The flicker of torches danced upon the stone streets. Tindalómë winced at the dull click the soles of her shoes made upon the hard surface. She chose the ones with leather soles in the hopes they could keep her presence concealed from the night watch. It was well known that anyone caught upon the streets at this hour would be arrested. The guard had become increasingly strict ever since the King returned from victory in Middle earth.

The heavy sound boots marching in unison reached Tindalómë’s ears, and not a moment too soon. Tindalómë ducked into a dark alley mere seconds before pair of armored guards walked by. They were close enough that she could have reached out and touched the bracers upon their arms. The maiden waited until the clank of armor and the stomp of boots was out of earshot before she slipped from the shadows. Thankfully the man she sought was not far from this place.

The marine layer from the sea made the cobbles of the street slick. The leather soles of Tindalómë’s shoes skidded a few times, almost sending her to the ground. But it was only when her father’s storehouse came into sight that she slowed down her pace. Tindalómë could see the faint flicker of a candle in the back window and breathed a sigh of relief. He was there after all. With a shaky hand, Tindalómë reached into her pocket to retrieve the key. She lifted a silent prayer that her father would not find the need for it this night before she had a chance to safely return it to his care before the morning sun began to redden the eastern horizon. Isildur stayed late this evening in order to finish the records of the latest imports. One of the messenger boys brought her a note that afternoon penned by Isildur to tell her it was of the utmost importance that she come to her father’s store and he would wait there for her.

The deadbolt clunked heavily into the door’s frame. The hinges screeched in protest as the door opened from the inside. Tindalómë exhaled sharply when strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She would have screeched in surprise had that familiar set of lips not smothered her own in a strong, but tender, grip. Once Tindalómë pulled back from the kiss she could see the gray eyes of her betrothed twinkle in the dim light provided by the candle.

"Good gracious, Isildur, you about frightened me out of my skin!"

Her exclamation was answered by Isildur’s arms as they wrapped tightly around her slender waist. "I would have gone out to search for you had you arrived even a second later."

Tindalómë frowned once she felt the limbs that encircled her tremble. Now that she had a clearer look at Isildur’s face she could see the anxiety reflect in his eyes.

"Isildur, what is it?"

Dark hair momentarily obscured her betrothed’s face when he shook his head. "They brought him back; the fool should have killed him when he had a chance!"

Tindalómë knit her brow in confusion. "I don’t understand, meleth nín. Who brought who back?"

A shadow seemed to cross Isildur’s face as a dark expression contorted his features. He pulled away from Tindalómë just long enough to shoot a wary glance out the window. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to snuff out the weak flame of the candle between his thumb and index finger.

"They’re going to burn Nimloth."

Tindalómë’s eyes went wide. "What? How did you learn of this?"

The pale moonlight shining through the window highlighted Isildur’s wry smile. "Amandil learned of it. Surely the King’s dark counselor would have his will if he succeeds in such a terrible plot. We can’t let them destroy something so sacred!"

"And what are you proposing we do about it?" Tindalómë said as she closed the distance between her and her betrothed. "You know it is death for any of us to set foot in the King’s court. None of us can even leave Rómenna without Pharazôn’s guards finding out. We can’t even see eachother in public anymore."

Tindalómë reached out to caress the side of her beloved’s face when he released a heavy sigh. Isildur had just asked Tindalómë’s father for her hand when Ar- Pharazôn decreed that all marriages would be conducted under an official of the new faith. No longer would Eru be invoked to bless the union. It was now also illegal for unwed lovers to share a bed, and any new marriage that was not made under the new faith was deemed illegitimate. The King’s servants in Rómenna had taken to recording news of betrothals, especially any made among those who refused to bow to the new god of this land. Of course such records were given to the King. Couples were suddenly imprisoned and tried for treason. Love was now a dangerous game to play, and the King’s eyes were everywhere. But even so, Isildur and Tindalómë remained unwavering and unafraid.

Their families sought to do all they could to protect the betrothal and keep it secret. The silver rings of betrothal were given in a private meeting then hidden away. It was too dangerous to wear them. Tindalómë’s father took Isildur as his apprentice and placed him in charge of his ships. No one would question the son of a mariner taking on such a job. Secretly, it enabled Isildur and Tindalómë to share a few brief moments together. The lovers’ exchanges were unfortunately filled with formal conversation. It was difficult to not allow their gaze to linger too long. Their hands could not even touch whenever the King’s guards lingered within sight.

