Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The maid knocked again, and Eärien looked around the chamber, desperately trying to find a place to hide.

She should not be here. Not in the chambers of a chancellor's son. One she was not married to. Not when she was a lady of the house of Elros – though not ranked high enough to live in the palace as Kemen did.

Her pulse drummed in her ears, and it was not like she could answer. And though it had seemed at the time wiser not to leave the room with him, now she was acutely aware there was no way she could react before the maid thought the room was empty and would open that cursed door.

Eärien looked at the firethorn climbing beside the window, and quickly decided that was the best chance she had, wishing she had placed more faith on the Valar so she could pray no one would see her climbing down the palace wall. And yet that was the best chance she had right now.

The maid closed the window behind Eärien, but she was already too far down to be spotted.

Maybe, once she was safe, she would laugh about this.

But right now her dress was torn near her ankle and there was a gush in the palm of her left hand that could not seem to stop bleeding. She pulled at her sleeve, crushing it within her fist and squeezing tightly. Eärien bit her lip, the sharp sting climbing up her arm and bringing tears to her eyes.

She had no desire to laugh. She seemed just stupid.

Trying to mask her limp, she closed her left fist even tighter, and part of the green fabric turned brown. She surely could not go home like this.

“By Estë’s mercy, child!” Lindissë almost shouted, clawing at Eärien’s shoulder and pulling her inside the house, her green eyes wide, her dark brows almost disappearing into her greying hairline. “What have you done this time? Your hand- Your dress! Oh, dear, what happened?”

“I tripped, that is all” Eärien whispered, sitting down by the fire, and hoping she could trick the woman who had cared for her and her family almost every day since Isildur was born.

“From a tower?” Lindissë asked, hastily pulling out and slamming almost every drawer of her husband’s cupboard. “Damn that husband of mine, always away when he is needed the most! Where does he keep the bandages?”

“Not quite from a tower, no” Eärien muttered, uncovering her hand. It was bleeding less, but bleeding still.

What a stupid way to cut one’s hand.

If only it had been the other way around… If only she had been the first to leave.

But Kemen seemed in a hurry, and Eärien never thought the maid would come that late in the afternoon.

“Oh, Morgoth’s chains, Eärien!” Zamin’s shriek ripped Eärien from her thoughts. “What happened?”

“Watch your mouth, child!” Lindissë snapped, her fat index finger pointed menacingly at her daughter, standing with her mouth agape at the other side of the room.

Eärien closed her eyes, sighing heavily. Maybe she should have just gone home.

“Your friend tripped and fell.” Lindissë rolled her eyes and waved the roll of yellowish cloth in her hand somewhat aimlessly. “Now clean up her hand while I search for your father’s cleaning poultice, it has to be here somewhere. Where is that man when one needs him the most?”

“Fell over a knife?” Zamin asked, leaving the room again and returning with a clean cloth and a small basin with water “What were you doing, Eariën? Did you try to fight your way into the Builder’s Guild or something?”

Eärien chuckled, and so did Zamin. She felt somewhat less stupid. Zamin and her had done many stupid things together, when they were younger.

But Lindissë's murderous look made her feel ashamed once more. And reminded her how bitter she still was about that rejection.

“Anarion was always the fighter. Not me” Eärien said, hissing as her friend cleaned her hand. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Well, you do not have to thank us for anything” Lindissë scoffed, though she bandaged Eariën’s hand in the most gentle way. She had always treated her with the same care she treated her children. And though Eärien had grown up without a mother she was truly grateful for Lindissë’s presence in her and her family’s life. “You just have to be more careful. At least it is your left hand, not the right one. And I do not think it will leave a scar. Just keep it clean until it heals completely and you should be fine.”

Lindissë gathered the basin and what was left from the bandages, and left the two younger women alone.

“What happened?” Zamin whispered, grabbing Eärien’s healthy hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Were you running away from something?”

“Someone’s chambers.” Eärien almost could not hear her own voice.

Zamin covered her mouth, her blue eyes blown wide.

“Was it that skinny boy? What is his name? The one from the tavern? Pharazôn son?”

Eärien hushed her hastily, as she heard Lindissë’s steps closer.

“If you want we can go to the market next week. You said they will bring the new fabrics then, is it not? For your wedding dress.” She tried to change the subject.

“That sounds like a good idea, actually” Lindissë said, lending Eärien a clean dress. “Just try not to trip again, child.”

“I forgot to tell you” she said, fishing for her chemise, discarded on the floor, feeling once again frustrated in more ways than one.

And strangely hollow.

He sat up, reaching for the washcloth in the basin by the fire and cleaning himself. 

Kemen was a sweet man. He truly was. And he treated her well enough.

But she did not lie to herself, at least not this time. This was just a way for the both of them to pass the time. Nothing more. Neither of them had an abundance of important matters to attend to, most of the time. 

Well, at least she did not have other matters to attend to. Kemen, on the other hand… Once he was done, it was done. And soon enough he would start acting as if the management of the world itself rested on his bony shoulders.

A world in which she had no place, at least most of the time.

And yet he might actually… Care. Or at least pretend he did. He had seemed to care enough to help her scrub the floors that one time. And he had asked about the bandage in her hand. Though he did not seem to quite realize at least a small part of it was partially his fault. 

“What?” he asked, though his eyes did not meet hers, too absorbed in his own task.

“Please be happy for me, Kemen” she all but pleaded, her dress sliding down her head. She combed her hair with her fingers, and she hoped it was enough to look at least somewhat proper.

“I cannot make such a promise, I am afraid.” Kemen shrugged, tying the front laces of his tunic.

He roamed around the chamber, leaning down to grab something under the bed.

Eärien’s mouth was dry, her arms firmly crossed over her chest.

She felt a deep sadness, low in her stomach. And a terrible sense of regret.

What morality had she to openly speak about against the injustices of the world when she herself benefited from them? 

“The queen wants me to design the king’s tomb” she all but whispered.

He stomped his feet on the floor, pulling his boots up his calves with a huff, her heart thundering in her chest.

How could he understand, really? Scrubbing floors together once and a handful of rushed encounters like this one were hardly enough to truly know someone.

So of course he would be mad. How daft was she not to realise it sooner? It was an unfair advantage, after all. A favour from the queen to her father, nothing more. Something to raise Eärien’s spirits after being rejected by the Guild.

And though the honour was hers, the merit was not. And she was acutely aware of it.

“Oh.” Kemen straightened his tunic over his chest. “Did they accept you in the Builders Guild after all?”

She supported herself on her other leg, but was not able to relax one bit.

“Not quite” she explained, not sure he was listening. “It was a personal request.”

He sighed again, running his fingers through his thin brown hair.

“Well, do not warm yourself too much to the idea, then.” Kemen closed the space between them, gently rubbing her arms. “You know how much disappointment can sting. Perhaps the queen just wants a sketch, an idea, and then she will give the project to the Guild.”

She let her shoulders fall, with a weak smile to him.

It was a great endeavour, after all. One that surely required experienced men. Many experienced men.

And, alas, she was a woman. A somewhat talented one, according to Eärien herself. But not as experienced as those in the higher ranks of the Builders Guild.

But she needed something to occupy her mind. Something to push away the constant rambling on the streets either for or against the elf and the foreigner from Middle Earth. To silence Isildur’s constant self pity. Or her father’s constant absence.

Something to push away how empty her existence felt.

And though she had hoped Kemen would give her some peace of mind, it was obvious to her that he would not.

“I really need to go. My lord father says he has something important to discuss.” He planted an almost chaste kiss on her forehead, turning his back to her. “Just lock the door behind you, please.”

Before she could ask him anything about such an important matter she found herself alone in the chamber. Again.

She licked her dry lips as she turned the corner of the king’s chamber. He had not been seen in public in years, not after his people pushed him aside for his daughter. He had tried to stir Númenor back to the ways of the Valar, and Pharazôn - among others, but his voice had been the loudest - had revolted against him, pushing him aside, perhaps thinking a woman was easier to control.

“Miriel” the old man croaked, his white eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He looked worse than she had imagined, somehow. Foolishly, in her mind the king looked like her father, his face wrinkled by sun and age, but tall and still strong. Not a thin old man, with deformed long fingers and disheveled wiry white hair and beard, slowly fading away in his bed.

And though the curtains were wide open, sun pouring into the king’s body, the room somehow smelt of death and oblivion. 

She looked at the guard, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“It is the lady Eärien, daughter of the lord Elendil of the Andúnië, my lord” the guard announced, and the old king turned his face towards them, though not really seeing anything.

She curtsied, though she was not certain it accounted for anything.

“Oh, my child, it has been a long time since I last saw your lord father’s dear face.” His voice was but a wheeze. “Pray tell, how is he?”

Eärien took a long breath. It had been weeks since she had seen her own father.

“I am yet to see him back from his last journey, my lord” she said, and as the guard gestured towards a small stool at the king's right she took her seat, realizing there was some urgency to the matter, leaving her satchel at her side on the floor. “I am here to draw your face, my lord. For… For a monument.”

The king scoffed.

“I doubt my people have repented enough to build me a statue like those of the kings of old, my child” he said, his voice somewhat clearer. And though his eyes could not see, there was a wisdom there many young men could only dream of.

She took another long breath.

Her father admired Tar-Palantir, the farsighted, greatly. Even if that was against what most people thought of him. The king had tried to embed old ideas in the minds of his men and women. But it was too late. Too late for anyone to believe such ancient nonsense.

Anyone, but Elendil and a few of his loyal men.

Anyone, but the Faithful.

“Your tomb, my lord.” She decided he was owed the dignity of the truth. 

“Ah, now, my child, that I might believe. They have been eager for my death for too long” he scoffed, with a yellow, bitter grin.

She gathered a piece of charcoal and her sheets of paper from her satchel, choosing to say nothing. The king's blind eyes followed the soft scribbling sound. 

“Are they accepting women into the Builder's Guild these days, then?” the king croaked, and she stopped her work with a small sigh.

“Not yet, my lord.” Eärien avoided Tar-Palantir's blind eyes.

He heaved, but it somehow sounded like a chuckle. 

“Ah, and yet they dared to unseat their king for his ‘archaic’ ways” the king said, licking his chapped lips. “I shall not be a burden to my people for too long, at least, judging by the hurry to build my final resting place.”

Her face burnt sharply. 

“One never knows when it might be too late, since life is so fleeting anyway” Eärien tried. 

“And yet mine seems to be clawing insistently at my flesh, never quite ready to let me meet with Iluvatar himself” he sighed. “Though a futile existence, and now it seems it will be too late.”

“Too late, my lord?”

The guard bowed his head, disappearing behind the corner of the room, but Eärien could hear him speak with another one. 

The king's scrawny hand reached for the dark lump at his bedside table. 

“You have to be quick, child. But look there and you will understand.” He pulled the dark velvet towards him, uncovering a strangely bright black sphere, almost the size of a man's head. 

She gasped, but some force drew her eyes to the stone, and before long she had both palms placed upon it. 

A flash blinded her, and she felt as though she was falling, falling, falling endlessly, and being pulled up at the same time. And yet she could not still herself, her arms unable to move, her pulse thundering furiously in her head. 

Then she saw it. The white tree, its flowers dry blown by the strong eastern wind, dark clouds engulfing the sun. The floor was back under her feet, but her head ached terribly and as the last flower vanished in the air the image melted into the harbor, the ships with sand coloured sails toppled to the side, surrounded by silver fish contorting in the mud. 

Her eyes went to the horizon, and a tall, dark wall ran to the shore. She heard people screaming all around her, but Eärien could not move.

She would die. She would die if she stood there. 

She tried to move her legs, but no muscle of her body obeyed her.

The wave engulfed her, and she could not breathe, thrashing aimlessly in the dark water but only managing to swallow more and more salty water. She was crushed against something, and every bone in her body cracked, the soft smell of cyclamen surrounding her.

But when the wave went away, she found herself completely dry and safe, breathing peacefully. Gentle waves rocked the large ship, and she heard some melodic high pitched chirping. Her eyes followed the sound to a tiny branch floating peacefully in the waves carrying a small blue bird with a long peak and a golden belly singing to the first rays of dawn.

The bird flew away, chasing the rising sun in the east, but there was no sun anymore, just a large shadow, engulfing everything, and Eärien was filled with dread. The ship was gone, and she was floating in the terrible void and her body still would not move-. Desperate cries and the clanging of metal deafened her and shadow-tendrils, like a deformed hand, reached towards her, a ring of fire burning around one of the fingers. Two silver serpents with bright green eyes twisted around the ghoulish hand, severing it from the rest of the shadow, and she heard the same chirping as before, a bright blue and golden flash piercing the darkness and the sun shining anew in the east.

She was at the palace courtyard again - but not quite in Númenor, though the city was just as white and bright. Perhaps brighter than her own city. The small blue bird landed atop the white tree, covered in white plump flowers, as if it was covered in snow, and sang happily, almost proudly.

Eärien shielded her eyes with her hand, smiling. The bird’s eyes seemed to find hers, but when she blinked she was back in the old king’s room, her hands ghosting over the dark stone, the voices of the guards still half muffled by the walls.

Tar-Palantir threw the heavy velvet over the stone, his hand patting it blindly to cover it entirely.

Eärien’s feet were lead, her eyes almost as blind as the king’s.

“Is it true?” she muttered.

“Númenor must follow the kingfisher to the east, child. Or we will all drown” the king almost threatened, his eyes to the ceiling once more. “It is the only way to be forgiven by the Valar. To defeat the shadow in the east.”

“The king- Why me, my lord?” Eärien shook her head, but her eyes were still on the covered stone. “Why not show this to your guard? Your daughter?”

The king sighed, his crooked fingers gesturing towards a cup by the stone. Eärien filled it with water and took it to the king’s chapped lips.

“I trust neither. And no one I trust visits the old dying king anymore.”

Boots approached. Eärien returned hastily to her seat, and the king fell silent once more.

Chapter Text

Isildur gathered all the potatoes at the center of his plate, his cheek crushed against his fist, only for a moment later to scatter everything again with his fork.

And yet all Eärien could see was the great wave, engulfing all trace of the only civilization she knew.

It could not be true.

Their people had inhabited the island, thriving peacefully for ages, the sea their greatest ally.

No.

Not quite.

Not for their mother, at least.

“Father should be back any day now” Eärien mumbled, trying to appease her own thoughts.

Isildur huffed, letting go of his fork with a small thud.

“You should eat something, Isil” she said, as gently as she could, standing up to clean her own plate. “Starving yourself will do you no good.”

“And what would do me good, sister?” he huffed, though his mouth almost did not move.

Eärien rolled her eyes, taking her seat again.

The house always seemed terribly empty in the evening, with Lindissë gone as soon as she left supper on the fire. Even more so when their father was away. Even worse ever since Anarion had been banished to the east.

And Isildur’s tiresome self-pity – as if he was the first and only person in the world to be rejected by something or someone – hardly counted as any form of company or entertainment. More so when he had been the cause of his own perceived doom.

“Well, eating, perhaps.” Eärien shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest. “If you are miserable already, imagine what you will feel like with an empty stomach.”

He chuckled weakly, but broke a small piece of bread, chewing on it somewhat absently.

“You know, sister” Isildur said, a shadow of a smile on his face. “Sometimes you sound just like mother.”

Eärien reached for his hand over the table and squeezed it, smiling back at him. She hardly remembered their mother. She was still too small when they had lost her to the dark, hungry waves.

