape in his mind growing ever stronger. "I fought for Númenor. I've bled for Númenor."
Tamar is unmoved.
"You've bled for an Elf and a low man. Several low men, I suppose. You've put their lives above Númenórean lives."
The anger inside him is so strong, he feels the blood rushing in his ears. Dimly, he is aware of Amandil's hand of his shoulder, trying to draw him away from the confrontation. But Isildur only has eyes for Tamar.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Tamar smirks, looking at his two companions.
"We've heard it all, haven't we, lads? Valandil was nearly shouting it in the square. How you'd helped a Southlander girl escape and drew a map so whoever was at Pelargir could come and rescue you – and the rest of the captives, some of them Númenórean."
"Then it seems to me his behavior was beyond reproach," Amandil states. "Now, if you please…"
Tamar places himself in front of Isildur, preventing him from getting away. The sensation of being trapped leaves him breathless.
"Out of all the captives there, many of them Númenóreans, he chose to have a Southlander escape first."
"She was a child," Isildur protests. "Of course I put her first."
Tamar raises his eyebrows.
"So, you admit it, then. You put a Southlander above our own people – and now you expect to be welcomed home like a hero?"
Isildur shakes his head.
"I expect nothing of the kind."
Tamar looks him up and down. He is not that much taller than Isildur, but is obviously used to using his size and bulk as intimidation over others, something that Isildur is not used to doing – something that he knows his father would never think of doing. In fact, he uses the kind of tactics Isildur's mother would often scoff at, saying if one needed to resort to them, one has already lost everything he was trying to gain. Still, it has the desired effect with Isildur, as he feels himself tensing even more.
"How do we know you don't come home a traitor?"
The darkness battering against the edges of his mind bursts out. He clenches his staff, half-raising it and takes a step towards Tamar. Through a red fog, he glimpses Tamar's eyes widening, before Amandil wrenches him so hard to the side, he nearly upends him. To keep his balance, Isildur leans his weight fully on his injured leg. The pain is sharp, as it has not been since the early days, but it serves its purpose. The darkness retreats, the crimson fog dissipates, and he realizes with horror that he was getting ready to hit Tamar for all it was worth.
"We are going home," Amandil says firmly. "And you, master Tamar, surely you have customers waiting for you at the forge. If you lose them, you'll be complaining in the square again about how the entire world is set against you."
Tamar does not react, probably still too dazed by what Isildur was trying to do. Isildur has no idea what Tamar has seen in his eyes back there, but it was enough to cower him. This does not please him one bit. If anything, it frightens him.
Amandil leads him forward at a brisk pace. Isildur glances at him, but his grandfather's face is set in stone. Isildur cannot determine what he is thinking. It is clear, though, that Amandil is aware of how close Isildur has come to shedding blood in that alley.
Finally, when they are far enough from Tamar and the others, Amandil all but drags him into a narrow lane and leans him against the wall.
"We will wait here until you've settled down," Amandil says firmly. "You do not want Anárion and Eärien to see you like this."
Isildur runs his hands over his face. He is shaking, not from fear but from a bubbling anger that is coiled so tight inside him that for a moment he is sure he is going to be ill. His heart is thudding painfully against his chest. His hands keep clenching and unclenching, and he does not know what is happening to him. True, he has often been called out for having a volatile temper, but it has never been like this. He almost feels like a different person, one made of anger and fear, and he wonders if this is not the worst thing that has happened to him in the Land of Shadows. This is what they have turned him into.
He shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. Tamar's words ring in his ears.
"It wasn't fair. What he said to me…it wasn't fair."
He sounds like a spoiled child, and he hates himself for it. And it is even more mortifying when Amandil simply nods, as if he is humoring him. He searches for an explanation that would justify his behavior, because he does not want Amandil to think he has returned from the Land of Shadows a monster.
"Lania was in my cell when they put me there," he says. "And she was a child, and she was scared, and the world had not been kind to her, so I had to be. I had to watch over her, and protect her, and help her escape. Helping her was the one good thing that came out of my captivity, the one deed I know was right. He doesn't have the right to take away the one thing that was right. He doesn't!"
He feels Amandil's hands on his shoulders, hesitant at first, but it is enough to steady him a little.
"And it wasn't even true," he adds. "I helped her escape as much for Númenor's sake as for my own."
"What do you mean by that?"
Isildur hesitates. It is something he has not told Elendil – because he does not want to see the look on Elendil's face when he confesses one of the main reasons why he knew he needed to get Lania out of the orc camp as quickly as possible.
"Father will probably tell you this – or you will hear it from someone else who was there since, apparently, Armenelos loves their gossip. Several times the orcs wanted to take Lania away. I did not let them. They offered me a choice – me or her."