"We cannot continue this way." Isildur muttered. It was clear to whom Isildur aimed his disdain. Even so, his tone caused Tindalómë to frown.

"Then what are we to do? You know what will happen to us if they find out."

"It is time we fought back then. They cannot expect me to malign my feelings for you by giving vows to that abomination they worship!" Isildur reached out to gently cup Tindalómë’s face in between his hands.

"We have never betrayed our alliances, or our own hearts. We have never made any lie of who, or what, we stand for, and yet they treat us no better than common criminals. I would die willingly before I saw everything that was good and pure in this land destroyed. I give my vows to the one who created us, and no other."

Tindalómë smiled sadly to hear Isildur’s bold proclamation. "I do not doubt you words, and you know I would not give my marriage vows to their false idol. But so long as Ar-Pharazôn’s laws remain, our union would always be in jeopardy. I could never bear your children; such a thing is difficult to hide from the ever-prying eyes that surround us now. Some of them already suspect us. You would be the first they would blame if it was ever discovered I was with child. What of our families? Shall we so selfishly place them in harm’s way?"

Isildur’s hands ghosted down Tindalómë’s arms until his fingers were able to interlace with hers. She could see the look in his eyes shift. For a brief moment Tindalómë thought she saw the moonlight reflect off a glimmer of hope. It was the first time she had seen hope within her betrothed’s eyes for a very long while, too long.

"I had a dream, Tindalómë. For so long I have lifted prayers to the Valar for their intervention, for some sign that they still held sway within this forsaken land. In my dream I saw Nimloth burning. Horrible storms followed, and the earth shook so that I could not stand upon my own two feet. I fear that terrible things are to come. There was so much death and suffering. A great darkness overcame the world around me, yet I was unable to turn my head to see what it was. I pleaded with the Valar to spare us, to spare the lives of those who have remained true. I know what I must do. Gladly would I do such a thing to show them my faith."

"And what is it you must do?" Tindalómë asked in a hesitant whisper. Isildur lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the slope between her knuckles.

"I stood with you underneath the branches of Nimloth. I saw it with my own eyes in my dream. The white tree was in full flower. Surely it is a sign from The Valar. They will protect us. I know without a doubt now that they will do this. We do not need to fear."

Tindalómë opened her mouth to answer, but a loud crash broke the silence before her words had a chance to come forth. In a flash, every muscle in her body tensed. The crash was followed by a loud thud that bounced off the walls of the storeroom. The familiar clank of metal armor soon followed, intensifying in sound as guards began to enter the building.

Fear washed over Tindalómë like a great wave. Her hand flew to the door handle, but Isildur grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to open the door. The sound of heavy footfalls approached the door. Tindalómë gasped and leapt back away from the door as if she was suddenly burned through her contact with it. Isildur’s tug upon her arm thrust her suddenly from the paralyzing terror.

"Up to the loft, hurry! I will handle this. Meanwhile, hide as best you can. No matter what happens, don’t come out until I come for you."

Tindalómë scurried up the ladder as best she could in her long skirts. Once she fully ascended to the roof space the ladder was swiftly removed and hidden away. Tindalómë hunched to prevent her head from banging against the rafters as she crawled into the darkest corner of the cramped storage space. Lines of bright light shone up through the tiny spaces between the floorboards. Tindalómë knelt to peer through one of the cracks to see the guards bore lamps. They rifled through her father’s things with little care, overturning expensive goods onto the floor. Tindalómë had to suppress a cry of shock when a guard hurled a pair of expensive crystal vases, shattering them into a thousand pieces that could never be mended.

"Might I help you gentleman?" Isildur’s voice rang out steady and unnerved over the commotion.

The guards stopped their destructive search for moment to stare at the tall man who dared stand in the way of their search. One of the King’s men took a long stride forward and thrust a folded sheet of parchment at Isildur’s chest as if were a dagger meant to cause harm rather than a mere piece of paper.

"The King has ordered that all of these goods and property be seized. All records are to be handed over immediately."

A dark look crossed Isildur’s face and he straightened to his full seven feet height. "This is a place of a business and my master is an honest man, trying to make a living like any of the rest of us. Under what charges would the King order his property seized?"

"Your master is suspected of treason." The guard sneered, regarding Isildur with utter distaste. "I would choose your words wisely, unless you wish to join him."