But that bitter memory was not the cause of the monstrous lump in her dry throat, one her own reason and logic was fighting against desperately. Strange old king’s rocks should not decide a kingdom’s future. What was she supposed to do with that information? Run down the market street screaming their doom was near?

Not after what they had done to Anarion.

Not after what they had done to their own king.

And yet she could not rest.

“I…” Her tongue was stuck in her mouth. She reached for her cup. “I saw something today. Something… Strange. At the king’s chamber.”

Isildur raised his eyebrows at her.

“Stranger than the old king himself being still alive?” he jested, his eyes to the plate once more, pinching one of the potatoes and bringing it to his mouth.

“There was a…” she tried to find the right words. “A black stone, atop his bedside table. And it showed me something.”

Isildur’s fork stopped halfway to the plate once more, his dark eyes piercing hers, his lips tightly pursed together.

“Do not forget, sister, of what happens to those in our family that mingle in affairs beyond our capacity” he whispered, as if the walls themselves had ears. Eärien’s heart pounded against her ribs as she rubbed her wet palms against the sides of her dress. “Enjoy this second chance you have been given to do the job you so dearly love. Do not waste that opportunity toying with some old elven nonsense.”

Isildur finished his meal in silence, and she decided she should not utter another word to him about that matter.

“The fabric is truly wonderful, Zamin. You will make the most beautiful bride of all Númenor.”

Zamin grinned, hooking her arm on Eärien’s as they both walked down the market street, elegantly avoiding a small, fat woman insistently trying to sell them some copper bracelets.

“I will, will I not?” Her friend’s voice was full of joy.

Eärien envied her bitterly.

And yet it was her duty, to her oldest friend, to feel happy for her. Her future husband was a good man - though not particularly handsome nor witty - but a good man nonetheless. One who would take care of her.

Good men were scarce these days, it seemed.

But what Eärien envied above all was Zamin’s ignorance. The absence of the burden of knowledge.

Or the hint of knowledge.

Eärien longed to share that burden, somehow. But who would she trust? A joyful bride to be? A brother who had swiftly shut her tongue?

Maybe Anarion would have listened to her. They were closer in age, after all. And Isildur already carried his own burdens.

She forced a smile, smashing those dark thoughts with images of her friend’s golden hair crowned by small white flowers, the soft bright blue fabric of her dress twirling around her as she spun in her groom’s arms.

Zamin had always been an adept dancer.

“We will have so much fun at the wedding!” Zamin all but cried, her head resting tenderly against Eärien’s arm.

“You could ask Soronto to play the flute at the feast” Eärien suggested. “As a wedding gift.”

“Now that is a great-”

They heard shouts - men’s deep loud voices, and Zamin froze in her place before they turned around the corner.

Eärien leaned against the wall, trying with all her might to focus on the men’s words. But she could only hear the incoherent yelling.

“Eärien, maybe we should take another path” Zamin warned, tugging at her sleeve.

But Eärien ignored her, though weary enough to remain hidden behind the corner as she peeped around it.

Half a dozen bulky men surrounded another, taller and leaner - but not clearly weaker-, two of them bearing iron canes, the others with their fists ready to strike.

“You lowly thief scum!” one of the shorter men shouted, and Eärien recognised him as a blacksmith from the market they had seen earlier that morning.

The taller man at the center raised his hands, as if surrendering.

“Eärien!” Zamin almost shouted, though her voice was thinner than a whisper.

It was that foreign man, the one her father said he had rescued from the Great Sea with the elf.

Both strangers had stirred quite the commotion in a town not accustomed to foreigners. Let alone a man from Middle Earth.

And an elf, no less.

One of the numenorians grabbed the foreigner from the back, his large arms around the other’s neck, as another came forward to punch his stomach over and over again. 

Eärien covered her mouth, muffling a gasp that Zamin could not.

“We should do something” Eärien muttered, her heart racing in her chest.

Whatever that man’s crime, surely he was unjustly outnumbered.

“Yes, we should run.” Zamin’s fingers were tight around her arm, her nails sinking into Eärien’s flesh.

“You go. I…” But she could not think about anything to do or to say. They were just women, and there were too many men.

Somehow, the foreigner broke free, and what came after was a mess of punches, kicks, broken arms, flying teeth… One of the numenorians tripped, grabbing his deformed wrist, squirming and crawling as far away as possible like a worm.

“No, we both should go, Eärien” Zamin tried again, pulling Eärien away, but she would not budge.

In a heartbeat, the numenorians were gone, leaving the foreigner alone at the center of the small square.

His face was covered in blood, his chest heaving.

He collapsed onto the floor with a thud.

Eärien shook herself free from her friend’s grip, rushing to the stranger’s side.

He seemed unconscious, not even opening his eyes when she slapped his bruised face - first gently and then somewhat harsher. 

“Are you mad, Eärien?” Zamin hissed, tugging at her sleeve.

He seemed to be breathing, though somewhat shallowly, judging by the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest.

“Well, we cannot leave him here like this, can we?” Eärien scoffed, hooking her arms on his armpits and trying to pull him up.

She was not strong enough, though.

Zamin’s eyes were wide, desperately going from one side of the square, to the other, to Eärien’s, to the strangers, her package firmly secured against her chest.

“Fine!” Zamin spat, tugging the small brown bundle on her belt and grabbing the man’s ankles.

“Oh, Nienna have mercy…” Lindissë sighed, stepping aside so the other women could drag the limp man inside. “Hallacar! Hallacar, hurry!”

The older woman quickly freed the large table before the door, and between the three of them they hoisted the foreigner up.

“What happened?” Lindissë grabbed her daughter’s head with both hands, frantically searching her face, and then rushing to Eärien “Are you hurt? Any of you?”

“What is the matter- Oh, for Estë’s sache!” Hallacar rushed to the foreigner’s side, rolling up his sleeves, his ear to the man’s chest. “He is not breathing properly. Quick, pass me the trumpet.”

Zamin rushed to the cupboard, and Lindissë started cutting through the stranger’s clothing, throwing the rags unceremoniously to the floor. She took something from the man’s neck, then his left wrist.

“You put this aside” Lindissë ordered, passing Eärien the items. “They seem important.”

Eärien opened her hand. There was black grainy metal bracelet, with something engraved, but she could not quite make out the markings in there. And a leather necklace with a small pouch hanging from it. The pouch seemed empty, but there was a sigil on it - wings of sort? Eärien had never seen that sigil, not in Númenor, at least.

She looked around the room, realising that was not the time to study history. Eärien threw the items in a pot over the fire, and filled Hallacar’s basin with clean water instead, though how that would help the man’s breathing she could not know.

Hallacar pressed the small copper trumped to his ear, then to the left side of the man’s chest, then the right. His lips were pressed tightly, his brow furrowed, but his movements seemed swift and controlled while everyone around him seemed to somewhat drift around him.

“There is air in his chest” he said, wielding a thin silvery tube. “Outside of his lungs, that is. We need to get it out.”

“Will he live?” Eärien asked, her eyes jumping from the unconscious stranger, to the tube in the physician’s hands, to the gentle yet concerned face of Lindissë.

No one answered.

Hallacar pierced the man’s chest with the tube, and Eärien felt the air around her scorching, the walls rocking before her eyes as if she was sailing and not on dry land. There was a slight breeze on her face, some soft both under and behind her, and a strange fog surrounded her.

There was a half dead man over the table and Eärien seemed to have chosen this particular moment to be a nuisance to the people trying to save him.

She heard a wheezing sound, somewhat like a boiling kettle, then a strong gasp and then what seemed like triumphant shouting. Eärien blinked, trying to make something out of her surroundings. There was a shadow floating above her, and when she blinked again, she found herself seated near the open window, Lindissë energetically fanning her face with a rag.

“Sometimes I forget some people might not be as accustomed to Hallacar’s work as we are in this house.” There was a gentle smile on the woman’s face, and Eärien felt her face burn, her hands clinging tightly to the arms of the chair, trying to prop herself up. Lindissë’s strong hand clawed at her shoulder, pulling her down. “Oh, no, my child, you will stay here. A patient is more than enough, is it not, husband?”

Eärien nodded, and the room floated around her once more.

“I am sorry” she muttered, but she looked over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the table. “For everything. I am sorry for the mess.”

“Aye, I will need some answers, I am afraid” Hallacar said, his eyes roaming the stranger’s face, his fingers gently but surely tapping every bone in his skull. “Either any or both of you have your reasons to harm this particular man in such a way – in which case I might regret saving his life-”

“It was nothing like that!” Zamin interrupted, and then she lowered her voice. “Some blacksmiths attacked him. They called him a thief.”

“And what might he have stolen to justify this kind of violence” Hallacar muttered, now touching the man’s chest. “More than a couple broken ribs, surely one punctured his chest.”

“Strangers always find a way to make trouble come to them.” Lindissë shrugged, and she cupped Eärien’s face, her bright green eyes now gentler. “You did the right thing though. Both of you. One cannot make justice with one’s own hands.”

“They might send the city guard for him, though” Eärien said, the walls around her definitely sharper, the air cooler, her eyes purposely avoiding the tube coming out of the stranger’s side as she stood up, walking towards the hearth.

“Well, evidently he cannot be taken in this state.” Hallacar waved his arm over the man’s body. His chest was rising and falling more evenly now, as if he was deep asleep and nothing more.

Eärien reached for the contents on the pot, and decided the bracelet was undecipherable, her eyes on the winged symbol instead.

“I will prepare a bed in the cellar” Zamin offered. “Between the four of us we can move him there as carefully as possible.”

“What might it be?” Lindissë asked over Eärien’s shoulder, her index finger tracing the carvings on the leather. “A… Bird? Of sorts?”

“Maybe he is someone important” Zamin suggested. “In Middle Earth, at least.”

A strong cough ripped both of them from their conjectures.

The man tried to stand up, but both Halacar and Zamin held him down by the shoulders, Lindissë and Eärien rushing to steady his legs.

“Easy. Easy, my boy” Hallacar commanded, without raising his tone, not even a bit. The stranger trashed under their weight, trying to free himself. How could a man so terribly hurt be strong enough it took four people to steady him? “You are barely alive. We are trying to help you.”

How would he not be scared? After being cornered in an alley, outnumbered and badly beaten by strangers, and now waking up in a strange place, surrounded by strangers trying to retain him once more.

Eärien brushed his ankle with her thumb, her brow furrowed, hoping it would calm him in some way and he would not ruin all of Hallacar’s work.

“A kingfisher.” The man’s voice sounded like a creaky old door. “It is a kingfisher. From the Southlands.”

Chapter Text

“You must be exhausted, my lord.” Lindissë took Elendil’s cloak, and guided him towards the table. There was, of course, a steaming plate before his seat, the pungent smell of garlic and rosemary floating around the four of them.

Elendil kissed Isildur’s cheek, then Eärien’s forehead. There were new wrinkles on his forehead, as if he had spent the last couple of weeks frowning continuously.

“I am” her father said, taking his place at the head of the table, toying with the carrots with his spoon but not really taking as much as a sip from his food. “And I seem to be unable to rest at last.”

Eariën searched for Isildur’s eyes, but they clung to his own plate as he slouched against the back of his chair, stirring the stew over and over.

“Surely your duties can await, father” Eärien said, gently blowing her own steaming spoon “It has been a long journey after all. Did the lady Galadriel find what she was looking for?”

The elf and the man from Middle Earth had both been found by her father’s ship drifting in the Great Sea. Maybe she too had something to do with the strange images on the stone.

But how could they follow a castaway? A thief? A currently half-dead man? How could following such a man lead their people to safety?

The elf, on the other hand… She was a lady of the Noldor, ruling over her own domains east of the Great Sea. And she had seen the light of the trees with her own eyes.

Maybe the images in the stone were just tricks. Cheap tricks of an old dying hated king.

“Is it true they have… misplaced the man that came with her?” Elendil asked instead, breaking his loaf of bread and chewing a piece, his eyes fixed on the heavy curtains covering the window across the room.

Eärien snapped her eyes towards Lindissë, the other woman’s lips tightly pursed together as she shook her head.

“They say he violently stole a Smith’s Guild crest and then disappeared” her father continued, finally bringing some stew into his mouth. “One of the men is still unconscious, the other's arm is broken – some say beyond repair.”

“And what does it have to do with a captain of the Sea Guard?” Isildur mumbled, his elbow on the table as he rested his jaw on his fist, the food on his plate abandoned.

“Well, I must go now, my lord Elendil” Lindissë said, grabbing her cloak. And Eärien silently thanked her with a short nod for distracting both men from initiating yet another fight between the two. “You have more stew on the fire, if any of you is still hungry.”

“I shall visit tomorrow, Lindissë, if it is alright” Eärien suggested, a knot in her stomach. “To help Zamin with her dress. We thought about a beautiful embroidery with daffodils and olive branches.”

What if they searched Lindissë’s house? What would happen if they found a foreign criminal at the house of a family so closely connected to that of the Lord Elendil, father of a banished son?

“And you shall be more than welcome, then.” Lindissë bowed her head. “I shall be back tomorrow before noon, my lord.”

The three of them rose from their seats to bow back at her.

The house fell silent once Lindissë was gone. 

But maybe that silence was a blessing.

Zamin grabbed the front of her dress, pulling Eärien inside, her eyes nervously scanning the street over her shoulders.

“We are not as smart as we think we are” Zamin muttered.

Her green eyes were bloated and red, dark marks under them. Her hair was almost as disheveled as the room behind her. There were rags everywhere, the usually tidy chairs tossed around, most of them upside down, every drawer of Hallacar’s cupboard thrown to the floor.

Eärien’s eyes darted to the stairs at her left, leading to the cellar, and Zamin rubbed her eyes.

“How-” she mumbled, shaking her head, her mouth agape.

“As one might expect, a wounded man might leave a trail of blood behind him” Zamin explained, lifting a chair from the floor and returning it to its rightful place. Eärien mirrored her, broken glass cracking under her shoes. “And outside of the palace there are only so many physicians.”

“Did they hurt any of you?” Eärien asked, her knuckles white against the back of the chair, her eyes stinging. “When was that? I am so sorry, Zamin! I did not mean-”

Zamin wrapped her arms around her, her friend’s body trembling with her silent sobs. Eärien held her close, her own tears running down her cheeks.

“I know. We should be used to it by now, as my father accepts all sorts of people in this house” Zamin whispered, pulling back to wipe her own tears and smoothing her hair with the palms of her hands. “He says it is not his job to pass judgement.”

“Where are they? Hallacar and Lindissë? Are they alright?” Eärien’s hands went to Zamin’s shoulders, gently stroking them.

Her friend shrugged with a weak smile.

“They are both alright. Father was called to someone else’s house. A terrible stomach ache of sorts. And mother went to the market to try to restock what they broke.” Zamin explained, collecting yet another chair from the floor. Eärien grabbed some rags, smoothing them over the table. “They tried to convince the guards to leave the man alone, at least until he healed properly. But foreigners seem to have no rights in this land.”

Eärien chuckled bitterly.

Apparently neither did physicians. Or their families.

“We did what we could” she mumbled. “I am sorry. For dragging you all to this.”

“We both did what we thought was right” Zamin said. “At least now he can have a just trial instead of dying abandoned in an alley. Or at least one might hope for that.”

Eärien grabbed the broom by the fire, but her eyes landed on the simple clay pot over it. And there they were, the strange necklace and the corroded bracelet. She brought the first one before her eyes, carefully examining it.

Maybe it was just a strange coincidence. Maybe those birds were just common in Middle Earth. The necklace was made of simple leather, after all. Not gold, nor silver. No precious stones either.

