Chapter Text
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Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I’ll sleep more easily by night.
— George R.R. Martin, “A Game of Thrones”
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On nights when Elendil could not sleep, he often found himself pacing back and forth high up on the parapets of the city, looking down on it from above. It gave him a sense of knowledge and control to watch over Pelargir from above, for he could see that the city was safe and its inhabitants at peace, whether they were in their beds or doing late night chores in the streets. It was not uncommon for some people to wait until nightfall to carry out physical tasks in order to avoid working too much under the sun, and Elendil could see them stepping outside their doors to tend to cleaning tasks or laundry. Many a mother was fond of pinning clothes out on the line at night to dry rather than during the day, allowing the fabrics to catch the sweet, cool scents of the nightly air and steep in them, so by the time the sun came around, the scents were embedded so deeply in the fabrics that the morning heat preserved them in place as they dried under newly blossoming rays of sunlight.
Elendil sighed, halting on the parapets, his eyes roving over the streets and rising upwards to the far walls that made up the main barricade of protection for the city. He was thinking of his sons and how it had been a while since he had heard from them, but the thoughts were soon pushed away from his mind as he noticed a commotion in the distance at the far gates on the north side of the city. Narrowing his eyes as he walked closer to the edge of the parapet, Elendil placed his hand upon the ledge and stared off into the distance to try and see more closely what was going on at the gate.
A clamor of cries rose at the gates. All of the nearby guards surged forward with weapons, no doubt demanding answers to certain questions. Who are you? What brings you here? What is your purpose? Standard questions any good guard would ask an unfamiliar face. However, Elendil noticed an argument erupting between the guards over the visitor. His interest was piqued as he wondered what they could possibly be arguing over in regards to him.
The dispute settled rather quickly, and the gates were lifted in response. One man was brought inside, patted down and searched as the gates came down behind him. From this distance, Elendil could not see his face or make out much of his appearance, but curiosity overwhelmed him at once to know the identity of their nightly visitor. What was this man, and what was his purpose in Pelargir?
Pushing himself away from the ledge of the parapet, Elendil made for the steps near the far end. He descended them swiftly, all thoughts driving him towards the north gate to discover the meaning behind this new mystery.
Traversing the city streets took time, even as he hurried, his hand reaching for his sword hilt and clenching it tightly between his fist. Elendil knew not what awaited him at the gates, but he would find out immediately.
When he reached them, it became evident that the fuss over their new visitor was because he was an Elf and not a man. Elendil could not recall ever meeting the Elf formally, but he briefly remembered the Elf’s face from his time in the Southlands many, many years ago. Other people were there, too. In fact, Lord Theo had arrived just shortly before Elendil’s approach, strolling up to the Elf with arms wide open and a large grin set upon his youthful features, dark eyes sparkling—as if the Elf was a long lost friend come back from war.
“Arondir!” Theo cried as he approached the Elf, and Elendil noticed a strange occurrence, then—the look in the Elf’s eyes was one of confusion as he took as a step back from Theo, and Theo, too, paused all of a sudden in the middle of his walk to release a laugh, albeit a nervous one.
“My old friend,” Theo told him, still attempting to smile. “Surely, it has not been so long that you do not remember me?”
Arondir furrowed his brow as he looked on at Theo, and it seemed to Elendil that the Elf had trouble recognizing the young man before him. It also drew Elendil’s own curiosity to the surface, for he wondered what had caused such a reaction within the Elf when Theo seemed to know him well enough to hug him.
“Of course not,” Arondir answered at last, his voice a dry and raspy intonation. He sounded parched to the core.
When Theo resumed his steps again, though carefully, Arondir did not back away this time. His furrowed brow deepened, as did the wary bafflement in his grey-green eyes, and slowly, Arondir opened his own arms to the young man to accept him into his arms and offer him an equal hug in return.
Theo remained cautious in his giving of the hug, taking his time to wrap his arms around the Elf rather than throw them around Arondir. They drew each other into a conscientious embrace, causing Elendil to narrow his own eyes at the scene as he wondered what was going on beneath the surface.
When they withdrew from each other, Arondir seemed to be breathing in quite heavily, his whole chest heaving.
“Do you have something to drink?” the Elf inquired, his thirst overwhelming him. “I am thirsty, and I have traveled far—”
“—Of course,” one of the guards announced, passing a leather water flagon with a side strap to Arondir. The Elf grasped it quickly, popping off the lid with his thumb and downing the cool liquid contents of leather flagon, the water spilling down his chin on both sides as he gulped it eagerly, his throat bobbing with each heady gulp.
“Where have you been?” Theo asked before Arondir was finished with the flagon. “We have searched for you and searched for you,” Theo continued, his voice growing pained just to speak of it. “Nigh on three years, we could not find you. My mother and I . . . ” His voice trailed off at the end, giving out at last and softening. “ . . . We thought you were dead.”
