The Fall of Numenor

[trolls' bane]

ooc. I guess I'll use ranges too. I'll add more tomorrow, if possible.

“Believe it or not, this was made by the man who taught your brother. Now, let’s git back to the subject. The basic reason e’re goin’ is to tear the city out from unner them, temporarily, of course, since Sauron will have his men out afer us once we march into the city bayin’ our ‘orns and trumpets, acting as if we were invited to some party or something. When that makes people nervous enough, we’ll send in the mumakil we captured in Middle-Earth. The sight of one mumak is frightening enough, even for a Numenorean. By then, Sauron will have men all over the place. And then…” a grin spread across his face, “…that’s where you come in. You ave some of that powder under yur old house, right? Well, while we’re causing enough confusion, you place bags of it aroun the city. Unfortunately, some must be placed under the city.”
“How can they be placed under the city? What would we tell the guards, ‘We’re digging in the middle of the marketplace or street because we’re building sewer?’ And why is that unfort --- oh, that’s what you mean? The sewer?”
“Yes, the sewer.”
“How do I find my way around?”
“You will have this,” said the other man, taking another piece of paper and unfolding it.
It was similar to the previous map, except underground structures were indicated rather than the city. All of the buildings were light so you could see underneath. Tunnels were indicated by double black lines, while basements and other underground rooms were shapes. Wells were indicated with their usual symbol and an added black line around them.
“You can also tie a rope to something near the entrance. We’ll also give you any lengths of the types of rope you will need.”
“How wide are the tunnels?”
“A range each.”
“That’s all I need to hear.”
“Then you won’t do it?”
“Yes, I have to, but I need a sharp pole, a long narrow oar, a box of long nails with loops, a large pick, a small pick, a hammer, a chisel, and as many bottles as possible. Oh, and I need a good pair of long boots and a boat.”
“A boat? How can you get a boat in? There’s no entrance large enough.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Do you see the river up in the corner of the map? Do you see where the sewer enters into the river?”
“But that opening is too narrow and it’s barred up. And it’s underwater. Since the current coming out is too strong because the passage narrows considerably, you’d be pushed out anyway.”
“I never even thought of entering there. I was going to enter here,” Sherlock said, pointing towards a near embankment area which was a few hundred feet upstream. “There’s a rock there, a large rock, which I placed there to block the entrance to a cave that I used to play in as a boy and later had to use it to hide in for several months to keep clear of the soldiers after me. There’s an area at the back of the cave that’s actually brick because when I dug further back I hit the sewer wall. The rock blocking the cave is rather flat, and light enough to push open if you were on the inside. I’ll need some men to come and help me, and two to come with me. I need to get there the night before, since I can’t just break open the walls of sewers and place bottles of powder in as I float by and actually trust them to stay.”
“Well, you seem to know more about what were doing than we do,” Erb said. Well, we’ll get you what you need, meanwhile, we’ll discuss how we free Boron…”

ooc. I'll post the first one from Nariel's, Fingolfin's, Charles's, Ivan's, and of course Beleg's.

[Valandil]

Esteldur's mind was clouded as he was led along through the streets of Armenelos. He was on his way to Sauron now, and that would be the end of him. He would be sacrificed in Sauron's infernal temple, to an evil being, in despite of his allegiance to the proper Valar. He wondered how his father had taken it. And he wondered how well he would hold up. He braced himself... to try to die as bravely as he might.

They reached the palace and he was still led along, past the guards, down the corridors, to the Great Chamber. He had been here a few times before. The last time was when Sauron had called him in to deliver the message to King Ar-Pharazon... the message he had ultimately destroyed.

"A prisoner for Lord Sauron!" proclaimed the lead guard of the three guiding him, to the guard at the door.

"Sauron is away... at the temple... offering sacrifices." Came the muted reply from the other. Not all men under Sauron's yoke were pleased with their duties... and with how things had been.

"Good, good!" said the first. "Better yet, for Sauron will surely put this one right on the altar! Perhaps we'll get to watch, boys!" he said with a laugh, which was met by the smiles of the two men holding Esteldur. 'Well...' he thought, 'I DID badly wound their companion. Perhaps my death will give them some pleasure... but I WILL be brave that their pleasure may be less!'

They returned back down the corridor and turned left at the next major crossing. They continued through other passages of the palace complex, working their way toward the exit which would place them on the path toward Sauron's Great Temple to Melkor.

As they passed another crossing, they heard the sharp command, "Halt!" The men drew up and turned. To their left, at the head of some steps down the side corridor stood a regal figure, surrounded by at least a half dozen other guards.

The voice had been that of a palace guard. But the regal figure now spoke. "Who is this youth that you men-at-arms lead to Sauron's despicable desolation?"

The man of the company replied, "A prisoner for Lord Sauron, Your Highness. He is wanted, for he has defied Sauron."

"It would be better if many more defied Sauron, and followed their consciences." replied the figure. "Release him to me... for I have a use for this one!"