It meant nothing, after all.

One could not make decisions based on strange stones or strange symbols.

It might mean something, though.

“Do you mind if I keep these?” Eärien asked, carefully curling the leather ties around the pouch and the bracelet. “Maybe they are worth keeping safe. In case the guards are back.”

Zamin helped her wrap the items in one of the discarded rags and Eärien hid the bundle in her pocket.

She found Kemen in the palace courtyard, chatting with his father and some other lords Eärien cared little to greet. The pomegranate trees were filled with small and still green fruits. She sat under what in another age might have been the shade of the white tree, its slender branches like dry bones of a strange hand outstretched towards the late summer sun. There were no more than a handful of buds on what should become small pale flowers come winter. No one in Númenor could remember its former splendor, and Eärien had heard about it in tales told by the fire when she was no more than a child.

Pharazôn waved his hand in the air, and the men around them dispersed, before both he and Kemen walked towards the palace once more.

She cleaned her palms against her dress, the wound in there now completely healed without so much as a faded scar, toying with the hem of her shawl.

Kemen fell behind his father by a couple of steps and nodded at her almost unperceptively.

“Meet me before dusk in my chambers” he whispered, grabbing her into their usual dark corridor inside the palace.

She bit her tongue. After the events of the last few days she was in no mood.

But Kemen did not need to know that just yet.

He placed his lips upon hers, and somehow that silence part of the noise in her head.

“Do you know anything about that man from Middle Earth? The one they found hiding at the physician’s house?” she asked, as soon as he parted from her.

Kemen frowned.

“At your maid’s house, was it not?” Kemen corrected, and she lowered her eyes. “And to think your lord father was so desperate to find him as soon as he set foot in the city again.”

“Well, if he-” She cleared her dry throat. “If the man is a criminal the sooner he was found the better, is that not right?”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling gently.

“That is the strange part” he whispered, leaning closer to her “My lord father says the lord Elendil and the elf came back with a strange tale about him being the heir to some broken, forgotten kingdom in Middle Earth.”

Eärien’s eyes grew wide.

Kemen brought his index finger to his lips.

“You must not say a word about this. If my father knows I spoke to you-”

“Rest assured, Kemen” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I am not that daft.”

He nodded, with a small smile and a quick peck to her lips.

“Why are you so interested anyway?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

“Our maid is worried about him, that is all. She says he was half dead when he arrived at their doorstep.”

“Well, he is in a cell now. As he should” Kemen mumbled. “Stealing from the men of the Smiths Guild with such violence-”

“I will find you later, then” she promised, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Kemen.”

She left Kemen behind, pondering her options as she walked the corridors, trying with all her might to try to fit all the pieces together. But it felt like reconstructing a broken jar without all the shards – and then some from at least five different jars.

And maybe the jar did not exist at all in the first place.

Perhaps… If she could take a peek at the stone once more. Or speak to someone about it, at least. If only Isildur had not shut her out so quickly.

If only she could trust her own father.

But he could not even be loyal to his own sons. To neither of them.

And her father clearly did not trust her, if she had to learn from Kemen that Elendil was searching for that man in particular because he might be king to some forgotten kingdom on the other side of the Great Sea.

But she could set part of it right, at least.

Though… If the foreigner was king, why had he not been released from the cells already?

Eärien shook her head, stopping before going down the stairs that led to the palace dungeons.

What was she doing? Did she expect to just walk past the guards to have a most likely very private, very dangerous conversation?

Eärien ran her hand through her hair, huffing. She paced the room back and forth, crossing her arms over her chest.

He was being terribly unreasonable.

“I thought you – especially you, Isil! – of all people, would understand!” she shouted, her eyes to the ceiling.

“And I do understand” Isildur chewed, following her around and reaching for her arm. Eärien yanked herself free. “I do. You want to do what is right. And I think that is really honourable of you. But have you noticed what happens to whomever in this family that tries to meddle in others’ affairs?”

She sighed, and sunk into her chair at the table.

She was exhausted.

Exhausted of always feeling trapped, powerless. Ignorant even, most of the time.

It stung bitterly that her own father did not trust her and that she had had to gather the information she needed from Kemen, a man not of her blood and that seemed to care little for her.

“Please, just help me, brother” she begged, and this time she was the one reaching for his hand.

Isildur took a long breath, closing his eyes. He melted into his seat, his dark eyebrows knitted together, his eyes still averting his sisters.

“I have already ruined my friends’ lives enough” he whispered, his fingers caressing hers.

The image of Lindissë’s house turned upside down flashed before her eyes.

“So did I, it seems” Eärien sighed, letting her shoulders fall.

Isildur turned towards her, his arm draped over the back of her chair, his eyes looking at both their feet.

“When you were about three, Anarion and I broke mother’s old vase.” Isildur mumbled, as if talking to himself. “Father was furious!”

She remembered that story. Anarion and Isildur were playing warriors, as usual, and one of them - she did not quite remember which of them - pushed the other against the cupboard. And then all she remembered was their father’s heavy, quick footsteps getting closer and closer.

“We hid from him in the oak tree, in the garden. I remember climbing that tree first when I was five. Anarion when he was four, almost five too.” There was a sad smile on Isildur’s face, and his eyes were foggy when he lifted his face towards her. “But you saw us running for our lives and climbed that oak tree right under our hills at just three!”

Eärien chuckled, and so did her brother.

The world had seemed smaller then, somehow. As if there was no higher power than their tall father.

How Eärien wished to believe now – as she believed then – Elendil was capable of anything. Of commanding the rain and sun, winds and waves.

At the three she had been too young to understand he had not been able to prevent his own wife’s death. Or his son’s banishment to the other side of Númenor.

“What I mean by that, Eärien, is that you were always smart enough and strong enough to take care of yourself.” Isildur gently squeezed her arm.

“My two brothers taught me well” Eärien said, smiling as she covered the hand on her arm with hers. “And father. In a way.”

Isildur rolled his eyes, but gave a short nod.

And though Eärien was ashamed to admit it, she was glad he had sabotaged himself in the Sea Guard. She wasn’t sure she could lose anyone else. At least for a while.

“Let us both hope Valandil will not try to kill me as soon as he sees me.”

Chapter Text

She wandered the dark corridors, the fickle light of her lantern barely enough so she would not trip on the damp old stones. She hid her nose in the high collar of her dress, the strong smell of mold and filth almost too strong to bear.

Her brother had truly been reckless with his actions. Valandil was right to hate his guts with all his might. One thing was that Isildur was foolish enough to ruin the only prospect he had – besides being heir to a half-forgotten unimportant house of Númenor. Another entirely was ruining their friends’. And Isildur did not have the luxury of having those in plenty.

Sometimes…

Sometimes she felt like she was the one with eyes and ears and a functioning mind in their house.

And yet she had ruined her friend's life too. Their house. Their work. 

Perhaps she was not as much better as Isildur or Elendil as she thought. 

But she was tired. So tired. 

Tired of always feeling as if she was of no consequence.

But at least she could do this.

She could set part of it right.

"You made quite a mess for yourself" she mumbled, and she heard something shifting in the dark.

"I think one would call that self-defense" he retorted, dragging himself towards the light.

The iron bars drew strange shadows on his dirty face. She stayed in place, a couple feet away from him. She had seen what he was capable of. She had seen what he could do if he felt threatened.

A sense of righteousness had brought her here. One of self-preservation kept her comfortably away. 

At least as comfortable as one could be in a dark, filthy place such as this.

One of his eyes was covered in a strange copperish paste. His lower lip was bruised and swollen, his beard darkened by blood.

Maybe he had tried to resist the city guard once they had found him.

He looked more… Alert than the last time she had seen him. 

“Do I know you?” he scoffed, his long fingers gripping the bars. He had bruises on his knuckles too.

Her heart tightened. 

He was half-dead when she had left Lindissë's house. How harsh had the guards been with an already broken man? How fiercely had he resisted?

Maybe if he had not stolen whatever he had stolen… 

Maybe if Pharazôn hadn’t spread his poison about outsiders around town none of this would have happened.

"I seem to have something of yours."

He chuckled, his hand gripping his waist a heartbeat later as he choked. A strange wheezing sound echoed through the dark walls. She tightened her cloak over her chest and took a couple of steps forward.

What could a man do against half a dozen?

“It’s fine” he assured her, but he was bent down, his other hand tightly supporting himself on the bars. “I’m fine, really. Best time of my life”.

She rolled her eyes. It was really easy to just hate him, was it not? No wonder everyone thought the incident had been his fault.

She squared her shoulders.

He was just a man in a cage with no way out. He needed her. Not the other way around.

“So I guess you would rather rot in here than hear what I have to offer.” She turned her back to him, engulfing him in shadow once more.

It should feel intoxicating, really. For once, she had some power.

Well, not really. She had a plan. Well, not really that either.

But then again, right now, he had nothing.

And yet, instead of feeling powerful, she felt terribly guilty.

“You’ve caught my attention alright.” There was a slight tone of urgency in his voice. “My lady.”

She straightened her back, trying as hard as she could to make herself look somehow taller and more imposing. She was glad for the lantern in her hands, so she had something to hold on to.

“I was there.” She tried to sound as confident as possible. “I know you tried to run away, that you had no choice.”

He squinted at her. 

“You did sound somewhat familiar.” He smirked. “At last, someone who doesn’t think I’m just some foreign lowly thief. Or murderer. The title usually depends on the day.”

She scoffed, looking at the stairs, her heart thumping in her chest. They didn’t have much time, Valandil could only keep his other mates at bay for so long. 

"They say you are a king."

He looked nothing like one right now.

Well, neither did the frail old man plagued with nightmares agonizing in his bed as they spoke.

He rolled his eyes. Or at least the one eye not covered in bruises.

“And who's ‘they’ exactly?” 

“That shouldn't concern you” she spat, finally looking him dead in the eye.

They reflected her candle in a strange shade of brown, almost golden.

“Why not, my lady? As you might have noticed, I'm in a cage, uncertain about my fate. A man in such a state might be… Concerned, as you say, with many a thing.” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. He seemed almost… unbothered by her presence, nonetheless. “You are Elendil's daughter, aren't you?” 

She lowered her eyes for a heartbeat, clutching her shawl. Its hem was suddenly really interesting.

Yet somehow it stung that he remembered her as her father's daughter. But not as one of the women that had picked him up from certain death. 

He had been unconscious anyway.

“Aye, I have seen you before then. The lady in the shadow of the tall lord of the house of Elros” he said, as if to himself, but she felt his eyes piercing the top of her head. “Though history might not remember you, whilst it will surely remember him. A terrifying thought, is it not?”

He pushed himself against the bars, his face mere inches from the dark metal, his hands dangling, relaxed, to the outside. He did not look like a prisoner at all.

“That's why you're here, is it not? You found a way to matter, at least for now”. His eyes scanned her body, and she might as well have been naked.

But she was not the one in a cage. He was.

She let go of her shawl and lifted her chin, as if she wanted to remind him of his place. As if she needed to remind herself why she was really here.

Enough of this senseless banter already.

She fished for the bundle in her pocket. 

“I believe this might be yours” she said, as nonchalantly as she managed, dangling the necklace with the kingfisher between them. 

He arched his eyebrows, taking a step back. And she felt she had finally regained some control. 

This was silly. He was just a silly man that could not hurt her from where he stood. Yes, she was a lady from the house of Elros and he was just some lowly ruffian indeed.

Unjustly imprisoned, but a lowly ruffian nonetheless.

“How did you-” he muttered.

“I was there. Those who saved your life are my friends” she explained. 

He need not know more.

And yet he walked towards the light of her lantern again. 

“Eärien, is it not?” he whispered, his hands gripping the bars as if maybe – just maybe – he would be able to tear them from the hinges. “I am truly grateful. To all of you. Please let them know, if you can.”

She nodded, relaxing her shoulders and coiling the leather cords into her palm. 

“There is another item missing” he said, pointing with his chin towards her hip, his brows furrowed. “One dearer to me.”

“You do not care for this, then?” Eärien asked, tucking the necklace again in her pocket and hoping he would not notice the slight tremor in her voice. “A kingfisher, you said?”

“Stolen from a dead man on the side of the road.” He shrugged. “So even though your tone, my lady, is certainly not the most appropriate for a king’s ears, you might find yourself in luck. For I am not the king you seek.”

Her heart sank in her chest.

And somehow, for some absurd reason, there was the stupidest, mostly bloody grin on his dirty face.

Her blood felt thin and hot in her veins.

“Then you are of no use to me” she spat bitterly.

She clutched the lantern tightly, turning her back to him, as frustration washed over her. Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man.

If not for her, he would be dead by now! And she had the will – and means to – to help free him from that cell. And yet he had decided to mock her instead of being grateful. Or he could at least, somehow… Cooperate in some way.

Stupid her.

She fought against the urge to stomp her feet as she climbed the stairs up again. Up. Up, up and away.

“Eärien” The walls echoed softly around her. Then her name again, louder. “My lady Eärien, please.”

She let out a sigh of relief, almost instantly scolding herself for it.

The sound of his voice quickly turned into this eerie wheezing cough again. She left the lantern on the floor, her eyes frantically roaming around for some water.

There was a pitcher and a mug in a corner.

Though annoying, he would be of no use to her dead. And she had already saved him once, and put Lindissë family in danger for him. All would be for nothing if he did not survive.

“Thank you” Their fingers touched briefly as he passed her the mug back, his face still red from coughing so much. “I am not one to beg, but as you might have figured, being in a cage with no perspective of leaving it in the near future is not exactly pleasant.”

He smirked again, and this time she wasn't sure she wished to slap him anymore. 

“No, I wouldn't think it pleasant either.” She tried not to smile, but it was too late. She cleared her throat. Conspiracy was a serious thing after all. “You called for me. Speak.”

His tall dark shadow danced against the dank stones behind him, tinted red by her lantern.

“Technically, you came to me first” he clarified, leaning against the bars once more and she could smell the iron in his breath.

She sunk her nose in her collar again.

“As you might have noticed, unlike you, I can leave if I feel like it. This time for good” 

“Don't.” He clutched her elbow, almost desperately. His hand was dirty, it would leave a stain on her dress. But he let her go before she could reprimand him. “Please, I'll be good, I promise. Please, speak.”

She took a deep breath.

She knew what she was doing was not right. Her father would not be proud of her.

But then again, her father never noticed her. And yet it was on her to try her best to save them all.

“Those men will never tell the truth about what happened. If it were for them, you would rot in this cell.” 

“And if it were for you?” He arched an eyebrow. 

“Your people swore fealty to Sauron.”

That's what she chose to tell herself, to justify what needed to be done about him. She could sin if he already had sins of his own. 

He gestured aimlessly with his hands, huffing.

“We did what we had to do to survive” he said, but his eyes were on the floor. “Here in your proper little island life is either black or white. In the Southlands we do not have the luxury of morals with the enemy at our doorstep.”

“And yet here you are, miles away from home” she said.

He too was a hypocrite, not just her people.

“And yet I didn't want to get killed, either by Sauron or his enemies”

A heavy silence fell over them. She heard a metallic rattling over her head. Maybe someone else's chains.

There were no other prisoners this deep in the city's dungeons. Only foreigners deserved not to see the sun.

“So are you their king?” Time was running out.

He let out a heavy sigh, and faced her again.

“If you are so concerned with the truth then go ahead and tell them all what happened at the market” he said, lifting his chin. “But you won't, won't you? Not for nothing, at least. For how could you buy me if you just give away what you wish to buy me with?”