Tindalómë watched with horror as the guards continued to rifle through her father’s property. Despite her prayers, they managed to locate the drawer that contained letters from the Elves. The panic began to rise within her when the guard who threatened Isildur a moment prior held the rumpled pieces of parchment and flipped through the pages. For a moment she feared he would question Isildur about their presence. Somehow her prayers must have been heard in part, because the guard folded the letters into thirds and placed them within the large record books the guards took into their possession. Tindalómë noticed how the guards avoided Isildur’s searing gaze. Her betrothed stood a good head or two taller than many of the guards, and if his stature and strong-looking limbs weren’t enough to make them think twice about challenging him, then the look upon his face was enough to keep the cowards at bay.

Tindalómë could no longer watch. With as much care as she could manage, she crawled behind a pile of crates. She cursed herself for not thinking to grab the letters when she arrived this evening. Now the King had more than enough to do his worst to her father. The sound of crashes and thumping continued below for a little while longer before the horrible silence took over. Tindalómë wondered if the guards were gone, or they discovered her hiding place and waited for her in the darkness. A sudden crash caused Tindalómë to jump. For a moment she feared they had done something to Isildur after all, the silence only perpetuated her anxiety. The heavy quiet continued to squeeze the air out of the crawl space for a length of time that couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but felt like an eternity.

The floorboards of the small loft rattled as the heavy ladder was put back into place. Tindalómë shrank even further into the darkest shadows of the corner. She held her breath while someone ascended the rungs. This was it. They would discover her and take her away to whatever torment lay in wait for her in the King’s prisons. According to the town gossip, not even the women were spared from the most gruesome of torture devices. Tindalómë lifted a brief prayer to Eru for strength to endure whatever she must if it was indeed her fate to suffer at the hands of the King’s inquisitors.

"Tindalómë?"

Air forced its way out of Tindalómë’s lungs in a shaky sigh of relief. Never before had she been so glad to hear Isildur say her name. His voice was barely above a whisper. She dared to peek around the crates that hid her from sight. Isildur knelt in a hunched position in the tallest point of the crawl space, his height made it impossible for him to straighten his posture in such a small room. Tindalómë would have laughed at the almost comical sight in different circumstances. Instead she crawled across the floor as swiftly as her skirts would allow.

"We have to go now, quickly." Isildur whispered. He was about to reach for the ladder to help Tindalómë down first when the sound of shattering glass caused both of them to jump back from the trap door. The pungent scent of smoke quickly permeated the building along with the crackle of flames.

"Go! Go now!" Isildur was no longer whispering as he urged Tindalómë towards the ladder once more. The smoke stung her eyes and nose. She cried out in frustration when her foot managed to tangle in her skirts, with a loud sound of tearing fabric. Fortunately for Tindalómë her careful stitches held at the waistband, but the fabric did not. But there wasn’t time to fuss over the large hole in the waist of her gown that revealed the chemise underneath. So many more thoughts took predominance over the ruined garment. Much to Tindalómë’s horror, flames already engulfed both doorways to the storehouse.

"We’re trapped!" Tindalómë cried out in dismay. Isildur murmured a curse underneath his breath and looked about before he grabbed his betrothed’s hand and dragged her to a side window.

"Can you swim?"

At first Tindalómë wanted to berate Isildur for the hint of humor she heard in his voice. Now, of all times, was not the moment for jokes. But once the large window was thrown open she began to understand. Below them was a fall directly to the bay below. In normal circumstances Tindalómë would never jump from such a height, even if it wasn’t considered a fatal fall. But now she simply jumped onto the ledge and flashed Isildur a wry smile.

"It looks I will have to learn rather quickly won’t I?"

The shock on Isildur’s face was the last thing she saw before Tindalómë jumped into the darkness. She hit the water with a force that knocked the wind out of her lungs. Tindalómë floated in pitch black waters before she kicked her legs and moved her arms to propel herself back above the surface. The water was far colder than she expected and half of her motions were to try to keep warmth within her body than keep her afloat. She emerged just as a splash disturbed the surface of the water a few feet away from her, Isildur’s head bobbed above the water faster than hers had. Tindalómë’s attention as diverted away from her lack of swimming prowess once she caught sight of her father’s storehouse. Already the flames consumed a great deal of the building. Everything he had worked for was suddenly gone, so many costly goods destroyed without just cause or rational reason. The sensation of a wet hand upon her shoulder disturbed Tindalómë from her reverie. Suddenly she remembered the cold and the urgency to reach her home.

