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.