Her shoulders fell.

It did not feel right, not in the slightest. 

It was easy lying to herself.

In a way.

She had told herself time and time again that she was doing it for the greater good. That she had a noble intent.

That she was just as righteous as her father.

That she was somehow better than the man in front of her, selling his honour to the enemy.

She wanted to hate him. She wanted to hate him so much for placing such a clear mirror in front of her face.

“Tell me, my lady” he almost commanded, his voice clearer than ever, echoing in the empty cell “Why do you need your king with such… desperation?”

Should she… Should she tell a stranger about what she had seen? Would she trust him? A man she did not know in the slightest.

“My people have a duty to yours. The Valar-”

He scoffed, and she squinted at him.

He raised his palms before his shoulders.

“Númenor has drifted from its original purpose. We cannot let Sauron do as he pleases across the Great Sea, or else we might not enjoy the privilege of this realm any longer” She crossed her arms over her chest, realising the smell did not bother her as much now. “But someone must lead the way.”

A heavy silence fell above them.

But all she could hear was her own heartbeat drumming in her ears.

He sighed.

“Have you met the lady Galadriel? I have a feeling you two would get along” he jested, but somehow he felt he was not mocking her anymore. “Does it matter? What if I'm not the king you are searching for?”

He frowned, somewhat inquisitively, as if he was pondering one of the greatest mysteries of the earth.

She realized she did not have a good answer to that question.

“Then what of your clever plan, my lady? How can I buy my freedom from you if I have nothing left to offer?”

Maybe he didn't need nor wanted any form of reply. But she offered one nonetheless. 

“I'd rather work with some odds than none.”

“Aye, by sacrificing me.” He raised his voice, and the walls around them hummed with it.

“Hush, please” she whispered, looking nervously around. The walls fell silent once more, but she put less space between them for good measure. “Would you rather rot in this cell?” 

“How can you be certain I will become this great leader you hope to?” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

“How can you be certain they will set you free after I tell them a man from Middle Earth has been ambushed in an alley, and was only defending himself?” she retorted. “As you might have noticed, many do not care for a stranger’s word, as you might have noticed. For a king’s, however, they might.”

He ran his hand through his hair, combing some strands away from his forehead. There was a small cut over one of his eyebrows. It might leave a scar.

“But you have no way of knowing if it will be enough. Same as I have no way of knowing if defeating Sauron might save my people” she sighed with a shrug. “But maybe we both have parts to play in all this. Though mine might seem smaller.”

He leaned forward once more.

“Fine, my lady Eärien, of the House of Elros” he agreed, outstretching his hand to her.  “I'll be your king, then. But I will need that bracelet too.”

“And you shall have it, once all this is sorted before the queen” she promised, taking his hand in hers. His palm was rough and calloused. Unlike what one might expect of a king. More akin to the hands of a smith. Or a castaway who had been lost at sea for weeks.  “I am glad we have a deal, my lord…?

“Halbrand. Of the Southlands.”

Chapter Text

Elendil rubbed his eyes, his face slightly redder than before.

Eärien looked at her lap, twisting the knots at the end of her sleeves.

“You should have told me” her father said, his voice low but steady. She felt his eyes on her, but she did not dare look at him.

Maybe she was still a little girl, after all.

“Do you hear me, daughter?” His large hand landed on the table with a gentle thud, mere inches from the necklace lying between them. “Did it never cross your mind to tell me the heir to the Southlands was hiding in the physician’s house?”

“You never told me you were looking for the heir to the Southlands” she muttered, her stomach simmering.

Elendil stood up, towering over her.

“Do not try to outsmart me, Eärien. You knew well enough whose man I was talking about. You chose to lie. Lindissë and you both” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder and letting out a deep sigh. There was a glimmer of silver and green at the corner of her eye.

“But I expected… I expected something else from you, child.”

Eärien looked up at him, biting her tongue.

She too expected something else from him. The truth, for once. Just once.

“What has already happened cannot be changed, father.” Her voice trembled. She swallowed thickly but raised her eyes at his father. He was her father, after all. “But I need your help in doing the right thing now.”

Elendil frowned, patting her shoulder.

“So now you want to do the right thing? Do you know the mess you made? The city guard wrecked their house–”

“I saw it with my own eyes, father!” she shouted, shaking her shoulders to try and free herself from his grip.

She was a woman grown, not a little child. And he had no authority to scold her. Even if he was her father.

He had not behaved like a father more than once. Not when their mother died and he disappeared to the sea over and over again. Not when they had taken away his own son and he did nothing. He had no right–

“Did you bother to see it yourself too?” Eärien stood up, her chair dragging loudly against the old wooden floor, her nails digging into the skin of her palms. “Or were you too busy, as always, to care for the people who have cared for yours all their lives when you yourself did not?”

Elendil raised his hand and she flinched.

But nothing happened. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing, and the low huffs from her father’s flaring nostrils.

His bright blue eyes were blown wide, but his lips were tightly pursed together. His hand was still brushing against his forehead.

“Did you think I was going to strike you?”

She shivered. Not once – not even once – did she remember Elendil striking any of them.

But then again not once had she talked to him in such a manner.

Elendil took his seat once more at the head of the table. She grabbed the back of the chair, staring at the seat, but her eyes were out of focus.

“Eärien, this is a grave matter” he said, his forehead resting in his palm. And he seemed older than ever. “Right now the heir to what might be the one of the last defenses of our people against the darkness is in a cell for – if what you say is true – justly defending himself from the violence of some numenorians.”

She sighed, slowly dragging herself down to the chair once more, her fingers intertwined over the table as she tried to steady her breathing.

“It seems to me, father, some of it might have been avoided had we trusted each other" she mumbled.

Elendil reached over the table, and Eärien’s knuckles turned white. He took the necklace, bringing it before his eyes and carefully examining it.

“I do not trust that man. That… Halbrand.” He turned the small pouch between his fingers. “It is too convenient that the lady Galadriel happened to be rescued in the middle of the Great Sea by the heir to the Southlands, nothing less. Don’t you think, daughter?”

She gulped, the images from the dark stone of Tar-Palantir flashing before her eyes.

“I would not know.” She shrugged. “We have no way of knowing, do we? That line has been lost for generations, if what they say is true.”

“Right, that is quite right” Elendil agreed, almost too eagerly. “It is also quite convenient – contrived even – that no one but him can confirm nor deny his claim.”

“Does your ring not attest you are the heir to the house of Andúnië?”

Her father glanced at the two serpents with emerald eyes biting each other around his index finger.

“Some house…” Elendil muttered, with a hint of longing in his voice. But his eyes were on the necklace again. “Still, there has to be something more in the making of a man than a mere gimmick.”

He tossed it to her, and it landed with a dry thump.

“You should not be ashamed of acting on your conscience, daughter” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the back of his chair. “But your pride should not cloud your judgment. You do not know as much as you think you know.”

She too crossed her arms, straightening her back.

Nor did he know as much as he thought he did.

But she did not wish to continue this fight anymore. She had made a deal, and she intended to keep it, so she kept her mouth shut instead.

Now was not the time to try and mend old scars when there were bleeding wounds that needed tending.

“She is lying!” Pharazôn roared, a spray of spit before him as his large finger pointed at her from across the room.

“Hush!”

The queen’s voice made the white walls tremble as she eyed the small leather pouch with the kingfisher sigil resting in the palm of her hand.

A small breeze caressed Eärien's face, doing little to nothing to calm her nerves.

Why was it all so convoluted? The truth was the truth and what was fair was fair. Why did it need arguing and convincing?

She felt her father’s large hand on the small of her back, grounding her.

“Is it true, child?” The queen sounded calmer, but not quite friendly. “You are going against the accounts of esteemed members of the Smith’s Guild. And the City Guard.”

Eärien took a deep breath, clenching her fists at her sides.

Somehow it was easier being brave in a dark dungeon with a man in a cage than in a bright hall filled with nobles, politicians… A queen.

She opened her mouth to speak.

“I already told you, queen-regent. As did the Lord Elendil”. The elf was quicker to speak. “Lord Halbrand is the heir to the Southlands. That is the same symbol we saw in the archives, next to Sauron’s map to the region.”

“Another liar” Pharazôn scoffed, this time not as loudly but not one bit less threatening. Or annoying.

“No, you are the liar, Chancellor!” Galadriel shouted, her face mere inches from Pharazôn’s. Eärien saw him gulp. The elf looked at the queen again. “Queen Miriel, please, you must realize it is a great injustice to deprive an innocent man of his freedom. Let alone the true king of the Southlands. Surely you must see this.”

The queen closed her eyes, huffing.

Sometimes Eärien somewhat pitied her. A queen she might be, but sometimes she seemed more of a glorified puppet than the real ruler of Númenor. Tossed into power by the people’s hatred of her father.

It made little sense, to switch a hated king for his daughter. How could she win her people’s hearts while still being loyal to her father, as any heir should?

It seemed like an impossible task.

And a pointless one, too.

“My daughter has no reason to lie, my queen.” Her father’s voice was serene and firm. “These are difficult times. The arrival of two strangers to our shores spiked our people’s deeply rooted mistrust of foreigners.”

The Great Hall was silent, and Eärien could hear her own rapid pulse.

“I saw what I saw, my queen” Eärien finally spoke up, but her throat was strangely dry. “It is up to you now to believe it, or not. And do as you see fit.”

Eärien cleared her throat, and the queen gave the necklace back to Elendil with a long sigh.

“But I swear by my word that our men greatly outnumbered him and that he was attacked, unprovoked” Eärien said continued, her tone steadier. “And that he had this necklace on him when we found him. Zamin, daughter of Hallacar, the physician, would swear it too, if needed.”

The queen clutched her hands at her front, her eyes to the ceiling, as if she was trying to call for the Valar to give her the right answer themselves.

But, alas, that kind of faith was now forbidden in her realm. And no one would – or should – answer her.

“I cannot imprison the heir to the Southlands. Nor can I do so to an innocent man” she said, but her tone was uncertain. “And yet what if he is neither?”

“My queen, perhaps the man might have defended himself somewhat… Violently” Elendil added. “But maybe those men still choose to maintain their lie because they were ashamed a single man was capable of beating, unharmed, half a dozen of them.”

The queen chuckled, but with a small lick of her lips her face was stiff again.

“My lord Elendil, I have always valued your word. As I have yours, lord Pharazôn.” Her eyes scanned the small crowd around her. “But it seems to me none of you were there when this crime took place. We have only the words of those directly involved, who have no reason but honour – or its absence – to tell the truth of the deed. Or the word of the Lady Eärien and the physician’s daughter, both claiming they were there by chance when it happened.”

“I swear by my word, my queen” Eärien insisted. If this was going to work she had to be as clear as possible.

“And yet, my lady, I find myself with no way of knowing who is telling me the truth, since everyone swears by their word too” the queen said. “Though I cannot ignore the evidence brought forth by the Lord Elendil and the Lady Galadriel. And it seems quite terrible to imprison a potentially allied king, with the threat of Sauron looming even closer than we thought.”

With an almost imperceptible nod of her head, the queen left with her guard, Pharazôn, Elendil and the lady Galadriel following her out of the Great Hall.

Eärien let her arms fall at her sides, somehow feeling less triumphant than she expected. No one had called her, so she stayed behind, her fingers brushing against the bump at her hip.

She had brought the silver bracelet, intent on keeping the other part of her deal.

It seemed strange to pass a man's judgement without his presence.

She shrugged. If only she had brought her satchel with her, she could make something out of the situation and visit the old king. With each passing day he spent less time awake, let alone in a speaking mood, and she ached to ask him about the strange vision on the stone.

And yet now the guards seemed to never leave.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Kemen hissed between gritted teeth, his slender fingers clawing at her arm and dragging her behind one of the thick white columns.

She jerked her arm away, her lips tightly pursed, her eyes roaming his face as she tried to understand Kemen’s anger.

“I did what was right!” she growled, putting a couple of feet between them. “And do not dare to touch me like that ever again, Kemen.”

“What was right?” His eyes were wide, and he brushed his face with his palm. “What is right about setting a thief free?”

“What is right about killing a man in the streets for theft?”

Hot anger boiled in her chest.

She was right. She was right about this and it was not Kemen’s place – anyone’s place, really – to tell her otherwise. She might doubt almost everything everyday. But she was terribly certain about this.

Kemen took a long breath, rolling his eyes, his hands tightly clenched at his sides.

The usual pale skin of his face was a strange shade of pink, his nostrils flaring.

But when he finally spoke his tone was calm.

Uncannily so.

“Eärien, you do not understand these matters.” He reached for her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair away. “You know nothing about these foreigners– If he was not heir to a broken line he would have rotted in that cell anyway.”

Her face burnt, but not from pleasure nor shame.

“And you think there is nothing wrong with that?” She squinted her eyes at him, and he shook his head.

“I think I should have never told you about it. I never thought you could use it to free him.”

Her veins burnt, a hot red rage climbing up her chest.

“That I was able to or that I would do it?” she asked, realizing too late it did not matter. 

Kemen had shown his face over and over and she had blinded herself. Willingly. And for what? For a couple of lousy fucks? So she could feel somewhat… Somewhat… Seen? Loved? 

She had two brothers who loved her, even if one of them had been too far away for too long. Dear friends who felt more like family sometimes than her own father. Dear friends she had put in danger for her ideals. Whose names she had had to clean.

And she was tired of self important men. Men that thought her lesser. Men that thought her unworthy of trust, devoid of insight or worth. 

“Eärien, please” he asked, cupping her cheeks, his blue eyes softer. “Let us not fight about this anymore. I know you had good intent, but you must admit your actions were wrong.”

She caught his wrists, yanking them away from her.

“Do not ever touch me, Kemen” she commanded, her mouth barely moving, her fingers brushing her hair back in place. “Ever again. Do not dare.”

She turned her back to him, wishing she could slam some door behind her as she left him there.

Chapter Text

“You could have just gone directly to the queen, you know?” 

Isildur looked at the ships getting ready to leave. Again. Without him.

“We should go, brother. This is of no good to you.” She put her arm around his shoulder, gently turning him towards the city again. “It was not meant to be.”

He took her hand and smiled, but there was a sadness in his dark eyes.

Sometimes, it felt as if they only had each other. After their mother’s death, their father was more often than not away with the Sea Guard. And then their brother Anarion had been banished and they were the only ones left.

Isildur had followed his younger brother’s footsteps. Trying - and failing terribly - to get their father’s attention by any means possible. He was the eldest son, after all. Becoming a shadow once the deep sadness of their mother’s death consumed their father most have been difficult to understand for such a smile boy.

But she had been the last. And a daughter, not a son. One who could not share their father’s love for sailing the seas of Arda.

“Will you try again?” Isil asked, and his tone was hopeful. “The Builder’s Guild?”

She frowned, her steps becoming somewhat slower.

“I do not think so.” What for? Why fight against obtuse men when she knew she would lose all the time?

She rather disliked that subject. It pained her more than she cared to admit.

“Thank you, Isil. For distracting the guards the other day.”

“I still don’t understand why you needed to speak to him before going to the queen.” Isildur shrugged. “And why it took you so long.”

“I wanted to assess the man’s character, that’s all. What if father was handing a crown to a violent man?”

“But he is a violent man, sister!” Isildur retorted, shaking his head. “One of those men is yet to awake from his injuries. Another has a broken arm and might be able to work again.”

“Then why did you let me go to him alone?” She spat.

Isildur fell silent.