"I have to warn my father. They took the letters and they alone are enough to have him put to death." She called out while she paddled furiously for the shore.

"Tindalómë, wait."

Isildur’s voice was lost in the cacophony of thoughts that raced through Tindalómë’s brain. She needed every ounce of strength to reach her home before the king’s men. Her entire world depended on it. She raced towards the street once she emerged from the cold water. The frigid sensation of the open air caused her to run faster. It wasn’t until Isildur grabbed her arm that she remembered he was still with her.

"Tindalómë, wait. You cannot go there. You have no idea what those men will do to you if they find you there."

"I have to go!" Adrenaline rushed through Tindalómë’s veins, allowing her to pull away despite Isildur’s strength. Isildur called out to her again but she chose not to heed his calls. It never occurred to Tindalómë that she could be arrested for breaking curfew if the guards should find her. Instinct guided her to her home, but not even all the strength within her prepared her for what she found when her home came into sight.

The entire house was engulfed in flames. Without a doubt Tindalómë knew there was no chance for escape or survival if any remained within. A choked sob managed to break free past her lips as thoughts of her young siblings came to mind. Her young sister was still very much a child and would have been sleeping. Her brother was but an infant and had been with the family for no more than a year. Both of them would have been asleep in their beds where they were supposed to be safe. Tindalómë searched the yard with her eyes and noticed a crumpled form upon the stone pathway that led up to the house. Tindalómë cried out in despair once she recognized the clothing and features. She would have run to her father’s side if Isildur had not grabbed her arms and held her back.

Suddenly her knees felt weak and she collapsed into her betrothed’s arms when he pulled her close.

"I am here." His voice sounded far away even though Isildur was right beside her.

In that moment, Tindalómë felt utterly alone as the full realization of the situation came into focus. Her family was gone, along with every belonging she had ever owned. There was nothing Tindalómë could do but stare in shock as the flames forever erased the world she once knew.

It was only when the fire ebbed away to a dull red glow that Tindalómë allowed Isildur to guide her away from the fiery grave of her former life. Even though she looked away the images remained burned into her memory.

Isildur slowly pushed open the door to the room. Warm air blanketed his face from the fire within the hearth. The guest chambers were comfortably furnished, yet the room did not bear the cheer it should have. The curtains blocked the windows from sight, leaving the room cast in a mixture of deep shadows and orange glow from the flames. Isildur’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting within the four walls. Tindalómë was seated upon a couch near the fire. Her eyes reflected the flickering flames as they remained transfixed upon them. She made no motion or sound to acknowledge Isildur’s entrance, but simply blinked at regular intervals. Isildur wondered how soon she resumed the staring after he brought her breakfast to her early this morning.

His eyes shifted to the covered plate upon the small table near the couch. Isildur wondered if he dared to check the dish before removing it. He knew from experience the contents remained just as they were when they were put upon the plate. Isildur flicked his gaze to Tindalómë’s back.

"My lady, are you not feeling well?"

Isildur knew it might have been a ridiculous question to ask, considering the emotional trauma his betrothed endured over the past week. Maybe opening up a conversation with a simple question was a far wiser course of action than scolding Tindalómë for not eating. Besides, there were better ways of going about her care than treating her like child.

Tindalómë scrunched up her shoulders slightly before letting them fall. Isildur settled his weight onto the soft cushions of the couch and reached out to gently touch the maiden’s shoulder.

"Tindalómë, look at me." Isildur’s tone was a mixture of a gentle command and a half timid plea. Thankfully, Tindalómë shifted her position until her eyes were able to meet her betrothed’s. Isildur frowned to see how pale her face was even in the heavy shadows created by the firelight. Dark shadows formed crescent shapes underneath Tindalómë’s once bright eyes, but now they appeared to have wept away every last glimmer of light within them.

Tindalómë was a comely enough creature under normal circumstances. None would ever count her among the most striking beauties to dwell in Rómenna, but she was certainly not without her own graces or becoming features. What she lacked in physical beauty she by far made up in character and strength of mind and will. Even though she was still considered young by Númenórean reckoning, Tindalómë was one of the very few outside of Isildur’s family who was able to carry a conversation in either the grey and noble tongues of the Elves with her beloved. Isildur could not deny his pride, and not to mention utter relief, when she knew a bottomry and spanker had nothing to do with a house of ill repute, especially when referencing a ship. From the moment he heard Tindalómë give orders to both the boatswain, and the supercargo, Isildur knew he was utterly smitten.