"But... but Queen Miriel... we were ORDERED to take him to Sauron."

"SILENCE!" there was a pause, and all was quiet. "I hold that none other than Pharazon may counter MY orders... and HE not even rightly so! Release him to me now, IF you value your lives." She glanced at the men about her, who advanced a step forward, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

The men who had led Esteldur in departed quickly at that. One of Miriel's guard cut Esteldur's bonds and she spoke to him.

"You are a scribe, are you not? I know you... and I knew your parents. Come with me. Come - we must be swift!"

Miriel turned back down the corridor, followed by her personal guard and Esteldur, bringing up the rear.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Amariel sat in silence, watching the fire flicker on the hearth. Dinner had been a quiet, almost sullen affair, each one of them chewing and thinking, but little else. She had clean what pans and plates they had used, and tidied up the kitchen. The house belonged to someone else, even if they might never return.
Demaethor had left the room. Amariel did not know where he was bound, and was trying not to wonder. She had realized almost suddenly during dinner that Demaethor’s voice sent a little tingle to her heart- she liked it when he spoke, even though his words were often rough. And this vexed her. She did not wish to loose her heart to someone who probably did not care. To someone who, although a little kinder and certainly more honourable, did not seem to look at her any differently than any other man she had met in the past- as a thing to be used, and perhaps protected for a time, but only because it would be of use later. And yet she found her thoughts turning constantly to the doughty soldier. His melancholy at dinner pained her- the sadness she had seen in his eyes. She wanted to help- but quickly she threw that thought from her mind. No man was going to help himself to her, prey upon her sympathies to gain comfort at her expense.
Behirien was in the other room, resting. He looked better at dinner, Amariel thought. He had tried to make conversation a few times- but neither Demaethor nor Amariel were in the mood for talk.
Amariel’s thought turned to her brother. It happened almost suddenly- he was brought to her mind, and with his thought came a touch of fear to her heart. She dismissed it. He was headed into danger, yes, but she must remain strong, and keep hope. She prayed silently for his safe return, but even as she whispered, another pang of fear came to her heart. It was an almost tangible pain, and she rose from where she sat. Although she was loath to seek for comfort from anyone, Amariel found herself wishing Demaethor was there with her. Where was he, anyway?
Slowly she talked herself into going to the door and calling for the soldier. She was not doing it for herself, after all, but for her brother. It wasn’t that she was worried about the warrior, it wasn’t that she felt safer, more at rest, when he was with her- it was that Esteldur was in danger, she could feel it in her heart. Not the danger of what might happen, but danger of what was happening.
“Demaethor!” she called, even before she had thought it over. She trembled slightly. She would not loose another brother. She would not.

[Rosie Gamgee]

He came out of the darkness (a thick, boding cloud seemed to have settled over the sky, blocking the stars) suddenly, startling her. Amariel gasped, and then drew a quick breath to recover.
Demaethor stopped before her, a puzzled look on his face- like one who is first alarmed, and then perplexed. "What is it?" he asked her, almost softly. The gruffness in his voice was only from alarm, she thought. Amariel noticed that he had his sword drawn, though it was lowered by his side.
Trying to quell her racing heart- her own panic was not subsiding, but growing- Amariel stepped aside to let him walk in. "We must go," she said, attempting to keep her voice even and calm. No soldier was going to take the counsel of a frightened, panicky woman, she knew.
Demaethor walked inside, his fingers visibly tightening on his sword. His eyes took in the room as he paced to the windows, the doors, obviously trying to see what alarmed her. He turned at her words. "What is wrong?" he asked, this time a little more forcefully.
Amariel shook her head. "Put your sword up, my lord," she said. "The danger is not here."
Demaethor did as she requested, but the manner in which he did it told Amariel that he did not do it because she requested. He was angry because she was being vague. But how was she to describe a feeling to a soldier?
"My brother-" she tried to begin, but then suddenly urgency struck her heart. "Something draws nigh," she whispered, her eyes growing wide with fear. "We must go." Amariel recovered and began to move about the kitchen, gathering her things. Demaethor stared at her a moment, until she turned to him and fairly shouted, "NOW."
He turned and walked out of the door, saying something about horses. Amariel hardly heard him. The footsteps of nearing soldiers echoed in her heart.

[Rosie Gamgee]

The messenger felt as though he had been sentenced to death. He walked with the gait of a condemned man, and his shoulders sagged as if under a weighty burden. Why did he have to choose the short straw? The immense black doors loomed in front of him, and he drew in a breath, and could not help but fancy it might be among his last.

The doors opened, just a little, and he entered the chamber. It was dark, and smoke curled up in the vaulted ceiling and stained the air. A sable-clad page shouted, "A messenger from the prisoner-guard, my Lord Sauron!"