They turned around the corner after the tavern, the tables already full of people enjoying the end of a day’s work.

When her brother spoke again, there was not a hint of disapproval in his tone.

“When you were about three, Anarion and I broke mother’s old vase. Father was furious, so we hid from him in the oak tree, in the garden. I remember climbing that tree first when I was five. Anarion when he was four, almost five too. But you saw us running for our lives and climbed that oak tree right under our hills at just three!”

She remembered that story. Anarion and Isildur were playing warriors, as usual, and one of them - she did not quite remember which of them - pushed the other against the cupboard. And then all she remembered was their father’s heavy, quick footsteps getting closer and closer.

“What I mean by that, Eärien, is that you were always smart enough and strong enough to take care of yourself.” He pulled her to him, and she smiled weakly.

“My two brothers taught me well” Eärien said, reaching out to open the gate to the garden. The soft smell of cyclamens was one of the few things she remembered about her mother. “And father. In a way.”

Isildur let go of her. She was ashamed to admit she was glad he had sabotaged himself. She wasn’t sure she could lose anyone else. At least for a while.

She grabbed her satchel from her chambers. Isildur had stayed in the garden, seated by the door, his elbows on his knees as he peered between dark curls to the old oak tree.

“I’ll be back before supper, I promise” she said. “Father will be home anytime now.”

He nodded, his eyes still somewhat lost. But said nothing

“I will bring fresh bread for dinner, don’t worry about it.” She was not certain he had truly heard her.

Eärien said goodbye with a short sigh. She still had a couple of hours before sunset and the harbour looked beautiful with that light. But she couldn’t stay there with her brother. It would do him no good to spend the afternoon looking longingly at the ships’ sterns as he was left behind by his former comrades.

Even though he deserved that fate, in a way.

She climbed down the steps to the main pier and a late summer sea breeze filled her nose. She would miss this, she knew that, once she arrived in Middle Earth. Even though she did not care for sailing much - not that it mattered, when she was a woman, - she never felt quite right when she was too far away from the shore. The familiar singing of the white seagulls above the ships silenced almost all the noise around her. And in her head.

Her people lived by and for the sea. How could they comprehend it would be their demise? The old king had tried to steer the Numenoreans towards the Valar once more, and that had enraged his people. And since his daughter was keen on keeping her crown, she had had to undo many of her father’s reforms, even though she not only let the Faithful be, but also kept some of them, like Elendil, as close advisors.

Eärien sharpened her charcoal, and started scribbling against her knees. It was of no use trying to understand politics, when even most of those directly involved in it did not seem to understand it either.

The golden rays played beautifully with the Sea Guard ship’s sand-coloured sails, tensed by the winds of the west that also ruffled her hair.

Sea and salt.

Maybe her father loved the sea so much that she had it in her veins.

She always felt like herself here.

The world finally made sense here.

Though not for long, if what she had seen was true.

“My lady Eärien.”

She was ripped away from her thoughts, a large shadow - too large - stretched itself at her right. She looked up, squinting and shielding her eyes with her hand so the low sun would not blind her.

He was dressed differently now. A nicer tunic. Nicer boots. He didn’t look like a castaway anymore. Nor like a prisoner either.

And though he had that strange necklace around his neck, he still didn't quite look like a king. 

He looked… surprised.

“I…” He looked over his shoulder. There was no one around, not that she was aware of it. “I suppose some gratitude is in order.”

“My lord Halbrand.” She scrambled to get up, very aware of the formalities in order. Real king or not, in a couple of days it would not matter what the truth was.

Her charcoal fell to the ground with a sharp clank, as it broke into small pieces, and all the papers in her lap flew around furiously.

He ran down the stairs, and she chased around her work, one hand lifting her skirts so she wouldn't trip on them in what should be one of the most unladylike ways.

How could she be so reckless?

She successfully grabbed some of the sheets of paper, running and jumping around all the while trying not to fall to the sea and make even more of a fool of herself. One clung to Halbrand’s legs, and he bent over to pick it up. But a couple of sheets had already ended up in the water, destroyed.

“You are quite talented, my lady” he said, handing her previous sketch back to her. It was just some grey strokes, an idea of a ship sailing east. He was just being polite. “Maybe I should commission you my likeness once the war is over.”

She gathered everything together, rearranging the sheets neatly, all the corners aligned again. What a stupid thing to do. 

She furiously slapped her hair away from her face, trying to regain some composure.

“You have-” He bit his lip, stifling a laugh. “You just stained your cheek, my lady.”

She huffed, brushing the back of her hand to her face. She felt it burn.

“I’m sorry, I… I was lost in thought, my lord, forgive me.” She curtsied, holding the sheets tight against her chest.

He bowed his head to her.

“You have not to worry, my lady Eärien. It was I who intruded.” He gestured towards the spot she had been seated earlier. “Please. I did not mean to interrupt your work. I just meant to thank you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t thank me” she muttered, sitting down again and tucking her skirts under her feet. She squinted, trying to look at his face, bathed by the warm sunset. “Now I feel odd, sitting here with a king standing before me.”

He chuckled, and sat beside her, his legs stretched out as he leant back against the wall. But he said nothing. 

She grabbed a piece of charcoal that had fallen near, and resumed her sketch, even though now the ship was almost out of the harbour.

A ship full of men who knew her father and brother really well.

But they were too far to see anything, really.

“I thank you for giving me purpose” he clarified, leaning towards her ever so slightly. She was very conscious of her drawing skill - or lack thereof - all of a sudden. “To fight for my people, king or not. Though I think I would have gladly stayed here. As no one. This place seems nice enough.”

“You were making too many ‘friends’ to be no one” she said, licking her thumb to smudge a shadow on the waves. “But then again, maybe they should have just accepted you in the Smiths Guild.”

He laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Aye, it would have been easier for everyone involved. Except maybe for you, of course. And the lady Galadriel.”

The soft waves crashing against the pier felt like the sea’s gentle breathing. The gulls cackled high above them, longing for the fishermen's boats to come in the early evening. And the shadows around them were getting longer and longer.

Eärien shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, too aware that she should not be there. Not alone. Not with him.

He was a stranger, a foreigner. A liar, a thief.

And if the smith who was still unconscious was to die from his injuries he would be a murderer too.

She shouldn’t trust him. Not when not even Isildur was around so she could shout for help if-

“My lord Halbrand, I’m afraid it is becoming quite late” she said, gathering her things in her satchel, her own thoughts running and crashing against themselves inside her head. “I still need to get to the baker’s before supper.”

He cleared his throat.

“Yes, of course.” He got up, reaching out to help her stand up too.

Though his bruises seemed better, even those on his face, his hand was still the hand of a smith.

Her hand, however, was stained in black powder, though he did not seem to notice or mind.

“I did not mean to impose my presence on you, my lady” he apologized, while they made their way back to the main street. “I had not had the chance to talk to you after my release, that was all.”

“We can keep each other company until our paths part, my lord” she said, feeling guilty that he was the one making apologies and saying thanks when she had taken advantage of his situation for her own benefit.

But a foreigner behind bars in Numenor really didn’t have much choice.

She noticed some wary looks as they passed between the market stalls, though many of them were already closing for the day. Once the sun disappeared behind the hills, so did most of them.

“Did the queen agree to send an army to the Southlands, then?” she whispered once they took a turn on a more quiet alley.

“The lady Galadriel is being very persuasive, but no. Not yet.” he said.

Eärien huffed. She knew she had to be patient. One could hardly go from prisoner to king in less than a week. Let alone convince Numenor to fight for a kingdom that had not existed as such for almost a century.

But maybe they did not have another week. Not when some white petals flew around them.

She should speak to her father. If someone had the queen’s ear it was him.

“Eärien!”

She almost jumped out of her skin, the strong voice behind her all too familiar.

“Father” she greeted, a slight bow of her head.

Her father’s brows were furrowed, his blue eyes going from her to the man at her side.

“My lord Elendil.” Halbrand bowed, his hand on his chest, his composure perfect.

“My lord Halbrand.” Elendil gave a slight nod, but nothing more.

Halbrand put himself between her father and her, but Elendil did not move an inch.

“I had not had the chance to thank the lady Eärien for speaking up for me” he explained, his voice firm and clear.

“My daughter did what was right, nothing more.”

Eärien came forward, taking her father’s arm. And even though it was stretched at his side, it felt as tense as a string of a bow about to shoot.

“Our paths just crossed at the market and the lord Halbrand was kind enough to keep me company until they separated again” she explained, trying to appease her father. “But now, as you see, there is no need, my lord. I need not take any more of your time, my lord father shall accompany me from here.”

“Aye, my lord” Elendil said, his tone slightly less commanding, but stern still. “Thank you for your… Service.”

“It was the least I could do, my lord.” Halbrand was smiling, but her father was not. Nor was she. “If not for the lady Eärien I might still be rotting in that cell.”

Elendil’s large hand covered Eärien’s on his elbow, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“Aye, you might be still rotting in that cell” her father muttered, and then cleared his throat. “Good evening, my lord.”

Halbrand bowed, and so did Eärien and Elendil. And then they took separate paths.

Chapter Text

Eärien chewed on her toast. She was not very hungry, though, and her tea was still too hot to drink, the mug before her reflecting the first rays of dawn. Her father and her brother too ate in silence, the three pairs of eyes avoiding the others.

Some mornings were more uncomfortable than others.

“Well, don’t you speak all at once” Lindissë mumbled, taking her seat next to Eärien. “How's the old king's painting going?”

So we were avoiding the more… serious topics, then.

“It is a sketch for his tomb, not a painting” Eärien corrected, shrugging, but her eyes were still on her mug. “At least that is what the queen commissioned.”

“Well, the king’s features shouldn’t be too hard to capture” Isildur jested, the sight of half chewed bits of bread in his mouth absolutely disgusting. “Since he mustn’t move much these days.”

Elendil inhaled sharply, his wide eyes piercing his son.

Isildur lowered his head to his plate again, eating in silence once more.

Lindissë sighed, and refilled Eärien’s cup before pouring herself some tea too. There was this strange, fragile peace in the air. As if all of them walked over thin ice, afraid to break it at any point. 

“Thank you, Lindissë” Eärien said. “It is more difficult than I had expected. As it turns out, some talent without any training might not always be enough.”

“The queen asked for you, specifically. You should not underestimate your skill, daughter.”

Eärien resisted the urge to correct her own father. It was just a consolation prize of sorts, nothing more.

But it was all she had, right now. And maybe if not for that she would not have known… Known too much.

She shifted in her seat, her lower back hurting.

“And for that I am grateful, father.” And she was, she truly was. It gave her something to do. And precious insight.

Maybe. Was it really precious? Or insight, for the matter. 

“The Royal Council is meeting today. We can go together to the palace” Elendil suggested, passing Eärien her satchel and reaching for his sword belt from the same hanger.

“About the Southlands matter?” she asked, returning her chair to its place.

Elendil tied his belt tightly around his waist and gave it a firm tug, assuring it was in place. His hand went to the pommel of his sword, as if to confirm it was still there, as ever.

They both said their goodbyes, Elendil letting her pass through the door before him, still in silence.

“I know we have our disagreements, daughter” Elendil said, his left hand still on his sword. “And please understand that this does not mean I do not trust your judgment or your wisdom. But there are things you do not – and should not – know.”

She refrained the scoff threatening to burst between her shut lips. 

“Evidently, I do not blame you, nor Lindissë, her husband or her daughter, for acting as you did” he continued, his eyes on the road ahead and never on her “It saddens me that my own daughter did not trust me. That you could think I would put my duty as a royal advisor above what is right.”

Had he not done that about Anarion? What was right about that matter?

As if she had no reason to assume it would be like that once more.

“It saddens me too, father” she mumbled, not sure if he had heard it or not.

This was never pleasant. The king’s health was getting worse with each passing day, his lips were dry and chapped, his skin a strange yellowish-brown, his eyes always closed. Sometimes he mistook her for his daughter. Sometimes he mumbled about the great wave, mostly when he somehow noticed they were alone, even for just a moment.

But never long enough. 

And it was not amusing at all, seeing such a powerful man slowly but surely decaying without really dying at last.

The healers came and went. Sometimes they bled him, sometimes they just wet his lips. He had stopped eating anything with substance a few days ago, though.

There was not much to do, really.

Except wait.

Eärien did not draw the white stain on the corner of the king’s mouth. Nor a third of the wrinkles around his eyes. She sketched more teeth than he still had. She tried to be kind with reality, just a little bit, so one could still recognize the king but in a way she thought he might have looked a decade or so ago. She tried to give him back some of his past dignity. 

The poor man was already suffering enough, he did not need to go to his final dwelling looking like a decrepit old man.

Even if he was one right now.

The guard went around the chamber’s corner to change shifts with the next one and Eärien eyed the small table beside the bed. 

She looked at the corner of the room. Then at the dark bulk on the table again.

Her heart raced in her chest.

The corner again.

She could hear the men talking, though she could not quite make up the words.

It would only take a moment, a small peek. She needed it. She needed it so much, to silence all doubt at last.

“My lady” the new guard greeted, and it was too late.

Her fingers cramped and she needed to meet Zamin to help her with her wedding dress.

Eärien gathered her things and swung her satchel over her shoulder, bowing to the king and then nodding at the guard before leaving.

Not everything about this task was unpleasant, though. At least now she had something to fill part of her days instead of being angry all the time about the way things were and not the way they should be.

She missed Anarion dearly. He was the one closer to her in age, the one always ready to threaten anyone he might think had wronged his little sister. And yet he was terribly stubborn. If not for that, he might still live in the city with the rest of them.

Eärien crossed the large courtyard, the pomegranate trees heavy with crimson fruits. She noticed her father’s silhouette on the other side of the central path, facing the harbour as usual.

She stopped to greet some acquaintances or her way. Mairen’s belly was huge already, and Isildur had been tremendously reckless for ruining Ontamano's career in the Sea Guard. Let us not talk about it now. Well, maybe the old king was already dead and no one had announced it yet. No, Eärien had just seen him, he did not look great but still breathed. Somehow. Was Zamin nervous about the wedding? What a dreadful affair, what they had done to her house.

Eärien stopped listening at some point, her mind drifting away. Would it matter? Would any of it matter if their people met their doom?

She hoped dearly that it was just silly superstition, and nothing more. If not, she could only hope either their people would be forgiven in time by the powers that be or that at least they would be sailing east by then.

A group of men from the Builder’s Guild passed them, and though she gestured to greet them – mostly out of politeness –, they were too engrossed in their important conversation to notice.

Eärien felt her face burn, even though she should have been used to this feeling by now.

And then her heart sank in her chest.

She was someone's daughter. Not a man herself.

And daughters were not accepted by the Guilds. Daughters were not called to war. Daughters would not sail with the first ships that left Númenor.

The thoughts run somewhat aimlessly inside her skull, making her dizzy.

She excused herself and went to look for her father.

Under one of the pomegranate trees sat a tall, fair lady, her silver hair cascading to her lap, a familiar man beside her, both engrossed in what seemed like a heated discussion. She burned to ask them about the expedition to Middle Earth, but the fear of being ignored once more kept her on her own path towards her father. She would say goodbye to Elendil and then she would be on her way.

“Lady Eärien.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. She had been caught. 

“Lord Halbrand.” She turned around, and curtsied. “Lady Galadriel. I am sorry, I did not see you two there.”

They were both standing up now, no more than a couple of feet away from her.

“And what is the subject of your work today, my lady?” Halbrand asked, gesturing towards her satchel. “Lady Galadriel, the Lady Eärien is quite the skilled artist.”