Arondir lowered the flagon from his mouth, lips parted and his chest still heaving. Elendil saw it, though he doubted anyone else did—but the look in Arondir’s eyes as they darted back and forth, gazing first at the stones of the pathway beneath his feet, was purposefully calculated and careful before he ever met Theo’s eyes again and answered the young man.
“I have been a captive in Mordor,” Arondir revealed, to a great and many gasp within the crowd surrounding him.
“ . . . And you escaped?” Elendil questioned next, wondering at the chances that a crew of scouting men and an Elf would manage an escape from the prison holes of Mordor separately such as this.
What were the chances?
Arondir cut his sharp grey-green eyes to Elendil, his chin half dipped forward as he regarded him closely. It was almost as if he were inspecting him with his cautious gaze, trying to figure out his mettle.
The Elf was not one to trust easily, it seemed.
“Yes,” Arondir admitted, his eyes never wavering from Elendil’s face. “I helped a great many Men escape the confines of those dreadful dungeons, and I almost escaped with them—but I was caught and thrown back in.”
Elendil narrowed his eyes. “How did you escape a second time?” he inquired next, unwavering as well.
Arondir’s eyes sparkled bright at the challenge. “I slipped a key,” he said.
Theo interrupted them immediately before it could get any further, stepping closer to Arondir and placing his hand upon the Elf’s shoulder.
“Arondir,” Theo announced loudly for all to hear, glancing amongst the faces in the gathering crowd around them, “has been a friend to Pelargir for many, many years. He is a loyal ally and friend of our people, and I have known him since I was a boy . . . ” Slowly, Theo’s eyes landed on Elendil almost as if to dare him to ask any more questions of Arondir. “We will invite him in and give him food and shelter. That is enough questioning for the night.”
Elendil did not issue any further queries. Instead, he bowed his head in respect towards the steward of the city, boy though he was. Theo was still a lord and the steward in his own right, and in the absence of King Halbrand, Theo was in charge of the city now.
It did not do to question his authority.
With the issue at hand mitigated, Theo raised his chin in satisfaction. He led the way to the city’s main citadel with Arondir and a few of the guards in tow, and Elendil, out of his curiosity, followed them.
He wanted to know more.
Arondir was escorted to the mess hall for evening scraps to be thrown together in a makeshift meal for him. Though starving as he was, he did not seem to mind them. The Elf hungrily devoured the leftovers, washing it all down with wine, and Elendil watched him until Theo approached, laying a hand upon Elendil’s shoulder to draw his attention away from Arondir and onto him.
“Are we good?” Theo inquired carefully, regarding Elendil with curiosity as he gazed at him.
“Yes, of course,” Elendil agreed. “If you say you have known him since you were a boy, then I trust your judgment in regards to his integrity. I apologize for any undue offense I may have caused you or your friend.”
“Hmm,” Theo hummed in reply. “I should like it if you apologize to him as well.”
Elendil bowed his head, keeping it downward as he spoke. “Of course,” he agreed without complaint. When Elendil looked up again, Theo was smiling at him, his youthful eyes sparkling once more with joviality.
“I am going to wake my mother,” Theo told him, lowering his hand to pat Elendil on the chest. “She has missed him greatly, too. Will you apologize to him while I am gone?”
Elendil bowed his head a second time. “My lord,” he said, agreeing to the request with the simple address.
Theo nodded his head, content with Elendil’s response. “I shall be back,” Theo said, turning the heels of his boots and disappearing with a swirl of his cloak behind him out of sight from the mess hall.
Glancing back towards the table at which Arondir sat, Elendil noticed some of the guards stayed behind with him. Despite his own misgivings, it seemed they also had some of their own. Never minding the idea that he was an Elf, but he had also been gone for years—and some of these Men likely did not know him.
Sighing deeply at himself, he approached the table, taking a seat across from Arondir.
The Elf looked up at him over his food, pausing in his movements, but still chewing what was in his mouth as he stared back at Elendil. There was a thick tension in the air. The Elf seemed mistrustful of all, and Elendil wondered at that, too. He had many questions in his mind, but first, an apology was due to keep the peace.
“My apologies for my behavior out there,” Elendil admitted gently. “I did not mean to offend you if I did.”
Arondir narrowed his eyes somewhat, but he kept chewing his food and swallowed it before answering him. “None taken,” the Elf said. “I am used to it.”
“Because you are an Elf?” Elendil pointed out, more curiosity overriding him at that statement, for such a statement meant that the Elf was used to being around Men rather than his own kind—other Elves.
Arondir tilted his head to the opposite side, his brow knitting together in a thoughtful look. “Yes,” he simply said.