The fellow stepped back into the shadows, and the was silence like a great drop of black blood falling stealthily from a freshly withdraw blade. Then the drop came to the floor, as it were, and a black voice echoed up and down the chamber. The sound was enough to make one forget the words. "Let him come forth."

The messenger blinked, and then hurried toward the front of the chamber. He kept his eyes down, not wishing to see the figure he knew was seated before him.

"What is it?" the black voice said, and the sound stained the air more effectively than the smoke.

"The prisoner..." the messenger quailed. "Queen Miriel took him away, m'Lord."

The wrath of the dark figure was tangible- a roiling, seething rage. "Miriel." The word dripped with hate. The messenger gulped, but the voice continued, slowly, evilly. "Retribution will be swift."

[Valandil]

Once in the saddle, Demaethor paused but a moment. His common sense told him to take to the road in front of the farmhouse and on into the city, to have the greatest chance of meeting Esteldur on his way back. His heart however, like Amariel's, distrusted that way and feared that something wrong was afoot. Esteldur was over-long in returning and may have been discovered. To go that way might be heading straight into a trap.

The night was dark, and now a mist had arisen in the hours before dawn. It increased the sounds about them strangely. He signaled to Amariel and Behirien to advance slowly and quietly, then turned his mount to head across the fields behind them, at a gentle walk.

Before long, perhaps less than five minutes, they heard noises, amplified in degree, but indeterminate in direction. The fog obscured the farmhouse from view, but Demaethor suspected that was the source of the sounds. He veered his horse to the left, that they could take advantage of a small stand of mostly bare trees, if needful to keep them from being seen.

Behind the trees, Demaethor dismounted and watched. The sounds grew; first there had been men riding, then sharply whispered commands, now there were shouts and crashes, as though they were breaking in. Torches were lit and their carriers evidently scurried all about. Finally, after an apparent fruitless search, Demaethor heard two familiar voices... first, one of his own guardsmen:

"You have tricked us! Demaethor is not here..."

Then, Galdureth: "B-b-but he WAS! He must have gone!!"

"You have taken us out here for nothing, fool!"

"But... I already turned in ONE whom Sauron sought - why would I lie about another? Besides... I was to have a reward even for the first!"

"Take your reward then... a TRAITOR'S standard fee!"

The conversation came to an abrupt end... Demaethor knew the 'reward' that Galdureth would have bought for himself... he WAS a fool. Now it all fit together - his slackness, his ineptness... he had hoped to slow them and gain some sort of reward all along.

Meanwhile, Amariel had drawn close to Demaethor at the sound of Galdureth's voice. When he spoke of how he had 'turned in one' she buried her head against him and began to shake softly.

All they could do was wait. Demaethor thought them safe enough for now... 200 rangar or more from the house. If they could pick up the trail by torchlight, they would make enough noise about it - and the group could mount and flee - but to do so now would only draw attention to themselves.

They didn't need to wait long. In short order, the men had set their torches to the farmhouse, remounted and turned toward Armenelos.

"Amariel... Esteldur is betrayed, and I fault myself for it. You distrusted Galdureth and I saw not his faithlessness. Esteldur is now beyond our help. Shall we make for Romenna?"

Amariel took a moment to gather herself. Finally, resolved, she said, "No... we came in search of Anardil. Perhaps we can still take him. If not for him... none of my family...*choke*... is left to go with me."

They turned back toward the field and a further entrance to the city, leading their horses at first. In this day, leading so many extra horses in the city would draw notice, so Demaethor stopped and turned to Behirien.

"Behirien, art thou true, unlike thy companion, Galdureth?"

"I am true, my Lord Demaethor."

"Have you healed well enough to ride with speed?"

"I have, my Lord."

"Go then, straight for Romenna. Take thine own horse, and all these that we lead. Seek to find Elendil and to join him. Tell him that these horses are a gift to him from Demaethor, and that I will follow. Make all speed. Amariel and I will keep only our own horses and enter the city Armenelos, in search of her brother Anardil."

Behirien bowed on one knee and took one of Demaethor's hands into his own. "Yes Lord, I will be faithful in this. And I will make preparations for your coming."

There was only the faintest gray to the east... with perhaps a tint of red, when Behirien sped away toward that east, and Demaethor entered the city with Amariel.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

hi guys!!
room for one more?

[Rosie Gamgee]

ooc: LCoU, who do you want to play?

ic:
Amariel watched their last companion ride away. The horses moves swiftly as he spurred them on with a word, and soon they disappeared in the greyness.

The horse beside her, Demaethor's steed, turned at his command. Amariel did not stir, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her mind full of sorrow and anger. Demaethor had vowed Esteldur's safety. He had promised that her brother would be safe, and now... now it seemed all was lost. How could she make answer for all their lives: her brothers', her sister's? Tears sprang to her eyes, bitter and hot. She had let him go to the city. She had wanted the justification Esteldur's actions would bring; if he brought back Anardil and they three rode to safety, perhaps Amariel might be forgiven the loss of her sister and the death of her brother. How could she have lost him so selfishly?