Eärien felt terribly… Inadequate, standing so close to the lady Galadriel. She noticed the elf was taller than any woman she had ever seen – at least as tall as Halbrand, if not a bit more, even. And she might as well be the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, now that Eärien thought about it. She had never quite seen the lady at such a short distance.

“Is that so, my lady?” Galadriel arched an eyebrow at her, the elf’s eyes shining like a starry sky.

“The Builder’s Guild seems to disagree” Eärien muttered. 

“Does any guild on this island ever take anyone in? Or maybe you should try stealing someone's sigil, my lady.” Galadriel jested, and Eärien felt somewhat more at ease with her. “Though I am afraid that did not quite work out for the last man who tried.”

Halbrand scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, isn't that the lord Elendil over there?” Halbrand asked, pointing at the opposite end of the courtyard.

Eärien nodded and the next heartbeat Galadriel was on her way towards him.

“She will fill his ears with her plans for the expedition in the hopes he can fill the queen’s, I am afraid” Halbrand explained as they both followed Galadriel, though slower and keeping at least a foot between the both of them.

“Well, we ought to be thankful to the lady Galadriel, then” Eärien said, with a shrug.

Halbrand muttered in approval but said nothing as they walked. 

The courtyard was full of people, their loud voices intermingling in the air. She looked at the White Tree, the bright soft tips of the petals already noticeable in the small buds.

“I would like to apologize for the other day” Halbrand mumbled, finally breaking their silence but looking away from her, as if the pomegranates themselves were more interesting. “I overstepped.”

“My father is weary of what he does not know nor fully understand. And he seems to only really understand the sea” Eärien whispered, and then she lowered her tone ever more “But I quite enjoyed having some company. For once.”

Halbrand smiled at her. A full smile, not a smug smirk as she might have expected..

“I thought you preferred solitude, my lady” he said, tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear. “But if my presence can bring you some amusement then I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“The light is particularly beautiful before sunset. Though today I do not think I will have the time, and the wind is blowing from the east” she said, twisting the hem of her shawl between her fingers. “That always brings some fog from the sea. Maybe tomorrow, if the winds change.”

“Then let us hope that tomorrow the west wind is on our side, my lady” Halbrand bowed almost imperceptibly, and joined some men to their left.

Her father did not seem to notice his presence.

“I knew I shouldn't have told you anything.” Eärien rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, the soles of the sandals hanging from her fingers covering the front of her dress in sand. “I don’t understand what seems to be the matter.”

Zamin bent down to grab some rock or shell or some other random trinket, blowing to clean it up before pushing it into her small pouch.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Eärien?” she asked, frowning. “Or worse?”

“What could possibly be worse than being killed?” Eärien groaned, turning towards her friend. Zamin pursed her lips together.

“You are only telling me so I can cover for you. Again.”

Eärien sighed as they both hopped over a bunch of seaweed, drying by the shore, the pungent smell filling her nostrils. The strong wind whipped her hair back and covered her face in sweet sea spray, her dress clinging to her legs as she dragged her feet through the fine white sand.

Somehow, it felt wonderful.

“Zamin, I know I made– I made quite a mess” Eärien mumbled, searching for her friend’s hand, and Zamin closed her fingers around hers.

“And yet you faced no consequences of it” Zamin chewed. “Look, I know your intentions were good, and you were right, we could not leave him to die in the streets, of course. But don’t you think you took it a step too far?”

Eärien rolled her eyes.

“Not you too, Zamin.”

Zamin let go of her hand, stopping slightly behind Eärien.

“Not me what?” she bit back. “Not me what, Eärien? People are talking about war, for Ëste’s sake! Do you know who they send to war? Do you?”

Eärien rushed back to her.

“I know! Of course I know!” she shouted. Did Zamin think her so… Disconnected from reality? “I have a father, and two brothers–”

“It is hardly the same!” Zamin spat, furiously slapping her own blond curls – almost silver in the bright noon sun – away from her face. “Three men, from the house of Elros. They will hardly be in the frontline, won’t they?”

Eärien opened her mouth to say something.

And yet she could not.

It was easy to forget. They had been brought up together at the same time, by the same woman. Often in the same house.

But neither Zamin was a lady of the house of Andúnië nor her future husband belonged to any noble house of Númenor.

Zamin took a long breath.

“I would have told the truth too, you know that” Zamin said, her tone steadier and softer. “It would have been enough. It should have been enough.”

“What if it wasn’t? What worth have the words of two women and a foreigner against half a dozen numenorian men?”

“I guess we will never know now, will we?” Zamin sighed.

Eärien hooked her arm in her friend’s, pulling her closer, but Zamin felt impossibly stiff.

“I never meant– You must know I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“And yet we did” Zamin muttered. “And yet we still might.”

Zamin finally bent her elbow, resting her hand below her chest, her free hand closing around Eärien’s as they both walked in silence.

Eärien’s eyes stung, the matter that had brought her there forgotten like the sun behind a dark cloud in the sky. She grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling them both closer to the shoreline, the gentle cool waves licking her feet.

And she hoped with every breath, every drop of her blood, every inch of her flesh, that the world could stay forever as it was. That they could all celebrate Zamin and Vëantur’s wedding in peace and that they had a thousand children that Eärien would love dearly and Lindissë and Hallacar could see grow.

“The Valar gave this island to our people after the Great War against Morgoth” Zamin said, her eyes on the horizon. “Maybe war will find us anyway if we do nothing.”

Eärien almost gasped. Almost.

That vision had burned her for too long, too long to bear.

Her heart raced in her chest.

“I know you do not believe these things” Zamin continued, letting go of Eärien so she too could grab the hem of her dress and wet her feet. “The Valar and all.”

Eärien chuckled.

“Not for lack of trying, either from your mother or my own father.”

But no. Not after her mother’s death. Her father’s obsession. What had happened to Anarion, or the old king, for the matter.

Eärien’s mouth was strangely dry, and not from the salty sea foam.

“Do you know I have been drawing the old king, do you not?” she chewed her words carefully before spitting them out. “He is… He is quite…”

“Still alive?” Zamin offered, but Eärien shook her head vigorously.

“Sometimes he says some odd things” Eärien tried again. “Please, Zamin, this has to stay between us. No one must know. Not after what happened to Anarion, please.”

Zamin took a few steps back, stepping away from the water and letting her dress fall to her feet once more. She was frowning again.

“Eärien, please” she begged, her hands smoothing the front of her dress and moving towards the smooth curls near her neck, tucking them into her long braid, where they surely belonged. “Do I need to know?”

Yes.

Maybe?

“No.”

Zamin blinked, and reached forward to pull Eärien out of the water too.

“Then say nothing about it” Zamin commanded, hooking her arm in Eärien’s and almost dragging her back to the small path among the sharp rocks of the cliff, leading them both back to the city. “Now tell me, we will meet by the baker's at dusk, right? And if you do not arrive by then what must I do? Cut that man’s throat?”

Zamin chuckled but Eärien was not entirely sure she was joking. And Eärien was not certain she should tell her friend she should not kill him if it came to that.

“Someone needs to know where I'll really be, after all.”

“And with whom, do not forget about that” Zamin added, patting Eärien’s arm.

Eärien rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes. That too” she muttered. “I am not that gullible.”

Zamin held her hand tight.

“I know you are not” she agreed. “Though I must say, your taste in men seems terrible.”

“It is not like that!” Eärien screeched.

But what was it like, then? Was it pity? Curiosity?

“I love you as a sister” Zamin said, leaning against her shoulder. “But I do not want to be to blame if you get hurt.”

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

But she had no way of knowing.

Chapter Text

She clutched her satchel with both hands, more to steady herself than anything else.

They had merely talked about the winds and the sunset. About the weather, actually. What meaning could someone possibly extract from that?

After all, there was never an explicit agreement about a meeting or anything of the sorts.

She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath. She was not a silly little girl anymore.

And she did not worry about the comings and goings of some man with whom she did not share any blood nor upbringing. And this was her place. Her place. She had been coming here for ages, ever since she could remember, and she was alone, at peace, most of the time. Nothing needed to change about that.

He was down at the pier, skipping stones, the sun turning his hair a warm shade of gold. She stood still, mesmerized by the circles expanding slowly in the soft waves before the stone sank to the dark sea. A handful of children were playing catch a few feet from him, promptly scolded by some woman above about the perils of running so close to the water.

“My lord Halbrand” she greeted. “I did not expect to see you here today.”

He turned around, a smirk on his face.

“You did not, my lady Eärien?” he asked, clanking the two small stones in his hands. “I see no fog on the horizon. And I’d say that flag over there is pointing eastwards.”

The same woman scolding the children ran down the stairs, almost bumping into Eärien on her way, and then passed her again with a small boy hanging by his ear, the others following with their heads low.

Eärien took her usual place, and Halbrand resumed his sport in silence.

He could be quite a nice company, as long as he kept quiet.

She sharpened her charcoal with a knife and then grabbed her sheets of paper. She had been working on a particular image of the harbour, and the light had to be just right so the shadows made any sense. No ship was sailing away today, but she had already captured that part in a way that pleased her enough.

But the sketch lacked… It lacked life. One could hardly feel anything about a painting with ships and small boats and stone walls.

The lashing of his arm and then the rhythmic sound of the stones against the water were strangely soothing, though somewhat distracting. The way he crouched, flexing his elbow and wrist while keeping them both apparently relaxed at the same time. The way his muscles tensed and loosened up when he pulled his arm back and then threw it out, again and again.

“Aren’t you bored?” she asked, her eyes back on the paper on her knees as she added a crack to the white wall.

He threw the stone in his hand in the air, and caught it again before returning it to his pocket. 

“I did not want to disturb your work, my lady” he said, sitting beside her, his arms around his knees. “But yes, skipping stones can only amuse for a short while. We should speak about my portrait.”

“What portrait?” She eyed him almost behind her eyelashes and he laughed.

“The one I commissioned from you.” He toyed with the lace at her elbow, as if he was a pouty little boy asking for a piece of cake.

“You never commissioned anything from me” she retorted sharply, biting the inside of her mouth to mask a smile.

“Aye, that much is true, you were the one… Commissioning last time” he said. “You commissioned a king, and I gave you one, my lady.”

“In exchange for your freedom, which you seem to have plenty of” she reminded him, shaking her head. The shade on that small boat was too sharp, it needed some smudging, at least.

He sighed exaggeratedly, and his hand left her sleeve for his pocket, searching for something there.

“In any way, I will be in need of a portrait” he tried again, turning the coin between his fingers. “This is the old king, is it not? I do hope you make him look better than this.”

She shrugged.

“If my face is going to be on my kingdom’s coins then I’ll need a better artist than whomever did this.” He showed her the coin, but she did not need to see it. They were famously terrible, the old king almost unrecognizable. “Just could you please do something about my nose?”

“What is wrong with your nose?” Eärien asked, finally looking at him directly.

Sure, it was a little bigger and rounder than it should for his face and it had a small slit in the middle. But there was nothing too awful about it. It did nothing to make him look any less handsome than he already was.

His face’s greatest virtue, however, were his dark eyes – brown, as she noticed. There was something both mischievous and gentle about them.

She shook her head again. Her eyes or his nose – or any part of him, really – were no concern of hers. 

Halbrand stroked his nose with his finger, frowning.

“I just don’t care for it very much” he said.

“Well, you should, as it is the only nose you have.” The joke sounded ridiculous to her, but somehow he laughed, and so did she. “I think it suits you.”

“My lady, you are the authority on this matter, I am afraid,” he said, excessively pompous and solemn. “So I have no choice but to agree.”

His hand found hers on the floor between them, almost nonchalantly.

She clutched her sheets tightly with the other hand, a sudden warmth washing over her. His fingers gently caressed the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

There was no point to… To… To this, whatever this was.

Friendship. There was nothing wrong with friendship, was it? Not when she did not have that many friends. Nor did he. There was nothing wrong… 

He would be gone in one of those ships any day now. And she would be left behind, as always.

Mother, father, Anarion. Even Isildur, eventually. 

They would all leave her behind until the sea washed it all away.

She couldn't look at him. It would make her weak and she needed to be wiser. This was all a terrible mistake, and yet his strong hand on hers was strangely reassuring. She could not let go. She would not let go.

“I had an idea. To mend some of the mess you– we made” Eärien said, releasing his hand, as if absently but not in the least. “It will require your help, nonetheless.”

He frowned.

“My help?”

Eärien brushed her eyes, as if to bring her back from whatever strange place she had gone before.

“I will need to speak to my father about acquiring the materials, of course. But could you perhaps fashion some sort of hair pin or something of the sort?”

There was a puzzled look on his face, his eyes searching hers. She shifted in her seat, the wall against her back strangely hard and uncomfortable.

“For you?” he asked, his brows tightly knitted together, as if she had asked him to retrieve one of the Silmarils from Morgoth’s crown.

“For my friend Zamin. She is to be married by the end of the month” Eärien said, and his eyes returned to the boats stationed at the harbor. She relaxed her shoulders.

“I am… I am not that sort of smith” he mumbled.

“What sort of smith are you, then?”

“The type they need when there is a war”

She tried to swallow the thick lump in her throat. Somehow, the few times she had tried to pry into his past she found a way for it to become incredibly awkward.

“I thought– You spoke about your father and the bracelet. Maybe you could–” she babbled. “Could you not try?”

He took a deep breath, curling his arms around his knees.

“Surely there are more talented gold or silversmiths around town.”

Eärien chuckled nervously.

“One would assume that, like you, my lord, I have lost their favour.”

He laughed too, stretching his legs before him.

“I shall do my best, then” he agreed, and she beamed at him. “What did you have in mind? Could you show me?”

She shuffled through her sheets, trying to find a clean one. She could feel his breath tickling the small hairs curled behind her ear, her neck impossibly stiff.

“The dress has daffodils and olive branches embroidered in it.” Eärien started scribbling. “So I thought maybe we should go with that theme, of sorts.”

He hummed in approval, and Eärien’s fingers gripped the charcoal harder as she drew the sharp leaves around the star-like petals, curling her elbow over the pages so the corners would not bend in the wind.

“And her hair is… brown?” he asked, the palm of his hand flat against the edges of the paper, keeping them in place.

“Thank you” Eärien breathed, relieved. “Blond. Her hair is blond. And the dress is bright blue.”

“Pure gold might be too… Yellow, perhaps” he suggested.

“And silver might clash too much with her features” Eärien added, turning the sheet upside-down so she could add another leaf in a previously sharply empty space.

“Perhaps an alloy then. I think my father added some copper at times, if a customer had less to spend” Halbrand said, his fingers curling around the corner of the sheets again and brushing against her knee. “It gives it a more reddish tone. And perhaps some silver too, to add a more subtle tone to it.”

Eärien paused, looking at the drawing before her.

“Too many details, perhaps?” she asked, chewing on her lip.

Halbrand caught the sheet, bringing it closer to his eyes, and scratched the top of his head.

“Maybe it will need to be… Simplified a bit” he admitted, pulling the charcoal from her hand and crossing out almost invisibly some of the lines inside the flowers. “I am not certain, I would need to get access to a forge, of course, and maybe do a couple of trials with something less expensive. Can I keep it?”

He nodded towards the drawing, giving her back the charcoal.

“Yes, of course!” she blurted out, almost too enthusiastically. But she was tremendously relieved that he had agreed to it.

He folded the sheet and tucked it inside his shirt.