Furrowing his brow at the next query that entered his mind, Elendil heard himself blurting it out before he could stop himself. “What has brought an Elf like yourself so far south to the realms of Men?”
Arondir’s suspicion faltered a little at that, and he sat back in his chair as he stared forward across the table at Elendil. “Who are you?” Arondir inquired back. “Tell me a bit about yourself first before I tell you any more about myself.”
Fair enough, Elendil thought. “I am Elendil, son of Amandil, of Númenor.”
Arondir narrowed his eyes once more. “What brings a lord of Númenor to Middle-earth?”
Elendil realized Arondir had no knowledge of what had happened to Númenor. He doubted it was because of his captivity, though. The island had been so far away from the shores of Middle-earth that unless one had lived close enough to the coastline to hear rumors but escape the devastation or had met a Man of Númenor after they had landed in Middle-earth and heard his tale, no one would know what had happened to his homeland. To speak of it again took great strength, even after all these years. In truth, Elendil did not wish to speak of it, but if he must to earn Arondir’s trust or learn more about the Elf, then perhaps it was worth it.
“I am no lord, though I am descended from lords,” Elendil revealed in solemn tones, “but Númenor is gone. Sunk into the sea by the devilry of Sauron himself.”
A look of pure shock spread across the Elf’s face as the light appeared to have dimmed in his eyes as well—what little light they had for the troubles he had seen in his captivity and his long journey here. Arondir could not hide it from Elendil. His mouth fell open as he stared forward in disbelief.
“So,” Arondir asked quietly, “that is where he’s been?”
“Yes,” Elendil agreed, “though now he has joined it in the sea.”
Arondir’s distrust grew at that, his eyes turning almost to slits. “No,” he countered. “No being so powerful would just sink into the sea with his destruction. I do not believe it. He escaped.”
Elendil shook his head. “There is no way,” he said. “My ships were the only ones that survived. All others perished under the gods’ wrath in the sea.”
Arondir did not budge in his conviction. “Then, he escaped on one of your ships.”
“Not possible,” Elendil shot back.
“Yes, it is possible,” Arondir challenged him.
“That devil never would have been allowed on board one of my ships—”
“How would you have known it was him?” Arondir asked calmly, catching Elendil off guard. “Rumors of old tales say he is a shape-shifter, and he may change his form at will to appear however he wills it—”
“—I saw his form in Númenor,” Elendil spat. “Regardless of his looks, he reeks of a foulness most obscene—”
“I bet he is right here under your nose,” Arondir said, his eyes sparkling to life with the revelation. It seemed to ignite some sort of fire within the Elf.
“Impossible,” Elendil snapped, his offense growing with each claim from Arondir.
“I think it is most likely,” Arondir interrupted, gesturing around the mess hall with one of his hands. “New city,” he added, “new faces. It is easiest to disappear right in front of your enemy than to be a hundred miles away. He holds more power if he stays here amongst his enemies, for he is not in Mordor. All this time I have been captive, he has not been there. His Ringwraiths, the Black Riders, they hold Mordor in his absence. Their leader is named Khamûl. Without their Dark Lord, Sauron, they answer to him.”
“Black Riders, you say?” Elendil asked carefully, all ears now that Arondir was talking and giving information to him in equal droves as well. “Do they call them that because they wear all black?”
“Yes, all black,” Arondir admitted, “from head to toe. You cannot see their faces under their hoods. I do not know if they have any. Faceless creatures, they are, and wordless. They do not speak hardly ever—” Suddenly, Arondir leaned forward onto the table to draw closer to Elendil as he lowered his voice, as if he were sharing a deep, dark secret. “—But when they do, it is with a ghastly rasp in which few ears can decipher their language.”
Elendil had heard a similar account from the rescued scouts in the infirmary. He placed his hand flat upon the table, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. “I have heard this account before from the other Men who escaped,” Elendil revealed, troubled by this knowledge. “They also reported a black-cloaked figure. One who did not speak, though. At least, not around them.”
“I hear much further than Men do,” Arondir said, tilting his head to the side.
Elendil sat in silence, absorbing all of the information as he cast his gaze down at the table in thought. He drummed his fingers along the smooth surface, deep in thought.
“What else has happened in my absence?” Arondir inquired next. “Will you inform me of the changes to Pelargir?”
“King Halbrand has returned,” Elendil offered, lifting his head to look Arondir in the eyes. This news, too, seemed to shock the Elf—worse than all the rest of it.
“After being—” Arondir paused, considering should he reveal this information he was about to speak. “—Captured,” came the answer, “by Sauron?”
Elendil narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “When did this happen?”