Demaethor's gloved hand touched her bare fingers. The touch was almost gentle, but it brought her back to the present abruptly. "Come," he said, and his voice was soft. "We must go. For your brother."

Amariel's tears stung her reddening face. She twitched the reins and her horse spun around, reflecting her own indignance. "Do not speak to me of my brother, lord! He alone is left to me, and that is your doing, as you have admitted. You promised me Esteldur would return, and now he is lost with the rest of my kin." Her voice threatened to choke again, but she pressed on, her voice little more than a whisper. "I told you when he left that if any evil befell him, you would suffer it, too, and by my hand. That I will release you from, but only if you redeem your previous actions by aiding me now. Help me find Anardil, then let us away to Romenna, and trouble my family no more!" Sobs rose in her throat and she gasped for air, burying her fingers into her horse's mane. Amariel's head bent in distain of life. She clenched her teeth against the tears that threated to fall again. Please, she prayed, I beg thee: if mercy is to be found among the Valar, let me find Anardil alive!

The horses stamped impatiently, but neither Demaethor nor Amariel stirred for a space. At last she pressed her sleeve to her damp eyes and strove to breathe freely. The sky was brightening, she saw through her watery gaze. "Let us go," she said. "Lead and I follow." Demaethor remained speechless, but he directed his steed ahead, and Amariel followed.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

my character:
name - faligorn
race - numenorean
occupation - captain of ship, warrior
division - faithful
home - andunie
age - 47

hows that?

[Rosie Gamgee]

Sounds cool. Be advised, however: the Amariel/Demaethor side of this story is really slow in the going. Be prepared to have a lesson in patience if you want to post in that storyline.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

okey-doke! thanks for letting me join

someone will have to introduce me anyway, i am really bad at making introductory posts!!

[Valandil]

As he followed down the corridor, Esteldur felt as though his mind was spinning. He had left his sister and Demaethor just hours before, but it seemed like months (oc: ic: ), he had rescued his brother Anardil, found aid from Aegnarth, who should have opposed him, been betrayed by Gladureth, who should have helped him, been pursued and captured, led to be sacrificed by Sauron, then had himself been rescued by Queen Miriel... HERself!

As he struggled to catch up with himself - and to keep up with Miriel and her guard, he noticed that they were coming to a very familiar part of the palace complex. He was in the House of Lore, where the scribes lived and worked... where he himself was apprenticed! Once a beehive of activity, this part of the palace was now mostly deserted. It was early of course, but the sun would rise very soon, and the scribe apprentices - who were not so lucky as Esteldur to live so close (and to be the son of a great scribe like Nedron, his father had been), and therefore had to be quartered here - would normally be up and about, preparing for their daily duties under the supervision of a journeyman scribe. But the journeymen were here no more. they had all been made into soldiers and sent to the west of the island - to join Ar-Pharazon's Great Armament.

They halted, the Hall of Lore - the great library of Numenor - just before them, the sleeping quarters of his comrades just to their left. Miriel gave hushed instructions to one of her men, who then hurried off to the right. Then Miriel spotted a solitary figure... a lone boy who was on duty, another scribe's apprentice who was known to Esteldur, "YOU... boy! Come with us! You will assist us. Take as many of those sacks as you can carry." She pointed toward a pile of sacks which were used to carry scrolls.

It was Esteldur's best friend, Estelmo! They were about the same age - and they had delighted in their similar names from their first meeting, when they had first begun to learn their tasks as apprentices. Estelmo came meekly over to join them, surprised - but evidently pleased himself to recognize Esteldur. Esteldur winked at him, but then suddenly remembered... Estelmo was an orphan too. His parents also among the Faithful who had been slain in Sauron's purges.

The group proceeded into the Hall of Lore. Finally, in the main rotunda - where racks of scrolls lined the walls all around and tables with chairs for reading were placed, Miriel halted them and turned to address Esteldur. "I knew your father. He was a wise man - and great, when the heart is considered, and strength of conviction. He was slain, your family dispersed - and now, your own life is in jeopardy, is it not?"

"Y-y-yes," stammered Esteldur.

"You must go. You cannot stay here. My kinsman prepares to lead the last of the Faithful away from this forsaken Land of Gift... I know that he will take you with him. You will not go empty-handed!" Miriel began to turn away.

"B-but... my brother, my sister... Demaethor..." Esteldur had not spoken with the Queen before, and never with the King. He wasn't sure if it was OK to lodge even a minor objection.

Miriel turned back toward him. "Ah... you have companions. And even Demaethor is among the Faithful? Rumors have reached me that he is a wanted man. Nonetheless, there is nothing we can do for them, except... hope! And 'Hope' is what you are all about, is it not, young man?" Tall she was - for a woman, and though Esteldur was a bit above the middle height for one his age, she looked down as she looked into his eyes. She seemed to be reading him... and a faint smile crossed her face. Esteldur blushed beneath her gaze as she took note of his name... or was it that he was of the Faithful, that she played upon the word 'hope'?