Amandil nods, urging Isildur to go on. Isildur does not seem to need to tell him what choice he made, every single time. He does not even try to mention that, at first, he had been tempted to make a different choice. That will haunt him for his entire life, but it is not what matters now.
"Well, they asked questions," he goes on, surprised by how detached he sounds, almost as if he is not speaking about himself. "And I never answered. No matter what…" he pauses and bites his lips. "But then one night it dawned on me: they could easily use other tactics. If they realized pain was not breaking me, maybe something else would. Perhaps at one point they would bring Lania there and threaten to hurt her if I did not give them information about Númenor. Or about the location of Pelargir."
He pauses and swallows harshly. Amandil's eyes are steady.
"I do not envy the position you were in," he comments. "It would not have been an easy choice."
Isildur shakes his head furiously.
"I know what you would say. It would have been one life to save many more others. But…but it was the one life I was responsible for. I had promised I would watch over her, and I know I have taken vows of loyalty to Númenor, but…Lania had no one. Except for me. And what right would I have had to put others ahead of her anyway?"
He does not know why he feels the need to say all of this to Amandil – who lives by a code so strict, it had caused plenty of conflicts between him and Elendil when Elendil had decided to distance himself from the West. It is not the need to justify himself – Isildur knows he has done the right thing where Lania is concerned. Still, he wants someone to know, to understand everything. To see the world as he was forced to see it for a month.
"As I have said, not an enviable position," Amandil repeats.
"I had to get her out of there before they used her against me," Isildur stresses.
Amandil's hands tighten on his shoulders.
"You did what had to be done," he says. "If it absolution you want, I do not think there is anything to absolve. If it is confirmation…"
But Isildur does not need confirmation. Not when he knows he has left Lania safely at Pelargir.
"I told you. This was the one thing I know I did right."
"I am sure there were others," Amandil says. "I do not know what happened to you there, Isildur. I do not even ask you to tell me, I have no such right. But by all accounts you held true to yourself. And that is no small thing."
And yet here they are, Isildur things ruefully. Instead of being home already, they are waiting in some back yard until Isildur gets his bearings after rising to the bait of some common street brawler.
"What happened before with Tamar…what nearly happened…I do not know what came over me…"
Amandil waves this aside quickly. His face is closed off.
"Never you mind that now. We should be on our way if we do not want your father to get home before you. He'll worry about where we got to."
Isildur wishes he could get more out of his grandfather – maybe a promise that whatever happened would not take place again, or maybe the assurance that Isildur is still the same, that he has not lost himself or become tainted by the darkness that surrounded him for a month. But, just like Elendil, Amandil always tells the truth. And Isildur worries there is a reason why he refuses to talk about his near-confrontation with Tamar.
xxXXXxxx
Eärien and Anárion seem to have a little disagreement over who gets to hug Isildur first, so they end up all holding each other in the open threshold, with anyone passing by to see them. Amandil, Isildur guesses, probably does not have the heart to tell them to wait until they are fully inside.
The darkness and anger that has been stirring in him since the encounter with Tamar finally dissipates. He can feel Anárion's heart beating next to his, and Eärien's hair is tickling his face, and they are holding him so tight, he feels they are trying to put him back together, wiping away the terrors of the past month and feeding his soul with a light he used to believe was lost to him forever.
xxXXXxx
It takes longer than expected to get everything sorted on the docks, and Elendil is relieved when he can finally get himself home. He sends a message to Queen Míriel requesting a leave of absence, adding that he will come to the palace the next day to discuss any matters concerning his absence, but that he respectfully wishes to have the chance today to get his son settled back home. He is certain Míriel will not hesitate to grant him this request. There is a pang of guilt, as there are many pressing matters at the palace and he has promised Míriel to stand by her side. But he cannot be in two places at once. The Queen has plenty of other councilors and some are Faithful. Isildur only has one father, and he needs his father right now more than the Queen needs the Captain of her Sea Guard.
When he gets home, he finds Isildur sitting between Anárion and Eärien, with Eärien's black mastiff, Midnight, at his feet. Midnight has never met Isildur before, as he was a gift from Amandil to his grieving granddaughter – although, Elendil recalls with some amusement, Anárion mentioned once that, in fact, Amandil's real intention was to have Midnight replace Kemen.
Until then, Midnight has ignored everyone in the household who is not Eärien, but Elendil is not too surprised he has taken to Isildur. He still remembers that time in Isildur's childhood when Isildur would return from his wanderings through the forest with something hidden in his coat, and his mother would shake her head in fond exasperation: And what have you brought this time, Isil? while Elendil was preparing to give his usual stern speech that whatever Isildur found outside was outside for a reason and would not thrive inside the house. Isildur would shake his head, pout, go out to put the baby fox or whatever else he had gotten hold of back where he had found it, then he would return home scowling and heartbroken. He would be fine in a few days and seem to understand that Elendil had a point. Until the next time something on four legs crossed his path, and it would all start all over again.