“Many, many years ago,” Arondir replied earnestly. “I was still in the city, then. Tension was rife with Mordor, and he took an expedition upriver with a scouting company. Their final destination was to be the Black Gate—but they never reached it, and they never returned. His company, slaughtered. Him, captured—if the word of the Enemy is anything to be believed.”
Slowly, Elendil shook his head. “That is not possible,” he said.
“It is,” Arondir shot back. “I was here when it happened. I would not lie about such things.”
Elendil flattened his hand against the table. “I do not call you a liar, but there must be some mistake,” he offered, looking Arondir in the eyes. “King Halbrand heard of our plight in Númenor with the False King, Ar-Pharazôn, and Sauron—captured by Pharazôn when he took his fleet to Middle-earth. They said Sauron surrendered to him, but I called it witchery. Sauron knew what he was doing. He did it intentionally. He came back with Pharazôn a prisoner, spoke his honeyed words in Pharazôn’s ear, concealing his poison, and then he became a High Priest, sacrificing our Men in the name of Melkor, claiming it would grant them immortality in the land where there is no death. King Halbrand came to Númenor to help us.” A look of hopelessness entered Elendil’s eyes as he lowered his gaze to the table again, sadly shaking his head. “I would not be here before you today if that were not true.”
Arondir sat silent for a long time.
“King Halbrand,” Arondir finally reasoned out loud, laying out the facts in order, “went missing, captured by Sauron, the same time Sauron went missing, captured by Pharazôn, and then Halbrand appeared in Númenor at the same time Sauron came to Númenor as Pharazôn’s prisoner?”
Elendil raised his eyes to Arondir, his fingers clenching into his palm. “What are you saying?”
“What are the odds?” Arondir asked carefully, lowering his voice so no one else could hear them. “Tell me, what are the odds of such a thing? King Halbrand escapes Númenor with you to come back and rule Pelargir once more after Sauron sinks Númenor into the sea? Why did he care to help you in the first place if he had just escaped being Sauron’s prisoner? It makes no sense why he did not immediately return home to his people to help rebuild. Instead, he goes straight to Númenor upon his freedom? With no army? No soldiers? No ships to aid you?” Arondir’s eyes clouded over as he slowly shook his head. “No true king would do such a thing.”
“What you speak is treason,” Elendil warned in a whisper. “For someone who just escaped captivity yourself, it is a dangerous claim to make.”
Slowly, Arondir shook his head. His sharp grey-green eyes never left Elendil. “I am not the only one in danger,” he whispered.
Their conversation, however, was cut short upon the return of Theo arm-in-arm with his mother, Lady Bronwyn. Elendil turned his head to look at their entrance into the mess hall, and the expression on Bronwyn’s face was one of great shock, great pain—and great relief, the flood of all three giving way to a bursting happiness inside of her.
She rushed forward, nearly tripping on her own two feet and catching herself before she fell. Arondir launched upright from where he sat, pausing only briefly before rushing headlong into Bronwyn’s wide open awaiting arms as she cried happily, laughing while the tears streamed down her face. Their embrace was intimate, and while Elendil felt happy for them, he also turned his eyes away from the sight to award them some privacy in their reunion.
What are the chances, he thought, of two Elf and Human unions in my lifetime?
The thought, however, gave Elendil great pause.
He heard footsteps approaching him, glancing up to see Theo strolling towards him with a smile on his face. Elendil smiled back, although halfheartedly. When Theo reached the seat in which Elendil sat, he clapped his hand upon Elendil’s shoulder, gripping it gently.
“How is he?” Theo asked all of a sudden, seemingly curious of the conversation they had in his absence.
“Weary,” Elendil admitted in softer tones. “He has been through a lot.”
“I imagine he has,” Theo said in agreement.
Elendil looked up at him. “He’s in good hands now,” he told the younger man. “He is safe with us—and back home.”
Theo gripped his shoulder a little tighter, shaking it somewhat in a rocking motion of comfort.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Theo replied, and he dropped his hand from Elendil’s shoulder.
Elendil glanced back over at Arondir and Bronwyn across the mess hall, witnessing the Elf cradle Bronwyn’s teary face in both of his hands, caressing her face. He swallowed nervously, quickly turning away from the sight once more.
“Are they married?” Elendil inquired, though not out of shame. There was a hopeful, uplifting quality to his voice as he spoke, but when he glanced up at Theo standing beside him, the young man’s lips were drawn thin. Theo shook his head as he gazed at his mother and Arondir.
“No,” Theo admitted, “they never married.”
“Do they care for one another?” came Elendil’s next question as he furrowed his brow. It seemed they quite cared much for one another.
Theo cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”
“Why have they not married, then?”
