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.