Miriel continued, "Let us see now... thou wilt want these scrolls... some here of the Elder Days, when our forbears the Edain lived among the Eldar in Beleriand. And this - which tells of Elros and the ordering of this realm. Here is the story of Earendil... and this is ancient... ancient Elven lore of the world's very beginning. Here - this one is a record of Numenor's Kings. This one... well, I don't know if it's truly a love story, but it concerns King Aldarion." As she said each one, she pulled down one or more scrolls and handed them to Estelmo, who placed as many into a sack as it would hold, then picked up another sack.

"Now these - " she continued, moving to another rack of scrolls. "More practical, I would say... " she continued handing scrolls to Estelmo as she spoke, "Numenorean knowledge of building... healing... the sciences... mathematics... poetry and song... making of instruments... weapon-smithing, oh - that has instructions for making blades which are perilous to the most evil of Sauron's servants! Here are maps... and what is known of the peoples of Middle-earth... whither thou must go. We have room for more? Take this one then... and these here..." On she continued in this way, until their sacks were nearly full. The library itself seemed hardly de-nuded of its work though... there was much that could NOT be taken, but Esteldur knew as well that there were multiple copies and that Miriel had skillfully selected both those things which seemed most needful... and those things that would help any refugees... to remember who they WERE!

Esteldur pondered a bit, "But... how...??"

"Oh..." said Miriel, "How does The Queen know so much of the contents of this library, though you have not seen her here? Well... I readily admit that not all of Numenor's Queens have become so familiar with these works as I, but... I am myself of the Faithful, as was our last king, my father, Tar-Palantir. My cousin took my hand in marriage by force, in order to usurp the sceptre from that hand. Trust that our marriage has not been happy... yet I found solace in this place... nourishment for my heart... courage to go on, and to... hope!" She smiled once more, faintly. "Of late, as Sauron came into greater influence here, it brought undue attention for my visits to continue, so I stayed away. But I found a tutor... a conspirator who met with me, brought me those things I requested. I fear... it cost him his life."

Surprisingly, Queen Miriel's own voice quavered for a moment - or so it seemed to Esteldur - and her eyes grew moist. She quickly recovered though, brushed her hand across her face and smiled once more. "But now, is there anything that THOU wouldst choose to bring? What sort of duties didst thou hold here?"

"Well I... I... mostly dealt with deeds of property records and land surveys and ownership rights..." Esteldur didn't remember exactly when Miriel had slipped into calling him 'thou'... but also wasn't sure if he could address HER in such a familiar way.

"Of course! It sounds mundane... but there will be much land whither thou goest... here, these will get you started, and those over there."

Soon they were finished and turned to leave. Miriel spoke now to them all, "My coach comes, and horses for you guardsmen. We must be off." Then she faced Estelmo, "None must know of our coming here, and yet I am loathe to use my enemy's customs and have you slain." Esteldur shuddered at the thought of seeing his friend cut down before him. "Will you come with us? Have you ought to take with you?"

Estelmo seemed a bit shaken himself. "All I have... is my cloak, m'lady."

"Retrieve it then, and quickly! You," she gestured to a guard, "Go with him."

Miriel then faced Esteldur and raised an eyebrow. "We cannot, after all, leave your friend here now, can we?"

Esteldur felt he would wither under her gaze, but gathered himself to speak, "Whither do we go, My Queen?"

"To Romenna!"

[Rosie Gamgee]

(ooc: *Claps hands* Lovely, sir!)

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

Originally Posted by Last Child of Ungoliant

my character:
name - faligorn
race - numenorean
occupation - captain of ship, warrior
division - faithful
home - andunie
age - 47

hows that?

ooc: anyone need a boat trip to middle earth?
i am waiting at the docks
still terrible at making intro posts, if anyone wants to introduce me

[trolls' bane]

ooc: Oh, you joined this, Chrys? Cool! Well, after I catch up on reading this, I'll post where I left off. I'll continue on w/ Nariel/Fingolfin/Charles/Ivan and of course Beleg first, then switch back and forth as easily as possible. If you are in the docks at Romenna, then they will be there soon.

[Last Child of Ungoliant]

ooc: yes, faligorn was forced to leave his home in andunie around the same time as elendil and co were forced to move to romenna - he is a friend to isildur and anarion

[Rosie Gamgee]

ooc: Sorry Val, I'm posting.

ic:
Demaethor rode silently, and slowly. At this unearthly hour it was perhaps unwise to even take their horses through the cobblestoned streets of Armenelos. But, he told himself, they had need of haste. If they were heard… Well, when the soldiers who’d set the farmhouse ablaze behind them found that Demaethor was not there they probably assumed he had gone to the city, anyway.