Theo appeared lost at such a question, not knowing how to answer it. He sighed, his shoulders heaving with the movement of his chest. “I don’t know,” Theo told him truthfully. “I believe, for Elves, it is quite complicated—the matter of marriage. They refuse to wed during times of war, and we have been at war for a long time now . . . ” Theo gazed wistfully at what lay before him, the image of Arondir in a tender embrace with his mother, the Elf’s arms encasing her in a hug against his chest as his chin laid atop her hair. “ . . . And so, as a result, he has never asked for her hand in marriage.”
“What are the odds?” Elendil added, leaning toward Theo as he whispered the question. “Two unions between Elves and Men during such times as these. It would seem the gods above put their hands behind it.”
“If only he would ask,” Theo agreed below his breath, and then the young man sighed again. “I think I will retire for the night. Do you mind keeping an eye on my old friend?”
“Of course, my lord,” Elendil said, bowing his head.
The words came easy to him. He wished to talk more with Arondir in private rather than be asked to step aside for the night. He would not know when he would get another chance alone with the Elf to continue their conversation about King Halbrand, so it was now or never to speak on it—while they had the time and the privacy before King Halbrand’s return from his holiday in Dor-en-Ernil with Queen Galadriel.
Galadriel, Elendil then remembered, his mouth falling open in shock that his thoughts had not yet drifted to her in all of this until just now. This news of King Halbrand would affect everyone within Pelargir, but Queen Galadriel—she was married to him. If the betrayal would wound anyone should the truth of it come out, it would be her most of all. If what Arondir said was true, how would Galadriel ever recover from the deceit and the trickery embedded in such a deep-seated betrayal of her trust? Elendil closed his mouth to swallow against the sudden dryness and building ache in the back of his throat.
Should he even entertain such thoughts without proof?
Elendil glanced up as his thoughts ran rampant, watching as Theo walked away from him across the mess hall to stop beside Arondir and his mother, Bronwyn, and give them one last goodnight—a handshake and a firm shoulder clap for Arondir, but a hug, specifically, for his mother. Bronwyn’s face was still tear-streaked, but she smiled with her eyes closed and her chin resting upon Theo’s shoulder as she embraced her son.
Happy, she was.
The conflict grew quietly within Elendil as Theo bid them goodnight and disappeared from the hall. Arondir guided Bronwyn back to the table with him, an arm around her waist and his hand barely holding her there, and then he pulled out a chair for her to sit down when they reached it.
Elendil quarreled with the idea of involving Bronwyn in their conversation. As the mother of the steward, Lord Theo, closest in command to King Halbrand, it seemed a dangerous slope for both of them—regardless of the love Arondir bore for Bronwyn. When Arondir took his seat again, Elendil spoke up.
“May we continue our conversation in private, Arondir?” Elendil suggested. “I mean no disrespect to Lady Bronwyn, but things have changed in your many years of absence from the city—”
Arondir’s sharp grey-green eyes locked on Elendil, piercing straight through him. The Elf tipped his head to the side, never wavering.
“—This has not,” Arondir said steadfastly.
As if to demonstrate, the Elf placed his forearm upon the table, stretched out halfway to Bronwyn with the palm of his hand upward. Lady Bronwyn glanced down at it, her lips slowly parting as she took in his meaning—and without much hesitation in the reciprocating action, Bronwyn slipped her hand into Arondir’s hand, threading her fingers with his own. Together, their fingers curled into a tight-knit clasp of hands, and both of them now looked at Elendil across the table.
“Aside from your miraculous return, what else is going on?” Bronwyn finally asked, though she directed the question openly for either one of them to answer, her eyes flitting between the two men. “Surely, nothing worse than the news of stirrings in Mordor. Tell me nothing else has happened—”
“—We believe Sauron has returned,” Arondir answered her, turning his gaze onto Bronwyn.
If possible, all the color left Lady Bronwyn’s face as a soft gasp escaped her lips, and she shook her head. “No, tell me it is not—”
“—We don’t know that for certain,” Elendil interrupted, finding it within him to argue a case against it at last. He raised one of his hands to gesture towards the doors of the mess hall, the ones through which Theo had left a little while ago. “We have no proof to give to the people.” Elendil shook his head to further illustrate his point. “We cannot say these things without proof. We cannot spread such rumors, and we cannot cast the city into chaos and war over baseless assumptions and chance coincidences.”
“I believe we can prove it,” Arondir told him, leaning forward a little over the table, his sharp eyes gleaming with their intent. There was a zealous spark inside of them, telling Elendil he would not back down.
He would not give this up.
Elendil gestured towards at Lady Bronwyn next. “Does she even know what you’re trying to prove?”