“Once you become the world-renowned architect of Tar-Palantir’s tomb, it will be worth a fortune” he jested, patting his chest, and hissing a moment later. “It seems it is not fully healed yet.”

His chest heaved with pain, his eyes screwed shut. Eärien shoved everything into her satchel, standing up almost abruptly.

“Do you want to see Hallacar?” she asked, her hand outstretched to offer some support. “It is but a short walk and–” 

“No. No, please” he said, exhaling sharply, and his face relaxed. “It is alright, really. It is just… Most of the time it does not hurt and I kind of forget about it?

“Kind of forget?” She arched an eyebrow at him. How could someone forget such a thing?

He took her hand, heaving as he stood up.

“I am fine, really. I’ve had it worse.” He shrugged, turning east, and the shadow of the wall behind them now was taller than him.

She bit her tongue, deciding not to probe anymore.

The waves whispered softly against the pier, the sea a calm golden mirror in the last hour of the day. All seemed quiet for a heartbeat, even the seagulls flying above.

“It is beautiful indeed” he whispered, running his hand through his hair. “I had never seen the sea until this last year, and then I saw too much of it.”

“I cannot imagine what it might be like, growing up away from the shore” Eärien said, pulling her satchel over her shoulder, but her feet seemed unable to move. “Sounds quite… Restrictive.”

He turned towards her once more, his eyebrows raised.

“It is beautiful too, in a way. I grew up surrounded by green mountains with trees taller than many of your ships.” There was a hint of longing in his voice. And she felt sad for him. “Being confined in an island surrounded by water seems much more restrictive to me.”

“You must miss it.”

He simply shrugged, shaking his head as if to wake up.

“I miss the home of my childhood. Not what I left behind” he said, his eyes back on hers, but there was something different about them. “It is almost dusk, my lady. We should go, don't you agree?” 

That night she tossed and turned, barely sleeping, those dark eyes haunting her.

Chapter Text

The uproar grew louder as she got nearer and nearer to the palace.

She could not quite make up the words yet, but she hastened her pace. Nothing good could come from such noise. 

There was one voice clearer than the others, followed by cries from a larger crowd.

Eärien clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had no one to keep her company today, her father had left earlier than usual and Isildur was in no mood to leave the house today.

“And now she wants to send our boys to war!” she heard a man shout, followed by an enraged roar from the crowd. “She wants to send them to their deaths and for what? To restore a traitor king to a throne of traitors?”

She meandered through the crowd of men and women of all ages and all means, trying to get a proper look. She recognized Zamin in the crowd, and grabbed her arm.

“What happened?” Eärien all but shouted against her friend’s ear, the growls around them louder than her voice.

“That treacherous queen! She’s no better than her father!” Zamin spat, her eyes red, her cheeks wet. “The… The southlander and the elf must have poisoned her ears!”

Eärien’s heart was drumming in her throat.

The queen had agreed, then.

She cleaned her sweaty palms against the sides of her dress.

“They are sending our men across the Great Sea, Eärien! And what for? What do I care about who sits on a throne miles and miles away from here?”

“Well, if Sauron returns, the Southlands are all we have between him and the Great Sea, Zamin” Eärien tried to explain, but she realised too soon Zamin was right. The prospect of becoming a widow so soon after becoming a wife was enough to enrage any woman.

“Please, everyone”  a deep voice shouted above all else. Eariën turned her head forward again, standing on her toes to get a proper view between a dozen heads before her. There was a tall, black haired and black bearded man - whom she assumed was the one shouting against the queen before - standing above the crowd with Pharazon by his side, the one doing the shouting now “I am sure this will all be sorted out shortly. I doubt our wise queen will send any of our young men to war against their will.”

Why had no one told her anything?

Not her father nor the lord Halbrand.

No one.

She felt a deep rage climbing up her belly. 

At the end of the day, all men felt the same about all women. Keeping them in the dark about their schemings. As if women were inferior beings.

Everyone could die, for all she cared.

Zamin was sobbing, and Eärien hugged her tight, gently caressing her hair, trying to comfort her as best she could.

But all she felt right now was her boiling blood running faster and faster to her chest.

And a deep, deep sadness.

Why had she thought this time would be different from everything that had happened to her so far?

She hugged her knees tighter against her chest, furious she could not savour this small victory. She had had to keep a stoic façade all morning, even though the old king would never notice if she cried all day out of anger or self-pity. But the guards would.

Her father even had had the impudence to greet her with a smile when they passed each other in the corridor as if there was nothing new to talk about.

She shrunk even further, hiding her hands inside her sleeves.

The city below was surprisingly quiet now. The initial turbulence had given way to a strange uncertain silence, only somewhat disturbed by the small white petals floating around her. The autumn wind brought the sea breeze with it, half-drying her tears.

Though no one would see her there, not in that small corner of the courtyard with nothing to do. She used to play here with her brothers, hiding away for their mother or father whenever they visited the palace as children.

“It is not very polite not to greet an acquaintance, my lady.”

She violently rubbed her eyes with the same fury she wished to push him away.

“It is not very polite to hide secrets from an ally” she spat, looking forward - but not at him, never at him -, her chin up defiantly. “My lord.”

He sat down beside her. She moved an inch away from him.

“I intended to tell you as soon as I saw you. But then you were pounding your heels so loudly against the floor I was afraid I might get killed if I called your name.” She felt him shuffle slightly but from the corner of her eye she could not see clearly what he was doing.

“Well, all of Numenor already knows” she muttered, letting go of her knees and sitting up straight.

He caught her hand, sighing.

“It was not supposed to be like that, Eärien” he said, his tone calm. But not condescending.

He took a deep breath. 

She said nothing. 

“The queen asked for secrecy as she wanted to make the announcement on her terms” he tried to explain. “It is her people after all. The word must have slipped to the streets too soon, no one was supposed to know yet.”

“I thought-”

She interrupted herself.

What did she think exactly? That for once - just once - she would be included in the schemings of kings and queens? She was no one. A woman of a decrepit ancient house with nothing more than the sole name of her ancestors, and even that was not worth much these days.

He remained silent, waiting for her to finish her sentence. But she never did.

He let go of her hand, and started opening the pomegranate on the other hand, slightly leaning forward so as not to stain his fine clothes.

“We have an agreement, Eärien. I intend to honour that agreement. I did not wish to hide such important matters from the one who trusted me when no one else would.” Red juice ran down his long fingers, dripping down his forearm and to the white stone.” But, alas, my lady, I do not have the omniscience of the Valar to know where you are at all times.”

“Only Iluvatar himself is omniscient” she muttered between greeted teeth. What he said made perfect sense, but she wanted to cling to her anger as long as she could. 

Halbrand shrugged. 

“I never cared too much about either. From where I come from there seems to be no higher power than that of Sauron. If the Valar or Iluvatar truly exist they seem to have forgotten entirely about my people.”

The sun hid behind the clouds, the shadows engulfing them.

She felt a deep sadness for him. What had it been like, growing up without hope? Surrounded by darkness and dread and death?

She pitied herself too much for someone who had had such a privileged upbringing.

Maybe she was just too self absorbed for her own good.

He finished cutting the pomegranate open and licked the juice from his fingers, one by one. Eärien looked away, as if she was watching something too… Intimate.

“These are so sweet” he said, and his somber tone was gone. “Do you want some?”

She outstretched her palm and he turned the pomegranate around over her hand, gently beating it so some seeds fell to her hand.

“They are truly sweet” Eärien agreed after tasting the first seeds. 

He chuckled.

“Does this mean I am forgiven now?”

“Do not think you can buy my forgiveness, my lord, with a meager pomegranate” she scoffed, reaching for her handkerchief in her pouch.

“Half a pomegranate, my lady” he corrected, leaning against her so their shoulders touched.

She passed him the handkerchief after she cleaned her hands and he accepted it.

“Even worse, then.” She lowered her voice, ashamed of herself. “I'm sorry. For coercing you. I should have spoken the truth about the incident with the smiths because it was right. Not because I needed something from you.”

He neatly folded the handkerchief and gave it back to her. But she clutched his hand instead.

“Aye, you should have. But you didn't” he said, his voice calm and soft. “And now I am a king. It is much better being a foreign king than a foreign thief rotting in a moldy cell, don’t you think?”

“But I should not have forced you to take such a heavy burden” she muttered, gently caressing the back of his hand.

They were going to war in a foreign land against a mightier enemy, after all.

Her heart was heavy with shame and sorrow. 

Eärien was not certain she was saving anyone anymore.

Maybe none of this was worth it after all.

“Do not think you have such power, my lady.” His tone was grave again. “If it somehow eases the guilt in your heart, know that I can go back on my word anytime I choose. Only honour forces my hand now. But I gave you my word and I shall stand by it.”

She let her shoulders fall, the warm hand on hers keeping her here and not in the uncertain future ahead.

She felt a strange calmness in the air.

The sun peaked behind the clouds again, and she lifted her face towards it.

Everything was beyond her control now. She was not the one mustering men to war.

Somehow the thought was somewhat comforting. 

He cleared his throat and she looked at him.

“Eärien” His eyes were fixed on hers, and she did not feel quite at ease anymore. He cleared his throat again. “The council still needs to discuss much about this journey, but will you sail east? With us, that is?”

She pursed her lips together. 

She had pondered this question in her mind over and over again. Maybe she could dress up as a man, or sneak into one of the ships. But how would she remain unnoticed almost for an entire month? And then what? She knew nothing about ships or war. The disguise could only last for so long.

“My father will want me to stay here, where he knows it is safe” she said.

“But you know it isn't.”

She realized she had to lie. She had to lie to him too. 

And did it feel so wrong?

Because it made her feel like a hypocrite. Chastising him for not being honest when she needed to trick him. Again. 

“That is just something I saw once. I think it will not be safe, eventually, but I do not think it will happen anytime soon” she explained, looking away from him, afraid he was too smart. “Also, women do not usually follow men to war. I do not think I will be an exception.”

“The lady Galadriel is coming. And the queen too, to lead her army, obviously” he insisted.

What could she say? Over and over again, she had dissected this question in her mind. Would it all be worth it, if all the women and children in Numenor perished while the men were away fighting a foreign war?

But it was the best chance they had. Middle Earth was not safe for any of those of the realms of Man until the shadow was defeated.

They had to fight. And they had to win.

Or there would be nowhere else to go.

And maybe, just maybe, the Valar or Iluvatar himself would see the honour of the Numenorians and spare their lives.

Or maybe Halbrand was right and all of Ainur had forgotten about them.

“Of course I would rather board one of the ships” she confessed. “But alas, my lord, I am no warrior nor queen. And not even them do as they please.”

He let go a long, heavy sigh, as if admitting defeat.

Eärien’s heart sunk in her chest. She herself had avoided giving that matter much thought, for it pained her to stay behind when the men of her family were risking their lives across the sea. And it pained her to be left behind by those she loved.

Again. 

“Well, it would have pleased me to have a friendly face on board.” He shrugged, and pulled her hand to his lips.

She shivered, her cheeks aflame.

She was too aware of his gaze upon her, but she would not turn towards him.

What for? What was all this for? He- They would be gone any day now.

And she would stay.

It would not matter.

“Galadriel is your friend” she tried to diffuse.

He laughed, and let go of her hand.

“She is. Well, at least I think she is. But her face is not what one would call friendly. She seems angry all the time.”

Eärien chuckled too, relieved and disappointed at the same time. 

“She was friendly enough to me. Perhaps you are the problem, my lord” she teased “But she has her reasons to be angry, I think.”

He nodded, and leaned against her shoulder again.

She knew she should move away, but she found no strength to do so. It felt warm. And safe.

And real.

She felt real, for once, as if she was made of flesh and bone and not just a mere shadow.

“Still, I would like you to come with us” he whispered, his fingers tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “With me, Eärien.”

His brow was furrowed, his jaw under his light brown beard - now properly trimmed, as was fit for a king - was tense. And Eärien could swear she saw a slight tint of red under it. But his dark eyes were dancing across her face, as if searching for something there.

They would leave any day now. Maybe to never return again.

He would leave.

Her heart drummed in her ears, her palms sweaty.

He would leave any day now. 

She closed her eyes, brushing her lips tentatively against his.

This was madness. Why would she care- Why would a man like him-

He sank his hand into her hair, pulling her fiercely towards him, a low moan escaping his lips as he parted them. He gently sucked on her lower lip, his beard tickling it, and she could feel the sweet, sweet pomegranate in his tongue.

But nothing could be sweeter than this.

She sighed, the tension leaving her body, and she grabbed his neck so she could brace against something, anything, really. His skin was warm and soft, and she felt a tingle low in her belly as she pondered what it would feel like against hers.

His hands went to the small of her back, pulling her even closer, until she could not quite figure out where her body ended and his began.

And Eärien realized that, at least for a while, she could not care less about what made sense, what was sensible, and what would become of them tomorrow. Not when it felt this good.

They pulled away, both gasping for air. Her cheeks felt warm, her lips swollen. She caressed his beard, as if to make sure he was there and she would not wake up anytime soon.

He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he licked his lips, smirking.

“My lady, you will have to agree that this has to mean I have your forgiveness now, at least” he jested, and though she wanted to slap that stupid smirk away from his face she laughed.

“I hope everything is forgiven between the both of us, my lord.”

Chapter Text

She combed her hair with her fingers. Her lips felt numb - deliciously numb, though - and she could still feel the slight tingling of his beard against them.

Something that should have never been awakened inside her had been stirred and she feared she would not be able to silence it again.

Eärien wanted to regret it. To scold herself, because she was a foolish girl with foolish desires.

No, she did not want that. Not quite. At least not for a while.

For a little while, at least just for the time it took her to walk home again.

Halbrand would be gone all afternoon for another council meeting, and Eärien was thankful that so would Elendil and she would not have to face her father until much later, after she had had some time to… recompose herself.

Her heart leapt to her throat.

So would Elendil.

Elendil would be at the same meeting.

Halbrand and Elendil.

She clutched her hand around the strap of her satchel until her knuckles were white. 

She hoped with all her heart Halbrand would not do or say something stupid. And that might be wishing for something almost impossible. He was quite prone to stupid words and stupid deeds.

No, she was being irrational. Certainly he was not that daft.

And yet she would not be there to control anything. She was never there, where it truly mattered.

Maybe she would not make much of a difference. If one were to judge by her latest actions maybe she was not smarter than him. 

The strong east wind stuck her dress to her legs and whipped her hair furiously against her cheeks, dragging dark clouds over the sun and making the path home even more arduous than it had to be. 

But she wanted to clutch this… warm golden light in her heart. For once, just for once, even if just for a heartbeat. Or two. Or a dozen. She wanted to push fear and sorrow and longing to a dark, forgotten, deep, deep corner of her mind and maybe… Maybe pretend for a while. And hold this strange joy. Yes, she would call it that. Joy. Hold it close to her heart.

Even if it was flimsy. And fleeting.

Even if it was not quite true. Even if it was just a foolish dream.

And convince herself, even if it was just for the smallest of moments, that what she had seen on the dark stone was not a certainty and that maybe - just maybe - it would not happen.

What if it did, though? What if it did while all the men were away and she had done nothing to save the women, children and those too old to follow their queen to war?

She could not stay silent about it any longer. But who would believe her? A crazy woman receiving strange visions from a hated old decrepit king's stone. 

Halbrand had believed her. 

Halbrand would have believed anything if it got him out of that moldy cell. And it did not matter for him, not one bit, if all of Numenor drowned and was lost forever. Why would he care, when he had his army and, soon enough, would have his throne and his crown? 