But on this day a ghost of Isildur’s witty bookworm sat before him. Not only was Tindalómë’s face drawn and pale, both her dark hair and dress were a rumpled mess. Isildur could see Tindalómë’s gown appeared even looser upon her already slender form. His hands reached up slowly until they could cup around the sides of her face, his thumb slowly traced an invisible line across her cheek.

"I know you carry a seemingly impossible burden, meleth nín, but there are those who worry greatly for you. I worry for you. You don’t have to carry this weight alone."

Isildur tilted his head forward until his brow touched Tindalómë’s. "Won’t you speak with me?"

A warm droplet fell onto Isildur’s hand followed by another. His thumb moved in a slow circle along Tindalómë’s cheek in order to wipe away the falling moisture. "We have always been able to speak freely with one another. Has that not changed?"

Tindalómë slowly shook her head from side to side before she lifted it so their eyes met. "It has not changed, yet I do not know where to start, or what to say."

Isildur nodded slowly and leaned forward to press his lips against Tindalómë’s temples. "Then I will not force you to speak, meleth nín. But will you eat for me?"

At last a tiny smile lifted the corners of Tindalómë’s lips. Isildur stood from his seat and held out his hand to his beloved. Hand in hand, they walked the short distance to the small table. Isildur pulled a chair back from the table’s edge before he offered it to Tindalómë and gently scooted it forward again once she was seated. His chair scraped slightly against the floor when Isildur scooted up towards the table. Isildur’s fingers hooked underneath the handle at the top of the domed cover and lifted it from the dish. A colorful array of fruits and cheeses were arranged upon the plate, along with a few slices of sweet scented breads.

"I thought the red berries would please you. I know they are your favorites." Isildur spoke gently as he placed some of the vivid red fruit onto a smaller plate and put it in front of Tindalómë. "These are unusually sweet for his time of year."

Isildur allowed a small sigh of relief when the smile on Tindalómë’s face grew a bit wider. Just as he predicted, she was unable to resist the call of one of her favorite foods. Isildur added a bit of the bread and cheese to Tindalómë’s plate and they vanished almost as quickly as the berries.

"There is something I want to show you, if you are willing." Isildur asked in an almost uncertain tone. His eyes met the curious glance of the pair of soft gray eyes across the table. He stood from his seat to once again offer Tindalómë his hand. Together they walked from the darkened chambers into the hallway. After a short walk they reached another door and Isildur turned on his heel so that he faced Tindalómë again.

"Now, close your eyes."

Isildur could not help but chuckle when Tindalómë flashed him a dumbfounded look before she abided to his wish. Her hand fumbled about in a clumsy search for Isildur’s so that he could guide her inside. Within the room was a comfortable library. All of the walls were lined with shelves containing rows of books. A large wooden table sat at one end of the room while a circle of large, plush chairs sat in front of the large fireplace.

"Here we are, open your eyes."

Isildur watched Tindalómë’s eyelids flutter and lift slight. A wide smile came to his face when her eyes went wide with awe. She inhaled sharply and spun around slow to try and get a look at every angle.

"Oh, Isildur! It’s incredible!" Tindalómë spoke in hushed awe.

Her tone caused Isildur’s heart to soar with pride. He leaned forward to brush his lips against the soft skin of Tindalómë’s cheek.

"I have labored upon this room for awhile. I wanted it to be a wedding gift, but considering circumstances; I thought you should have it now."

Isildur watched Tindalómë step towards one of the bookcases. One of her slender hands extended towards a shelf, her fingers brushed along the spines of the books as she walked from one end of the shelf to the other. Tindalómë allowed herself a tiny laugh. Whether it was out of joy or disbelief, Isildur did not know. His betrothed had only owned a small handful of books before this time, yet each one she held dear. From the way Tindalómë moved, Isildur could tell his gift pleased her greatly and was unexpected.

"Indeed, every single one is far more precious to me than any fine jewel you could have placed upon my brow or around my neck." Tindalómë turned around to face Isildur; her eyes were still wide with disbelief. "You could have been in such terrible trouble for seeking out such forms of literature. How did you possibly do it?"

Isildur turned his head towards the doorway of the library. His father and brother looked on with wide smiles and were soon joined by Isildur’s grandfather in the entrance to the room.

"I had help." Isildur murmured with a lopsided grin. "Besides, how many other causes are more noble to sail east for?"