Arondir appeared contemplative at that, looking down at the table as the thoughts raced behind his eyes, darting back and forth. Clearly, he struggled within himself about the implications of his suggestions, which he had made to Elendil only moments before Bronwyn joined them. It was one thing to speak of them to somebody who knew intensively of the inner dealings of Pelargir as well as Númenor, but Bronwyn’s knowledge was of a more limited scope than Elendil’s knowledge; therefore, explaining it to her would take more care in order to ensure she remain open to hearing it through to the end.
Finally, Arondir spoke.
“I have been gone,” he began quietly, “for many years, and I cannot claim to know what has happened in my absence. However,” Arondir added, looking up at Elendil first, and then towards Bronwyn as his voice deepened with the conviction of his next claim, “I have great love for the people here, and great love for you—” Arondir lifted the hand of hers he held, bringing it to his lips to close his eyes and delicately kiss Lady Bronwyn’s knuckles. His lips lingered, pressed to her skin, until he inhaled a deep breath, lowering their clasped hands from his mouth to lay his other hand atop her knuckles. His palm rested flat, his fingers closing around hers until he effectively held her hand within both of his own.
Arondir exhaled that intake of breath in a heavy sigh, swallowing before he spoke again.
“What I say next,” he carefully began, his eyes staring at their clasped hands before him before they rose back to Lady Bronwyn’s eyes, “I ask that you take my great love and my deep affection into consideration, and do not mistake this as an attack or as hate, but worry for what will happen if we do not act before things escalate beyond our control forever.”
Lady Bronwyn seemed to understand that this was a plea for her to listen, and so she nodded her head in agreement. “I am listening, my love,” she told the Elf, her hand straying to Arondir’s face to touch his cheek to show her affirmation. Arondir’s face softened, and he sighed again.
“Do you remember, my love,” Arondir asked her, “for I cannot recall—I remember only when Theo started wearing his ring, but I do not remember where it came from or who it came from—do you remember, Bronwyn?”
“It came from King Halbrand,” Lady Bronwyn replied cheerfully. “When King Halbrand made him a lord, and then bestowed him stewardship over the city should he ever be gone for a long period of time or—” She paused, thinking with care of how to word the next part. “Or should he never marry, leaving us without an heir.”
“His ring, then,” Arondir confirmed, “was a gift from King Halbrand?”
“Yes,” Lady Bronwyn agreed, nodding again as she smiled at Arondir, “it was a gift from King Halbrand.”
“How long has he had it?”
Lady Bronwyn looked quite thoughtful at this question, knitting her brow together as she attempted to piece together the time. “A very long time,” she said, “now that you mention it. Decades, I believe.” A confounded expression crossed over Lady Bronwyn’s face as she realized this. “I have never thought about it before, not like that.”
“Has he ever aged since then?” Arondir inquired, quite serious about the question.
This inquiry, too, threw Lady Bronwyn off guard. “I . . . I don’t know. He has remained quite youthful in his appearance . . . ” Slowly, she shook her head, glancing up into Arondir’s eyes. “I’ve never thought about that before either, but I don’t believe he’s aged a day. I’ve always thought he took good care of himself and ate proper, and I’ve always looked out for him. I know he’s a man now, but I can’t help it. I’m always his mother, no matter . . . ” Lady Bronwyn dropped her chin down, her eyes falling to her lap.
“Have you ever noticed any changes in his behavior since the ring has come into his possession?”
Lady Bronwyn glanced back up at Arondir, her brow knitting together again. “What are you saying about his ring?”
“Have you,” Arondir pushed gently, “noticed any changes in his behavior?”
“No, I have not,” Lady Bronwyn said, denying this one. “He’s a bit firmer, more brash, and rougher around the edges—but many men become that way when they grow up and put childish things behind them. They have to learn to be stronger, and Theo is no exception.”
“There are many rings in the world,” Arondir began. “Some are heirlooms. Some are simply signs of prestige and wealth. Others, however, hold power. Before this war began, the Elves unlocked the key to binding the power of the Unseen world with the Seen—using mithril as well as gold and silver from Valinor. With it, they forged three powerful rings capable of so much more than beauty. More rings were made, not just for Elves to bear, but for Dwarves and Men as well. It is said they were deceived, and Sauron had a hand in corrupting the seven rings for the Dwarf lords and the nine rings for Mortal Men. He bound his power within those rings, connecting them with his own—the One Ring. You have both heard the tales,” Arondir said, looking from Lady Bronwyn to Elendil. “We all have. They are true. We have been fighting them for years.”
Arondir glanced back at Lady Bronwyn, re-strengthening his grip on her hand.
