11: Inside the Morimindon

The Morimindon rose sinister and brooding, looming over the city wall like a threat. In the darkness of the predawn night it felt even more threatening, even evil, to the Elf. It was indeed a tower, square rather than round, and possibly the tallest edifice in all of Númenórë. Its walls were sheer and smooth, with small windows spaced evenly around it.

"There are three hundred and sixty-six steps to the top," Boromir said suddenly, startling them somewhat, for they had maintained silence up til then.

"And we need to know this, why?" Laurendil asked with an amused voice.

Boromir shrugged. "Sorry... I just felt I needed to say something," he replied. "I... I have little memory of my stay here, but...."

"You were imprisoned here?" Vandiel asked in shocked horror.

Boromir nodded. "Yes, though not for long thanks to Lady Eärwen and others. It was just long enough for me to... to lose my sight."

Laurendil gripped the Man by the arm to steady him, lending him silent support. He could see the younger Númenórëans staring at the old man with mingled expressions of pity and horror, though the darkness was too complete for the Mortals to see each other’s expressions. Then Valandil visibly gulped. "I hope we’re not to late for Fiondil," he whispered.

Ercassë moaned, swaying beside Vandiel in horror at the thought of what might be happening to her brother. Vandiel grabbed her and held her tight. "Hush," she admonished the other girl softly. "Don’t think about it. We’re going to rescue him. That’s all that matters."

Laurendil saw Ercassë nod and gather her courage. "Let’s go," she said stiffly. "My brother is waiting for us, though he knows not that we are coming for him."

"He knows, lady," Boromir said firmly. "He knows, just as I knew help would come for me, whether it be in rescue or in release."

"Release?" Valandil asked, not sure what the Man meant.

Boromir nodded though perhaps only Laurendil could see it. "Release from life, young lord," the old retainer said soberly. "It can indeed be a gift under such circumstances."

"We must go," Laurendil said then, speaking softly yet with authority. "We dare not linger."

The others nodded and they set off again, letting Boromir lead them to the western face of the tower. "The guards are all on the other side," the steward explained to them. "There are a few who walk the parapets above." He pointed upward and in the lightening dark they could see that the tower was not completely smooth. Starting perhaps twenty or so feet from the ground was a parapet that wrapped around the tower. Another one could be seen further up and Boromir told them that there were five such parapets which were patrolled by the guards. "They will have just finished their final round and will be waiting for their relief," he said. "This is the time to enter the tower, when all are busy with the changing of the guard."

"How do we get in, then?" Valandil asked. "I remember not my daeradar or adar mentioning a secret entrance into the tower."

"Ah, most likely because they would not have needed such knowledge," Boromir said. "When the tower was first constructed, Lord Númendil managed to have his own people infiltrate the workers and they constructed a secret entrance right under the noses of the Arandili." He sounded rather smug about it and Laurendil couldn’t help but smile.

"I take it, you were one of those workers?" he asked.

Boromir gave the Elf a surprised look. "Me? Nay, lord, but my own daeradar and his brothers were involved, which is how I know about it."

"Then let us go," Laurendil said.

Boromir led them to a copse of alder and fir trees that lay outside the actual perimeter of the tower. A stone wall encircled the tower complex. It was nearly twelve feet high and Boromir told them that the walls were easily four feet thick. The steward brought them within the copse. "There is a hidden gate where these woods meet the wall," he told them. "Look for a lone beech amongst the alder and pine."

"How?" Vandiel asked in frustration. "It’s still too dark to see anything clearly."

"Then I will find it," Laurendil said. "Stay here until I call for you." Without waiting for an answer, the Elf moved silently away, brushing his hands against the trunks of the trees he passed, greeting them silently. He could feel their sleepy responses as he made his way along the wall. Finally he stopped. "Here," he called out quietly. "Over here."

He heard the Mortals blunder along, wondering that they could make so much noise even when attempting stealth. It did not take them long to find him, for, though it was still dark for them, already the eastern sky was lightening with the coming dawn and there was a greyish cast to the night.

"Here," he said again, as they came closer. "Here is the beech."

"How can you tell?" Ercassë asked in puzzlement. "It looks like all the other trees here."

Laurendil gave her a brilliant smile that they could see even in the dark. "But child," he said, "can you not hear the different song this one sings? Its voice is much sweeter than the alder and pine that surround it."

He could see the disbelief on their faces; even Boromir looked nonplused. "Besides," he couldn’t help adding with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "the veins of the leaves on this tree are stiffer and more prominent and are not as broad as those of the alder, and the bark has a different texture."

Before anyone else could respond to that, Boromir cleared his throat. "If it is as you say, lord, you should find one stone that juts out from the others by only a hair’s breadth. It will be somewhat at eye level for a Númenórëan."

"Valandil, do you check on the north side of the tree and I will check the south," Laurendil ordered and Valandil moved around to the other side of the beech to run his hands over the stonework. Laurendil did the same, readjusting his reach to what would be considered eye level for the typical Adan. As it was, Valandil found what they were looking for.

"Here," he whispered. "I think I found it."

They gathered around him and Boromir spoke. "Press the stone inward," he told the younger Man. Valandil did as he was bid and at first there was nothing, but then part of the wall silently moved out and Ercassë gave a small gasp as a doorway was revealed.

"There are no torches," Boromir informed them as he made his way to the opening. "You will have to be very careful as you make your way. Let the two maidens follow directly behind me."