Isildur’s grandfather, Amandil, took a few slow strides into the room and bowed his head to Tindalómë. "It warms my heart to see you join us once more, my lady. Gil-galad wished me to give you his blessings. He has also added a few volumes to your library as a wedding gift."

Amandil reached out to remove one of the larger volumes from the shelf and handed it to Tindalómë. Isildur looked over his betrothed’s shoulder so that he could inspect the fine book. The cover itself was a work of art. Gold and silver leaf was inlaid into the intricate embossed design of the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin. The contents were just as striking. The inside contained page after page of the elegant Elvish script, along with many breathtaking full color illustrations.

"I shall have to send a letter of gratitude to the Elven King. I have never owned such a priceless treasure before now." A happy smile came to Tindalómë’s face as she spoke. Isildur could not help but beam with pride to see his beloved’s smile. Every ounce of his hard work was worth that single smile, especially considering her current predicament. He leaned forward to place another kiss upon Tindalómë’s check and reached out to take her hand.

"And may it not be the last, meleth nín. I know you have endured much. But I hope you would know that you have a home, and a family, here as well. Despite your pain, there is much for you and I look forward to. It is my hope that you have not forgotten that."

Moisture glistened in Tindalómë’s eyes. Within her gray glance Isildur could see the mixture of unresolved grief and hope staring back at him. There were no words to properly address the multitude of questions Tindalómë’s tears asked. Instead, Isildur enfolded his beloved in his arms; his palm cupped the back of her head in a comforting manner once Tindalómë dropped it to his shoulder.

---------------------------------------------------

"It is far beyond an outrage now. He has is an utter fool to betray his alliances so, especially towards you, Grandfather."

Isildur’s eyes remained transfixed upon the dark red cordial within his glass while his brother spoke in anger. He could hear Amandil’s heavy sigh at Anárion’s passion. The tension hung heavy in the air, and seemed to increase with each day. Indeed there would be many a sleepless night in the future for the Faithful and their leaders, especially now that the Enemy dwelled in Armenelos the Golden.

"It is true that I am grieved to see Pharazôn take the path he has, but it would seem one poor decision has lead to another. But is the chance for repentance fully gone?" Amandil mused aloud. "I had hoped before that there was a chance for him. But now I see that such an opportunity has long passed."

Isildur looked up to see a stony expression upon his father’s face. "We should no longer concern ourselves with Pharazôn’s fate. I worry for those who have been banished to Rómenna. The guards’ watch becomes more intrusive, and now they have begun to act with greater violence towards the innocent. How many more families will face a similar fate to that which was forced upon Tindalómë’s household? No matter what Pharazôn’s vendetta is with us, young children should never be murdered with such blind rage and hatred."

The room was suddenly plunged to unbearable silence. Isildur stood wordlessly from his seat to stand beside an open window. The sound of the sea alone helped to ease the storm that took place within him. Isildur breathed in the salt air as the cool breeze lifted his long dark hair away from his face.

Nothing had been salvageable from the wreckage of Tindalómë’s home or her father’s storehouse. The very thought of that evening still made Isildur’s blood boil. In a single act of violence, the lives of children, servants, and Tindalómë’s parents were snuffed out. Isildur wondered how many more would be affected by Pharazôn’s tyranny, yet at the same time he wasn’t sure he wished to fully fathom what could come to pass. Acts of random violence seemed to be on the rise. It was clear that an unseen darkness was beginning to extend to all five corners of Númenor.

Isildur’s awareness returned to the voices within the room. The conversation shifted to Nimloth. Ever since he was a small boy, Isildur relished his grandfather’s stories. Once more, Amandil’s voice filled the room with color; his words brought the story to life like a painting within Isildur’s mind. Isildur could almost hear Yavanna’s song as she sang the two trees into existence. He could almost see the silver light of Telperion and the golden glow of Laurelin. Together they were the essence of all that was good and pure. For a moment Isildur stood on Ezellohar, basking in the combined glow of the trees. Above them shone the stars Varda created from the dew she collected from the trees. Even now Isildur could see them outside the window. He marveled how something so small, and seemingly insignificant, as water droplets on leaves could be something as awe inspiring as the pinpricks of light overhead. It was no wonder the stars drew the Elves to Valinor, for Isildur too wished witness the pure illumination of the two trees.