Behind him, Demaethor could hear the gentle plodding of Amariel’s horse’s hooves. Guilt smote his heart. He had indeed promised the safety of her brother, and that had failed. It was not the first time Demaethor had made a miscalculation, but it was the first time that he had ever felt so strongly about it. Errors were a natural part of military operations- rescues or battles. But he was usually a shrewd judge of character, and he had entrusted the life of the young lad Esteldur to a treacherous man.

This made the captain remember Amariel’s premonition before he had sent the two into the city. She had judged Galdureth’s true nature well. And he had ignored her, tossing her a promise he had no right to make and no way to keep. He was sorry, more sorry than he could say, that he had hurt her. But apologies do not come often or easily to the mouths of generals.

He turned in the saddle a little to glance back at the woman. Amariel rode well, he thought. Her posture was excellent, although her shoulders sagged as if under a heavy weight. Her eyes watched the road, but her head was down, and he thought he caught the glisten of tears at her eyes. Her hair spilt over her shoulders and the reins in her hands. Demaethor suddenly wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through those beautiful tresses, to trace her jaw with his finger, to make her deep eyes look at him with love.

He stopped himself. He had no right to even think such thoughts. He had wronged her, and before he could lay claim to any of her affections he had to make right what had been done. His mind turned to pondering Esteldur’s situation. It was, perhaps, possible he could be saved. But if Galdureth had told the soldier’s he’d been in league with who the lad was, Esteldur could already be on his way to prison- or worse. Demaethor checked his thoughts, not willing to contemplate the ‘or worse’ just yet. The hour was late, and they might have simply kept the lad in custody until the morning. That was what he tried to hope, anyway.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Amariel followed Demaethor faithfully as they came into the city. They passed through the silent streets with little clatter from the horses’ shod hooves, and did not seem to attract any attention. But every shadow’s pensive gloom seemed to hide a threat, and Amariel’s breath began to come fast and shallow before that had gone very far. Her heart beat loudly and more than once she looked up to see if Demaethor could hear it in the silence. She swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry and cold. The only thought running through her frightened mind was for Esteldur. Something was happening to him; something, something, and she didn’t know what it was, only that he was in danger.

They came into a familiar part of the city- her family’s neighborhood. Amariel looked up and around, breathing deep. Same old smell, same air, same feeling. She felt her eyes grow warm again, almost picturing her parents walking in the streets, her brothers playing in the alley.

Abruptly the sick, nervous feeling in her gut disappeared. Relief washed over her, she knew not why, and she breathed a quiet sigh. Amariel blinked. Esteldur. Where was he now? she wondered as the worry in her heart began to subside. Hope began to creep back into her heart. Perhaps he was all right. Maybe he had escaped? She began to search every shadow, not for an enemy, but for her brother. Was he here?

“Amariel.” It was Demaethor’s whisper that broke into her thoughts. If she had listened when he said her name, she might have heard the softness in his voice, the tenderness. But she did not hear save her name spoken aloud, and she looked up. The captain had halted in the street, and he beckoned for her to come up beside him. She gently prodded her horse the few steps and then stopped.

Demaethor looked around, almost as if he hadn’t seen her. She thought for the smallest of moments that he looked embarrassed. Then he bent his glance on her. “Which of these is your street?” he said quietly.

She might have laughed, or even smiled, but his face, his voice- even his words- made her recoil with distrust and doubt. She prayed hard that Anardil would get out of this city alive. Lifting a finger, she pointed, and Demaethor nodded wordlessly and led them down the tight street. Amariel sighed and followed. She watched his shoulders from behind, following their movements as he twitched the reins. He was a strong man, a protector. His presence exuded safety, and she wished that she could feel that same protection. When she had broken down back at the farmhouse, when those horrid soldiers had slain Galdureth (she cursed his thought and wished his death had been slower), he had put his arms around her for the smallest of moments. She had missed that for too long- the solace of a man’s arms. Her father had been the chief one before- before. When she feared or when she cried, his embrace was always there to protect her. After that was only the clumsy, rude embraces of a hundred different men, none of whom cared for her feelings, seeing her as an object for their sick desires. Amariel had had to be her own protector for too long now. She had to be the one who cared for her little brothers, her sister- and now they were gone and their fates were on her head. She wanted, oh, how she wanted, to have someone relieve her of all that. Someone to take her in his arms and make her feel wanted, not ed after; to comfort her and even to love her.
She looked away from Demaethor, breaking her own thoughts. Now was not the time for self-pity. She looked up at the sky. It was brightening above the tall buildings here. Day was coming. They had to make haste.

A face caught her eye. There, in the window- but no, it was gone. She frowned, and then noticed the house to which the window belonged. Her house. It was deserted, empty and void. She could recall a thousand times when laughter had echoed within its walls, and now it was an empty, haunted shell. She looked up at the window again. That was her room.

“Is this the place?” Demaethor asked, noticing that she had stopped. He was looking back at her with a curious look on his face. She turned to him and shook her head.