“It is the seat of Sauron’s power, his One Ring. He waged his war on the Elves in an attempt to corrupt the Elven rings as well. He decimated Eregion for it, to find them, but we hid them from him—to his great rage. So many died in that war, from which we only received a reprieve when Ar-Pharazôn brought his fleet to Middle-earth—and captured Sauron. A feat no one had yet dared, and yet somehow Pharazôn managed it. Some say it was trickery on Sauron’s behalf, and I agree with it.” Arondir cast his gaze back to Elendil. “After listening to Elendil’s account in full, what I have heard is that Númenor exists no more, and Sauron was successful in his task of wiping it off the face of the world. Sauron became the High Priest in Númenor, and then he set to corrupting the people towards committing human sacrifice in the name of Melkor. At this time, King Halbrand suddenly reappeared from his own captivity by Sauron—but not here in Pelargir. In Númenor he reappeared to Elendil, offering his help, and yet I do not know what he offered, if anything. He brought no ships, no army, no supplies. What did he bring, Elendil? What help did he offer you?”
Elendil glanced at Lady Bronwyn, her eyes growing ever wider with each piece of information Arondir dissected before her. “Only to suggest we should escape,” Elendil explained, “before things became too dire. Nothing else was offered or given. He suggested we begin loading our ships with supplies and make a plan to flee the island.”
“Before what?” Arondir asked.
Slowly, Elendil shook his head, and he felt his hands begin to tremble. “He never said.”
Arondir turned his attention back to Lady Bronwyn. “Before we heard word of Sauron’s capture by Ar-Pharazôn, King Halbrand left us on a scouting mission upriver after all the reports of disturbances with Orcs in the area. His whole company was slaughtered by Orcs. We found all of the bodies, but never his. We later received word that he was a prisoner of Sauron’s, captured and dragged there in chains. We never heard of him again. No demands were made, and we did not have the strength to go to war with Mordor to free him—and then he appears, unharmed and unhurt, in Númenor at the same time as Sauron, offering to help Elendil with no help. He offers only vague suggestions to leave while the whole island is slaughtered in the name of Melkor. Tell me, what kind of help is that, and how did he appear at the same time as Sauron when he was a prisoner in Mordor? Sauron walked out of the Black Gate to meet Ar-Pharazôn—and surrendered in front of an army. King Halbrand was not there.”
In her seat across the table, Lady Bronwyn trembled from head to toe. She looked as though she might cry as her hands shook, despite Arondir’s grip on them, and her jaw as she tried to breath through her mouth. It seemed she was caught in a panic, and Arondir paused to tend to her, slipping his head behind her hair and pulling her into embrace. He held her close, hugging her, his free hand rubbing up and down along her back as he tried to soothe her violent nerves.
They all sat like that in silence for some time. Elendil’s nerves, too, were growing more and more out of control. He, too, felt a violent disposition grip him—not just his nerves shaking, but a wrath blooming deep within the initial onset of panic.
They were, all of them, deceived.
“I feel the magic,” Arondir whispered in the following silence as he held Lady Bronwyn in his arms, his voice permeating the air all around them with its sullen tone, “in Theo’s ring. I do not know that I ever paid attention to it before, or maybe he did not have it long enough for such bonds to yet exist between his ring and the One Ring—but I feel it now. It’s there. It’s real, and I fear it is not King Halbrand, but the Dark Lord who has a grip on Theo, and we must do something. We must act. We must help him. We must help ourselves.” Over the crown of Lady Bronwyn’s dark hair, Arondir turned his gaze back to Elendil. “Where is King Halbrand?”
Elendil struggled to find his voice as he cleared his throat. “They are on holiday,” Elendil answered softly, “in Dor-en-Ernil.”
Arondir’s brow furrowed together at Elendil’s choice of words. “ . . . They?” he asked, and in his arms Lady Bronwyn herself stilled.
It was then that Elendil realized Arondir had no idea of the marriage.
The marriage between King Halbrand and the Lady Galadriel.
“King Halbrand,” Elendil informed him, though the words stuck in his throat, “and Queen Galadriel.”
The Elf’s eyes widened to a considerable degree, his hand stilling on the Lady Bronwyn’s back. Arondir kept his hold on her, for it seemed the only thing keeping him steady and upright. If the Elf let go of her, Elendil feared he might fall.
“This is more dire than even I could have dreamed of,” Arondir breathed out, the words barely above a whisper, and he turned his face back into Lady Bronwyn’s hair. When he spoke up again next, her hair muffled his voice. “Lady Galadriel possesses one of the rings of power. Nenya, they call hers. If he has married her, then she, too, is under his sway—and a powerful adversary, she would be.”
“I do not believe Queen Galadriel would be an adversary to us—” Elendil tried to say, but Arondir cut him off.
“We do not know if he has control of her ring,” Arondir admitted, “but tell me—do you think she would marry Sauron willingly?” His sharp eyes cut to Elendil.
“I do not believe she knows,” Elendil said, treading those waters carefully. Assumptions would make fools of them all. “I believe she thinks he is Halbrand as I have believed he was Halbrand. She has loved him—for a long time before they were wed, hoping for a proposal that never came until many years later.”