Isildur felt the images so strongly within his spirit that he nearly wept when Amandil spoke of the trees’ demise. It seemed all hope was lost, but then he looked up to see the full moon overhead and rejoiced. The light of Telperion still lived! The images of Nimloth from his dream returned. Once more he stood with his beloved underneath Nimloth’s branches. Isildur held the image in his mind for as long as possible, relishing in that envisioned moment, and grieved once it began to fade. But as it left a new seed of hope was planted along with an idea. Maybe he could not prevent Nimloth from being burned, but Amandil’s tale inspired a new plan. It would be dangerous, and some might call Isildur an utter fool for attempting it, but he had to try.

"Isildur? Will you not join us?" Anárion’s voice interrupted Isildur’s thoughts. He turned his head to face his younger brother. Isildur opened his mouth to answer. The words were at the tip of his tongue, yet they would not come. Isildur sighed heavily and shook his head before he departed from the room in silence.

Isildur’s steps did not halt until he reached his chambers. His back pressed against the door while he contemplated his plan. No doubt he would have to go to Armenelos. Going there was easy, but getting into the Kings court was another story. The Faithful were forbidden by law to enter the King’s court upon pain of death. Isildur moved to the wardrobe that stood at one end of the room. The doors opened with the usual creak of well-worn wood and metal. Isildur shoved aside the hanging garments so he could feel along the back wall of the large piece of furniture. The smooth wooden surface was interrupted by a rough edge and Isildur’s finger pried at it. A satisfied grin came to his face once a small door opened to reveal a hidden compartment tucked away in the back.

Isildur reached for a small pile of folded garments within the space. He once taught one of Pharazôn’s former esquires how to read and write. The young man had been wrongly accused by a jealous comrade and the esquire fled to Rómenna before he could be arrested. Isildur’s family had given the young man sanctuary until he finally took a ship to Middle earth. He and the lad were of similar size and height and the former esquire gave Isildur the uniform of his station as a gift of gratitude for Isildur’s teaching, claiming there would come a day when Isildur might have need of it. Even now Isildur murmured thanks to the lad for his sharp thinking.

Isildur pulled off his shirt and dropped in a heap upon the floor before he began to change into the gifted garments. A sigh of relief passed his lips to find that garments still fit. The tunic was a slightly snug across the chest, but it would do. Isildur turned to look at his reflection within a mirror and gave it a nod of satisfaction. A shorter cloak served as the finishing touch to his disguise. Isildur grabbed his sword and a curved dagger before he departed from his chambers. There was still one last task he had to attend to before he left.

The hallways would have been entirely darkened at this hour if it weren’t for a pair of lamps that cast a dim glow upon the floor and walls. Much of the household had retired by this hour of the evening an Isildur knew his departure was likely to go unhindered. He stopped at a particular doorway and opened the door slowly. Isildur peeked into the dark room before he entered fully. He could hear Tindalómë’s slow even breathing while she lay upon her bed. Soft light filled the room from the space made by the open curtains.

Isildur took slow and measured steps towards his betrothed’s bedside, his form casting a shadow over her body as he approached. For a long moment he stood there and simply watched her slumber. She appeared entirely at peace with the moonlight shining upon her face and her dark hair splayed out onto the white pillows. For a brief moment, Isildur held his breath. It was the first time he had ever seen Tindalómë in a state of rest like this, and somehow he would not have believed the image of her serene sleep would have captivated him so until now. Here before him slept the woman who would soon be his wife, his partner for the rest of his days. Isildur indulged himself in the idea of waking up and falling asleep by her side over the years to come. He tried to imagine their children and a warm smile came to his face. Yes, he was doing the right thing. He would do this deed for them, for they too deserved the chance to cherish the kin of divine creation.

Isildur did not dare to kiss Tindalómë, at least not at first, despite how much he desired to do so. But before long, his desire won the inner debate. After all, he would not leave her without a kiss before he went to achieve this perilous deed. Isildur’s lips brushed lightly against his betrothed’s. He lightly touched her cheek before departing from her side.

The road to Armenelos was deserted except for Isildur and his horse. But Isildur did not have the time to contemplate how alone he was, or even more alone he would soon be in the capital city. All he allowed himself to think about was his plan.

Author’s Note:  A bottomry is when a ship is used as collateral to fund a sea voyage. A boatswain is a crew member in charge of the ship’s equipment and maintenance. A supercargo is ship’s official in charge of business affairs. A spanker in reference to a ship is actually a sail on the mast nearest to the stern of a square-rigged ship.