"I will bring up the rear," Laurendil said.

"The door will close on its own," Boromir said. "Quickly now, for we have little time."

The two women followed the old steward, almost immediately gagging at the fetid air that surrounded them. "What’s that foul stench?" Vandiel asked as she entered the hidden way, covering her nose with her cloak.

"Fear... and death," her brother answered grimly, walking right behind her. "Hush now. We do not want the guards to find us."

There was no stair, they discovered. Instead, the way was a sloping narrow path that twisted at odd points. Nor was it smooth and the walls were dank. The fetid smell was nearly overpowering and they learned to breathe through their mouths. But the worst of it, besides the absolute darkness in which they traveled, were the muted sounds of wailing and occasional screams. Both women shuddered and Ercassë moaned her brother’s name more than once. Boromir was the least affected by the total darkness and his footsteps were sure. Eventually, they reached the end where the path leveled off and they came to a blank wall.

"There is a door here," Boromir said when he heard them all gather around him. "It is at the end of one hallway. At this level there are only a few corridors and I was told that Lord Fiondil’s cell is somewhere along this hall. We will have to be quiet in our search, for there will be guards, but they will be few."

"Who told you?" Ercassë asked. "How do they know where my brother lies?"

"There are those who are eager for bribes, my lady," Boromir said, the grim amusement in his voice evident even in the stygian darkness. "That is how my lady was able to rescue me from this hellish place where few ever see the light of day."

"How do we open the door?" Laurendil asked.

"Like this," Boromir said and there was the sound of fumbling and then they all winced and shut their eyes as a door opened and a light shone through the crack. It was not really all that bright, only a single lamp at the far end of the hall, but they had gotten used to the dark and so the light was a shock, though they recovered quickly enough.

Laurendil recovered more quickly than the mortals and saw a short corridor. There appeared to be only six cells, three to a side. "I’ll check the cells," he whispered. "The rest of you stay here." Such was the authority of his voice that the Mortals did not question his right to give them orders.

The cells were closed by doors with a grate set at eye level. Laurendil’s eyes could see well enough in the near darkness to tell that the first two cells were empty. He went to the next pair and found them also empty... or almost. In the cell on the left he could see the remains of a prisoner, its dried bleached bones covered by rags a testament to the poor Man’s fate. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a soft sigh. It was not quite a prayer, for what prayers did this long dead Mortal need from one of the Firstborn now? He gave himself a mental shake and moved down to the next cell. It too was empty. Crossing over to the last cell he glanced in and saw movement, though he could not see the person’s face.

He did not bother to alert the one within to his presence, but went silently back to his friends. "I have found him," he whispered. "He’s in the last cell on the right."

Ercassë and Vandiel gave short gasps of relief and Valandil smiled. Boromir, however, looked dubious. "Did you see a way to open the cell door, lord?"

"Nay, good Boromir," the Elf-lord said, "and even if there were a key, it would not open. There is a dire enchantment on the door itself. It will take some time for me to... neutralize it. Come. There is no point staying here."

With that he led them back to the cell. Ercassë was about to call out her brother’s name but Valandil quickly covered her mouth with his hand. "Hush," he admonished her severely. "There are guards about."

Ercassë glared at the young Man but finally nodded her understanding. Valandil slowly released her. Laurendil, meanwhile, was standing before the cell, his hands held chest high upon the door. The Mortals felt something intangible stir around them and they involuntarily took a step back. Laurendil’s eyes were closed now and his head was bent in concentration. There was a gathering of power that made the Mortals cringe, holding each other tightly and then Laurendil uttered a single word. Suddenly the pressure they had been feeling lifted and their senses cleared. They looked up to see Laurendil opening the door. Ercassë pulled away from the others and ran inside before Laurendil had time to stop her. All heard her startled gasp. Laurendil was the next inside, followed by the others.

The Elf looked upon a naked Mortal lying in straw, either sleeping or unconscious, his features similar enough to Ercassë’s that there was no doubt in his mind that he was staring at Fiondil Ardamirion. The young Man was covered with bruises and welts and it was obvious to the Elf that he had suffered torture. Ercassë knelt before her brother, her expression one of deep dismay.

"Oh, Fiondil!" she exclaimed. "What have they done to you?"

The young Man stirred and blinked, staring blankly at them. "Er-ercassë?" he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wh-what are you doing here, sister? Have... have they taken you as well?"

Before she could answer, her brother swooned and she took his head into her lap, tears streaming down her face as she rocked him gently. Laurendil was about to kneel beside her and check the young Man’s condition when he felt, rather than saw, movement to his left where the corner of the cell lay in deeper darkness.

He turned to face whoever crouched in the corner. "L-laurendil?" came the sound of a disbelieving voice, paper thin and hoarse, but clearly audible to the Elf.

Laurendil felt his world tilt at an impossible angle. "No!" he whispered in denial even as he moved to kneel before the shadowed figure. "No! You’re dead."

"It’s good to see you too, meldonya," the person said with faint amusement.

"Eärnur?" Laurendil whispered, not daring to believe what his eyes were telling him.

Eärnur, one-time Master Healer of Lórien, presumed lost at sea, nodded and smiled. "Yes, Laurendil, it is I." Then he smiled, his eyes glowing with barely suppressed mischief. "Did you miss me?"

****

Meldonya: My (male) friend.