“He got his hooks in her,” Arondir whispered, “and made sure they were deep.”
“We need proof,” Elendil demanded, pointing out the obvious. “We cannot continue to say these things without gathering proof of them. They are on holiday in Dor-en-Ernil, and that should give us enough time to look for evidence before his return—and if we find evidence, we must act quickly. We must have a plan. We cannot trust to hope alone to guide us through this.”
“No, we cannot,” Arondir agreed.
At last, Lady Bronwyn pulled herself away from Arondir’s embrace, though her hands remained touching him, laying upon his forearms. “This endangers not just my friends, but my son, too—” A distraught sound caught like a hiccup in her throat, and she swallowed it down. “Elendil is right. We must gather evidence, and neither one of you can do that without being caught.” Lady Bronwyn was silent for a pause. “I must do it.”
Elendil tried to speak reason first, and then Arondir’s refusal came strong.
“It’s too dangerous—”
“I will not—”
Lady Bronwyn cut them both off with just her raised hand. “We don’t have a choice,” she said firmly. “This is my son we are discussing. I will do it. I will get into his quarters more easily—and without raising any suspicion. My close proximity to the queen will also give me grace in broaching upon King Halbrand’s quarters. I may say she lost something, and asked me to look for it. I may play more easily upon ignorance than either of you, but most especially, more than you, my love,” Lady Bronwyn added, looking up into Arondir’s eyes. “You are an outsider until you regain their trust again, and so you must stay out of it. For your safety, you must stay out of it. I will not hear a word against that. Elendil has more chance of passing by unseen, but I do not know what I am looking for. Do you have any suggestions of what might pass for evidence in this situation?”
Elendil proposed the first suggestion. “Letters,” he said. “Anything with written evidence of what he has been up—correspondence. Search his desk, drawers, notebooks, journals. Books. Look between his bed frame and the mattress. It is a common hiding spot for sensitive information. Check the drawers for hidden compartments underneath. Sigils. Jewelry or emblems of a nature that tie to Mordor. Maps. Maybe even maps with places circled or crossed out. It could tell what he is planning.”
“Speaking of jewelry,” Arondir added, “there is one test we could try that might speak louder than all else—if you’re willing to do it, my love.”
“Tell me,” Lady Bronwyn urged him.
“If anyone is wearing rings gifted to them from Halbrand or altered by him,” Arondir told her, “then they are under his influence. We can devise a test of will. You may do this with Theo if it feels safe enough for you to try. Ask him to remove his ring—even, perhaps, let you hold it for a moment. Offer to clean it for him. His response is crucial. If it is a ring of power, he will not let you hold it. He will not give it up. It will feel like a threat to him. He may take it personally or react strongly to such a request, even from you. It is, singularly, the most damning piece of evidence we could come across in our search if you feel safe enough to attempt it. It is not physical evidence, but it will be enough to tell us we need to act now in order to safeguard our friends and family—and all of Pelargir. If you can do that, even just to test it to see what he will do, what he say, it will tell us for certain who Halbrand is—and if he is just a king of the Southlands, or if he is something else altogether.”
“That is risky,” Elendil chimed in, wondering if they should take such a leap. “What happens if his influence is more than just influence? What if it is total control—and he sees what is going on and acts himself through them?”
Arondir mulled over Elendil’s words, knowing he spoke sense—but there were greater things at stake, and all of them required risk.
“We have been at war for decades,” Arondir mused quietly, turning his sharp grey-green eyes back upon Elendil. “Just because we cannot see our enemy on the battlefield, it does not mean he isn’t there. Should we do nothing, then, and let the city fall? Let the Realms of Men fall with it when he takes them all over and conquers them? Make no mistake, Pelargir is only the beginning. His influence will spread, and he will send his newly acquired armies to other lands. No one will be safe. No Man, no Dwarf, and no Elf.”
Elendil swallowed past a catch in his throat. “ . . . And Queen Galadriel?” he asked softly, thinking of her always in this—the devastation this would wreak upon her soul. If she knew the truth of the matter, how would she ever move past it? Elves married for life.
Would they lose her, too?
“Hopefully,” Arondir said, “she is not too far gone. If we are lucky, neither is Theo. If we are truly lucky, these are not rings of power—and I have worried you over nothing, and he is only King Halbrand. We may go on with our lives as if none of this ever happened and none of this was ever spoken.”
A pit formed in Elendil’s stomach, an aching emptiness deepening and opening wide. “ . . . And if he is Sauron?”
It was not Arondir who spoke. It was Lady Bronwyn who replied, surprising them both.
“Then,” she announced, raising her noble chin high, “we go to war.”