"It is good to see some things never change," he says, drawing attention to his arrival.
All three of his children look up and smile, even Eärien, who mouths a thank you to him, and the warmth inside Elendil reminds him of the summer days at their old house, with joy and laughter and never-ending songs.
The keen sense of joy lasts throughout the day. Isildur goes with Anárion to the stables to greet Berek, then Valandil drops by and shares a drink with Isildur and Anárion, then Isildur goes through Eärien's sketches of Tar-Palantír's death mask, pronouncing them exquisite and making Eärien blush with pleasure. He does not mention his time in Middle-earth but, Elendil notices, his siblings do not ask him questions, either.
The evening meal is a lively affair. For once, there is no vacant place at the table that they all think of but none dare to mention; no empty chair that Elendil did not have the heart to move aside, keeping it there for a month to torment him and remind him of what he had lost. Now Isildur is there with them, and it feels as if the crumbling threads that bound his family are being strengthened and pulled together.
Then comes the knock at the door and one of the palace messengers walks in. Elendil half-rises to meet him.
"Does the Queen summon me?" he asks, frowning.
It is not like Míriel to call him away from home when she knows how much he needs to be with his family now. Besides, he has already promised to come to the palace tomorrow. Unless something terrible has happened, and Elendil imagines conspiracies and talk of deposing. If Míriel is in danger, if they lose the Queen, it will be bad for the Faithful. The messenger, however, puts a stop to that particular worry.
"The summons is from Chancellor Pharazôn. And it is not for you, Captain, it is for your son."
Elendil raises his eyebrows.
"Anárion?" he asks mildly. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"
"Your other son, Captain," the messenger says.
Elendil tenses. He does not even dare to look at Isildur and see how he is taking this news.
"What did you just say?"
The messenger does not seem intimidated. He does seem slightly shamefaced that he has to deliver the message in the first place, so he probably is not one of Pharazôn's lackeys.
"The Chancellor requests your son's presence tomorrow for a private audience. He has just finished going over the report sent by the Captain of the garrison at Pelargir and would like to discuss it in detail with Isildur."
"Would he, now? To what end?"
The messenger shrugs.
"I am sure the Chancellor is only being thorough."
Elendil is ready to keep on protesting. He is not going to leave Isildur and Pharazôn alone in the same room, not with Isildur's state of mind being what it is. He stops, however, when he feels Isildur's restraining hand on his shoulder.
"It is alright," he says softly. "I can handle it."
Elendil turns to look at him, but his son's expression is completely blank. Elendil remembers he had worn the same expression before his meeting with the garrison commander. Isildur nods to the messenger.
"Feel free to let Chancellor Pharazôn know that I will be there tomorrow morning."
The messenger bows and leaves. Isildur's shoulders sag slightly, and he grimaces.
"I suppose it was to be expected," he reasons. "I spent a month in the enemy camp. There are bound to be questions."
"They shouldn't be questioning your loyalty, Isildur," Amandil says harshly.
Isildur shrugs.
"They're not. Yet."
He looks nervous. Eärien reaches for his hand. Elendil is glad that she does not try to justify Pharazôn's decision. It seems Isildur is still her first priority, just like always. Some things really do not change.
"Don't worry," Isildur says, meeting his eyes from across the table. "We'll get past this. It is just a meeting, after all."
It is amazing and maybe a little bit heartbreaking that Isildur finds it in him to comfort Elendil when it should have been the other way round. Elendil smiles and nods, because he does not want Isildur to sense his anxiety. The last thing his son needs is to borrow trouble from him.
Elendil exchanges a look with Amandil and notices his father is just as troubled. Pharazôn summoning Isildur like this, in his name and not Queen Míriel's does not bode well. It definitely feels like he is testing the waters and making the first moves against the Faithful and, despite how much Elendil has tried to keep his children out of the line of fire, it seems that he and his family were always meant to be in the middle of things.
Ever since I introduced Amandil in the first installment, I knew that I wanted him and Isildur to interact. From what we know from the Akallabeth, Isildur seemed to have a lot of respect towards Amandil and his opinions. So I wanted to explore their relationship, but to make it different from the one Isildur has with Elendil (or from the one Elendil has with Amandil). And since Amandil currently does not have the details of what Isildur has been through, there's bound to be a certain wariness, especially if Isildur behaves out of character.
Something that I have discovered ever since I wrote "Return to Life" is that I really enjoy coming up with snippets from Isil's childhood (and will continue to do so whenever possible, hehe).