"No, this is my house," she said. He continued to look at her, and she added, by way of explaination, "I thought I saw a face in the window." She led her horse up beside his again.

His look took on a different quality. "A face?" he whispered. "Are you certain?"

"Just a child's face- a little g.rl's, I think."

"How far is Aegnarth's dwelling from here?" he asked, looking about him. Amariel could see it from here, and pointed it out to him. He nodded, then dismounted. "Come." He held his hand out almost tentatively to help her dismount. Just as tentative, she slid her hand within the grasp of his big glove and stepped down. He released her hand quickly, and drew his sword. The slow, dark sound of metal sliding against metal made her cold. "We will go in," he said, and led her up the steps to the door which had once been so familiar to her. She swallowed hard as she stood there and watched him lift the latch. The door was unbarred, and it opened easily and noislessly, but for the little squeak that Amariel had all but forgotten. She suddenly remembered how it was that that squeak had announced the return of her father from his work each day, the departure of her mother to the market for food, and even the coming of the soldiers to tear her family apart. A lump formed in her throat as Demaethor entered the house almost as unfeelingly as they had, sword drawn and eyes sharp. She followed him inside, and the not knowing what to expect entering her own home frightened her.

[Rosie Gamgee]

They stepped silently into a small, dark enclosure beyond which was another set of doors. The walls if the small entryway had a row of hooks for hanging hats and cloaks. A pair of boots yet lay on the floor beneath them, covered in cobwebs and dust. Demaethor swallowed at the lonely sight. A creak sounded above him and a sprinkle of dust fell from the ceiling, illuminated by the pale dawn’s light filtering in through the open door. Amariel drew in a breath audibly, and Demaethor raised his sword a little higher and stepped through the second set of doors. Beyond was a wide room full of overturned and otherwise disheveled furniture. All had a shroud of dust upon it, even the floor.

Wait. Demaethor stopped and looked at the dirty floor, cobwebs glistening in the light of the windows. Here and there the dust had been disturbed- someone had walked through here recently; and from the looks of it more than one lone child. He followed the ‘trail’ and beckoned for Amariel to follow close behind him. Another creak and pop of a shifting floorboard rang out above them. Demaethor ignored it and walked a pace further. A growl and a hiss made him start. He whirled to his right sharply— and there was a slim, slinky black cat blinking at him with glowing eyes. Amariel stepped closer to see what had alarmed him and gasped in surprise. Demaethor moved on. When he came to the base of a wide stairway, more creaks sounded in the silence. Whispers reached his ears, but he could not hear what they were saying, or guess what sort of persons they belonged to.

Amariel came up beside him, and he turned toward her. But she was looking about, her face sad and her eyes full of memories. For her, he realized, this was not a building, but a dead, mouldering shell of a former life. His head turned sharply when a light footstep echoed on the stair. A shadow stood on the landing above them, silhouetted by the window behind it. Demaethor squinted, trying to guess if the shadows were cheating his eyes or if the shape before him was indeed the form of a ragged child. He didn’t need to wonder long.

“Mummy?” the form said, and his voice was that of a frightened young boy.

Before Demaethor could react, Amariel gasped, “Anardil!” and sprang up the stairs to clasp her brother in her arms.

Demaethor followed her up the stairs, slower and more cautiously. He detected a pair of little shadows lurking in a doorway just off of the landing. Two little gi.rls eyed him with wonder and fear. He tried to smile an assurance that he was not the bad guy, but the effect only made them back a little further into the shadow. Demaethor turned to Amariel and her brother. The little lad had thrown his arms about the woman and was embracing her almost as tight as she was embracing him. Amariel was drawing in deep breaths as she held onto him, and Demaethor could see she was fighting tears.

“Mummy, I’m glad you came,” Anardil’s little voice, muffled in his sister’s shoulder, said. Demaethor’s brow knit. Mummy?

Amariel pulled him back to search his face, obviously taking in all the things about his features that remained the same and all the things that had changed. She swallowed and ran a hand through the lad’s tangled hair. “It’s Amariel, baby,” she said softly. Demaethor started at the sound of her voice, its softness.

“Amariel,” the lad echoed, blinking up at her in the shadows. “Where’s Mummy and Father?”

The woman’s tears threatened to fall again, but she held them back admirably. “They’re not here, ‘Dilly. They’re not coming back.”

“But Esteldûr said I could see them soon.” Amariel glanced at Demaethor, almost as if for help. He knelt down beside Amariel so he could be eye-level with the boy. “Who are you?” he inquired with all the audacity a child his age was wont to have.

“His name is Demaethor,” Amariel said gently, before the captain could answer for himself. “He’s a soldier, just like you want to be.”

The lad’s look took on a suspicious nature as he eyed Demaethor. “He looks like the big men that took Esteldûr away.”

Demaethor winced, then shook his head. “I’m going to keep you safe from them,” he said, and the boy looked appreciative. Anardil reached up and took his sister’s hand, and she drew him to herself in a protective manner. Demaethor put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Lad, besides looking like me, what did the men that took your brother look like?” he asked. He needed to know if it was Sauron’s personal soldiers that had taken the boy or the city guard. “What livery did they wear?”

Anardil thought for a moment. “They had shiny swords. They made a lot of noise and yelled a lot. All of them had black surcoats.” He looked up at his sister. “Another man was pointing at ‘Steldûr who looked like him.” He gestured to the captain. “They chased ‘Steldûr down that way and then brought him back with his hands tied up.”

Demaethor’s heart sank. And as the weight of what the lad was saying sunk in, he bowed his head. Despair quickly gave way to a frothing anger; anger at his own stupidity. He wanted to kick something, to shout. But all he could do was stifle the groan that escaped his lips.

“What?” Amariel’s whisper was shrill, almost panicked. Demaethor knew she had read his despair. Anardil backed away from him and closer to his sister as the captain stood. “Where did they take him?” she demanded, knowing that Demaethor knew.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Demaethor, stout captain of hardy soldiers, veteran of many battles, could not summon the courage to look her in the eye. “Only Sauron’s soldiers wear black livery,” he told her. “They’ve taken him to the temple.”

Amariel stared, then shook her head. “You cannot know that for certain, lord.” She glanced about her, looking frightened and lost. Her breath was coming fast and Demaethor watched her vainly fight tears. “No, we must go after him; we must save him.” He reached a gloved hand out to steady her, but she shook her head more forcefully. “No; no. Perhaps they took him elsewhere- they cannot have taken him to Sauron.” Her voice was shrill and growing louder. “We must save him.”

He shook his head, catching her gaze and holding it. The truth hurt, but he had to tell her. “It’s too late, Amariel.”

Her eyes took on a mad, wild light. “No! We must go after him.” He shook his head and she cried, “My lord, please; he will die!”

Demaethor grasped her shoulders. Anardil stood by, tears in his own eyes, although he probably did not know why he was weeping. “He is dead already,” Demaethor said, his voice very quiet. Silence reigned for an eternity in a moment as her eyes melted.

Amariel began to choke. She sank to the floor and sobbed and gasped for breath, but no tears fell. Demaethor lowered himself beside her, unable to do otherwise; for her fingers had curled about his forearms, so much that her nails dug into his shirt and bit his arms. She continued to sob, shaking violently as her emotion possessed her. Demaethor hastily took off his gloves and moved a hand toward her. He bit his lip, and slowly and very gently cupped her face in his palm. As if his touch released something in her, Amariel leaned into his embrace and wept openly upon his shoulder. Anardil had moved close and was stroking his sister’s hair comfortingly, although, no doubt, the boy could not comprehend why she was weeping.

Amariel’s sobs were subsiding into shaky whimpers. Her grasp on his arms lessened and she pulled away a little. “I am sorry, my lord,” she gasped softly. Now she tried to regain herself, wiping the tears from her face and backing away. Demaethor let her go. She reached out to her brother and drew him close, sniffing. Demaethor glanced about him, realizing that the day was coming swiftly. The shadows had receded and the sun’s first light was in the window. He stood slowly.

“We must go,” he said quietly. He reached a hand down to the red-faced, tear-streaked woman who sat before him. “Come.”

She stood shakily, leaning on her brother and ignoring his extended hand. She took the strands of her hair that stuck to her wet face and pulled them behind her shoulders, drawing in deep breaths. Amariel took Anardil’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Demaethor shook his head.

“What about Silaewen and Olaewen?” Anardil said in a small voice.

Demaethor remembered the two little gi.rls and turned about to see them standing almost exactly where he had first seen them, their eyes as round and brimmed with wonder and curiosity as before. Amariel, seeing them for the first time, let out a little cry at their bedraggled appearance. “Have they no parents?” she asked, her voice strained and halting yet.

Anardil shook his head. “’Steldûr was going to take them with us.”

Demaethor raised his eyebrows. One child was one matter— but three? They only had two horses, and they were still nearly spent from yesterday’s ride. But he could not stand there very long contemplating those two children when they were staring up at him, knowing their fates were in his hands. Amariel was looking at him, awaiting his decision. He nodded mutely. “Let us go.”

“Come,” Amariel said, and held out her hand to the two. They came to her willingly, holding onto her hand as she followed Demaethor back through the house and outside. Once there he had Amariel mount her horse, then lifted the two gi.rls up to her. Demaethor smiled inwardly at Amariel’s motherly manner with them as they squirmed and fidgeted in the saddle in front of her.

“Here lad.” Demaethor turned to Anardil. “You’ll ride with me.”

Suddenly the pale morning’s silence was shattered by the clatter of armour and arms. A voice cried, “HOLD!” The cold ring of a sword being drawn echoed in the street. Demaethor turned sharply toward the sound.