If Sauron is defeated. If not… 

Eärien shook her head furiously. She wanted to shut those voices down. It was just a strange vision from a strange stone, maybe it would not come true. 

The east wind twisted the white petals in her dark hair, but she pretended she did not notice it.

“Anarion must know” Isildur declared, rushing to their father’s desk and opening every drawer until he found a piece of paper. “And why do you know this?”

Eärien rolled her eyes. Her brother was already scribbling hastily, his letters even more crooked than usual. Eärien slid the lantern on top of the table closer to him. The sun was almost gone in the horizon.

And their father still was not home.

“Why do you not?” Eärien raised an eyebrow, stirring the lamb stew over the fire. “It was the talk of the town all day.”

Isildur’s hand bumped against the inkwell, and he scrambled to grab it before it toppled and stained everything.

“I… I had other matters. Important matters. To attend to. Sister” he chewed. 

She took the seat beside him, her chin on her hands, her eyes wide.

“What matters?”

“We are talking about a war here, Eärien, do not be so meddlesome.” Isil’s eyes were on the page again, writing furiously. “We are talking about Anarion’s chance of redemption in the queen’s eyes.”

She fought to keep her mouth shut. She doubted Anarion could fix a religious… Predicament with war service. But she wanted her brothers out of the island. She wanted them safe. And their father too.

Herself, but that was a matter for another time.

This was the plan. Or at least part of the idea of the plan she had.

Or had had.

They heard a metallic creak. And then a rush of wind, sending Isildur’s letter across the room.

“Father.” Eärien jumped to her feet, Isildur running across the room to reach for the sheet of paper, latched to a foot of a chair.

Elendil raised his eyebrows, his lips tightly pursed together.

“Is it true?” Isildur all but demanded, frozen in place with the letter in his hands. “Is it true the queen is sending an army to the Southlands?”

Elendil’s bright blue eyes went around the room, then from his son and to his daughter.

“Is that what you heard at the palace? People like to gossip-”

“Father, there has been an uproar in town since morning” Eärien cut, clenching her fists at her sides, and she was furious again. Furious that not even when confronted with the truth their father still chose to lie.

“What is that, Isildur?” Elendil gestured towards the letter. Isildur folded it in half and shoved it into his pocket. Elendil frowned. “If Pharazon is poisoning people’s ears again…”

“It is not poison if it is the truth” Eärien spat.

Elendil sighed, unclasping his cloak and leaving it on the back of his chair. His shoulders fell, and his hands reached for his belt to remove his sword from his waist. As he took his seat at the table, none of his children moved. 

“It is too soon, no one should know yet.” His eyes were heavy, his face a thousand years older as he twisted his ring around his finger. “But yes, the queen has agreed to aid the lord Halbrand against Sauron.”

“Anarion must know. We should go with you, father, we both. That is our chance to-”

“To die, Isildur? War is not as simple as you think” Elendil’s voice thundered over Isildur’s. “Boy.”

“You think so lowly of your own children, father!” Isildur punched the table and Eärien flinched.

Elendil did not even blink, remaining seated, like a statue of a stoic king of old.

“Isil, please” she pleaded, her heart racing in her chest.

“No, you listen! You both listen!” her brother roared, pacing aimlessly around the room. “You, father, watched compliantly as they banished your own son to the other side of Numenor for practicing the faith you yourself lead!”

Elendil sighed, and took off his ring, spinning it on the table.

Eärien was not sure she should stand with her brother or sit down like her father.

“And what does that have to do with war on Middle Earth?” Elendil asked calmly, his eyes on the ring between his fingers.

Isildur’s eyes were filled with rage.

“Isildur thinks this might be an opportunity to convince the queen to let him come back” Eärien said, before her brother could speak. “Maybe she will need sword arms more than she needs to comply with her people’s… opinions.”

The room fell silent.

Eärien decided to take the chair at Elendil’s left, her eyes on her brother’s. Isildur took a long breath, and he too took his seat.

Elendil put the ring back on his finger.

“If you think, even for a moment, that I would send a son of mine - any child of mine, really - to war just so I could see him again, you are both mad” he all but whispered, and Eärien’s nose stinged. “We have had enough death in this family already.”

Isildur reached for Elendil’s hand, his eyes glistening.

Eärien felt a slightly smokey scent in the air.

Lindisse’s stew!

She hastily took the pot from the fire, gently stirring it to see what could be saved.

“So you will not sail east, then, father?” Isildur asked.

Eärien stood still, her back to the men at the table, her heart drumming fiercely against her ribs as she reached for three plates in the cupboard. Most of the lower part of the stew had stuck to the bottom of the pot, but the top was edible enough. They would not starve today.

“I have a duty to-”

“You have as much of a duty to a foreign king as my brother or I” Isildur cut sharply. “Only your own honour and moral code binds you.”

“And what binds you or your brother to this quest, Isildur? The desire to prove yourselves?” Elendil scoffed. “Thank you, Eärien.”

She served both men, and then grabbed her own plate, returning to her seat.

“Is there anything wrong with wanting to prove oneself, father?” she asked, gently blowing her spoonful.

The room fell silent for what seemed like an entire age, the soft clanking of three spoons against three plates and the cackling of the hearth the only sounds that could be heard.

“You are no longer children, I am afraid” Elendil finally said, cleaning his beard with the palm of his hand. “Write to Anarion, then, and he shall do as he sees fit. If the queen allows it.”

Isildur’s eyes searched for Eariën’s and there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“Would you not lead the campaign, father?” she asked, as that was what she had expected.

“If that is the queen’s desire then yes” he answered plainly. “Though we need to think about what would become of you, daughter, if the rest of us are not here.”

She wanted to take that chance to ask him to follow them. That would be the perfect solution for everyone, really. Maybe she could convince Elendil - and the queen - to accompany them as a queen’s lady-in-wainting or something like that.

But she did not want to force Elendil’s hand any more today.

“We still have time to think about it, do we not, father?”

Eledil took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I hope so” he said, smiling. “In any case, this time of the year is not the best for a journey eastwards. Too many storms and unfavorable winds. Plenty of time for a letter to reach your brother and for the queen to change her mind about him.”

Her eyes wandered again to the courtyard below, a couple of unknown men gathered under the almost half-naked with three in the center. But no one she knew by name. 

She had told her father she needed to study the original designs of the tombs of the kings of old, when their kingdom was wealthy and peaceful. Elendil had raised his eyebrows, but had agreed. Isildur, however, had pursed his lips together and sent her an almost murderous look. But, blessedly, said nothing. Both men seemed tired enough of fighting.

She told herself she needed to find everything - or anything, really - about Tar-Palantir's stone. And for that there was no better place than the palace's library.

She rested her forehead in her fist, pursing her lips together. An infinity of names swam between her heavy lashes.

Tar-Minyatur, founder of the house of Elros. Tar-Amandil. Tar-Elendil, ancestor to the Lords of Andunië and one of the first to sail to Middle Earth. Tar-Meneldur. Tar-Aldarion. Tar-Ancalimë, the first ruling queen. Tar-Anárion. Tar-Súrion. Tar-Telperiën, who had refused to marry or bear children.

Maybe she should ask the lady Galadriel. Certainly an artifact of such nature must be known to the elves. Or the queen. Surely the queen knew about the old king's belongings.

Maybe the queen knew. About the stone. About the wave and the three.

About everything. 

The thought alone was enough to make her shiver. 

How could she? How could she know and do nothing? 

Well, Eärien was also doing nothing. 

But she was no queen. Miriel was. 

Her stomach rumbled. She looked at the courtyard again. It was empty.

She looked around. The old half-deaf bookkeeper was nowhere to be seen.

She reached for a piece of Lindisse's delicious scallop pie and took a bite, quickly cleaning some crumbs that had fallen to the old yellowish pages.

Tar-Minastir, who had built the tower of Oromet, longing for the west. Tar-Ciryatan. Tar-Atanamir, the first to rebel against the Valar and who was envious of the elves.

So the stone might have come to Numenor before that.

Her eyes went to the window again. Still empty except for the guards around the white tree. It made sense, since it was noon.

Most people must be eating now.

This had been foolish.

After she ate, she would try to find the queen and show her the sketches. They would need to talk about materials for the tomb, of course. And then she would go home.

Tar-Ancalimon . Tar-Telemmaitë. Tar-Vanimeldë. Tar-Anducal, the usurper. Tar-Alcarin. Tar-Calmacil. Tar-Ardamin. Ar-Adûnakhôr, the first not to have a Quenya name.

There wasn't much for her here, it seemed.

Ar-Zimrathôn. Ar-Sakalthôr. Ar-Gimilzôr. Tar-Palantir, the old king

She heard the door, and quickly swallowed what was left of the pie, scrubbing her palms to get rid of all evidence. 

“Lady Eärien.”

She lifted her eyes, her heart suddenly on her throat.

Halbrand gave her a quick bow of his head. 

“Lord Halbrand.” She hastily cleaned her hands or her lap, standing up. 

“The lord Elendil mentioned something to the queen about his daughter using the library for some research” he said, his arms crossed over his chest, his back straight as an arrow. There was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“One might find it a bit odd that my whereabouts might be one of the issues talked about in a war council, my lord” she teased. But she found her mouth dry. “It does seem, though, that you do have the omniscience of the Valar. For you keep finding me everywhere I go.”

And though she would never, ever admit it, not even to herself, she felt relieved to finally see him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and her fingers tingled to touch it again.

“I thought only Iluvatar was omniscient” he jested, walking ever so slowly towards her.

“Perhaps only Eru Iluvatar and Halbrand of the Southlands” she retorted, standing her ground, searching for the desk beside her with her right hand.

He chuckled.

“Though the latter seems to have his mind too occupied with other matters to properly pay attention to the musings of the world.” His hand reached for hers on the table, her fingers curling around his almost instantly. 

“With thoughts of the impending journey.” She leaned ever so slightly towards him.

“With the memory of Eärien of the House of Elros’s soft lips upon mine” he whispered, his fingers gently caressing her cheek and pushing her hair away from her face. 

She could feel his warm breath on her face and the back of her head tingled deliciously.

He leaned closer, and her hand went to his chest.

He frowned.

“Careful, my lord Halbrand” she muttered, her fingers grazing the front of his dark blue shirt. She could feel the quiet rising and falling of his chest beneath. “We might not be alone.”

Halbrand took her hand to his lips.

“Then we should probably find a way to be alone” he mumbled. “If that would please my lady.”

Her heart jumped to her throat.

But she was in no mood to play any foolish games. Not when time was so precious. 

Her father had spoken of storms and unfavourable winds, but how long would they last? 

“It would please me, yes” she said, without so much as a stutter.

“Do you know the way to the west tower?” He leaned forward, his lips against the soft spot under her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

The air around them felt too hot, though.

She nodded and resisted the urge to explain to him in great detail that she probably knew the palace better than him.

On any other occasion she would not have missed the chance to correct him.

“I will meet you atop the staircase. Cover your head and make sure no one sees you.”

He kissed her cheek almost chastely and she bit her lip before she could ask if he was as used to this sort of arrangement as he seemed.

But he disappeared behind the tall bookshelves before long.

Chapter Text

She laughed nervously as he closed the door behind them, praying to all the powers that be that the guard at the door would not have recognized Elendil's daughter. Surely it was expected of a king to bring women to his chambers and of a guard to gossip drunkenly in a tavern without compromising anyone's honour.

Or he would not be a very trustworthy guard.

She giggled again at the absurdity of the situation.

She would rather be regarded as a common whore than a lady of the House of Elros. A lady of the queen's very same bloodline.

“What seems to amuse you so much, my lady?” he asked, pouring two cups of what seemed like wine from a jug beside the fireplace.

She looked around. The chamber was hardly kingly, at least compared with Tar-Palantir’s, though it surely was much better than her own bedroom. The heavy dark orange curtains were wide open, letting in the golden rays of the autumn sun, downing in the west behind the mountains.

“Nothing, my lord.” Her tongue was somewhat stuck in her mouth. She reached for the cup he was offering her, and took a large sip. Larger than she should have. “It might be just that I find it somewhat… Odd.”

He downed his cup in one single gulp and poured himself another one.

There were some clothes over a chair before the fire, and he placed them somewhat mindlessly over the bedside table.

He had a guard at the door, but no servant to tidy up for him?

“I understand,” he said, taking the chair he had just vacated, the flames drawing strange shades on his face.

It seemed like the perfect moment to sketch his portrait as he had asked so often, half of his face lit by the warm pure sunlight that poured from the window, the other half dark and red from the fire. The long fingers tense around the enameled cup. The dark blue shirt contrasting sharply with the warm tones surrounding him.

“Eärien, you don't have to-” He gestured with his cup somewhat aimlessly, his eyes too interested in his boots, as if he would find the words there. “You may leave, of course. Of course you can leave.”

“I know.” She shrugged. She could scream at the top of her lungs who she was - who her father was - and surely help would come. King or not, Halbrand was not from Numenor.

She took another sip from her cup.

“But I do not want to. Unless you want me to” she added, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice.

He huffed sharply, and pulled her to his lap, his mouth almost devouring hers before she could so much as gasp in surprise. She curled her arms around his neck, her cup falling to the floor with a loud thud.

But she could not care less.

Not when everything seemed so clear and bright.

His hands around her waist pulled her closer and closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, his warmth completely engulfing her.

She did not want to leave. Not now. Not ever.

She could taste the wine on his tongue, dancing against hers, and she pulled him closer by the fine hairs at his nape, almost desperately, realizing she had longed for this since yesterday.

Perhaps longer than that, but she was not ready to admit it yet. At least not to herself.

His mouth left hers so he could plant featherlike kisses along her jaw, his beard gently tickling her skin.

“I could not think about anything else after that kiss, Eärien” he whispered against the skin of her neck, and she shuddered in his arms, letting her head fall back. “Why would you do that?” 

Her hands slid below his shirt, searching for the skin below, the taught muscles of his stomach quivering under her touch.

No noble man she knew had a body like that. 

Well, maybe perhaps those of the Sea Guard, but she had not been with any of those. Not like that.

“Did it displease you, my lord?” she teased, resting her head on top of his, but his teeth were grazing a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and she could not quite focus on banter.

“It displeased me to play the dutiful king for my lady Eärien and to spend all afternoon, and then all morning, preparing for the battles ahead” he retorted, his hands lower and lower, caressing her thighs. “It displeased me that it took her so long to kiss me in the first place, or to kiss me again.”

She smirked.

“You could have kissed me first” she retorted.

Her skirt slowly caressed her shins, rising ever so slightly. His nose brushed against her shoulder as he planted open mouthed kisses there too, or at least where her dress did not cover it. She tangled her fingers in her hair, relishing on how soft it felt. And it smelled so good, too. Somewhat citrusy and minty, perhaps. Definitely delightful.

“Eärien, if you knew…” he muttered, his low voice reverberating against her skin. She felt warm, too warm. “If you knew the dark thoughts I have on my mind, Eärien… If you knew everything I thought about while I was alone last night - and even before that -”

He stopped for a moment, holding her close, but Eärien’s skirts were bunched up high in her hips.

“What about those thoughts?” she asked, cupping his face between her hands and tenderly kissing the new scar above his eye. Her voice sounded foreign, though, even for her, her heart thundering in her chest. “Tell me.”

His cheeks were flustered, like a young boy’s caught stealing a piece of pie. But his eyes were dark, like a hungry man's. He licked his lips and kissed her again, gently pushing her back so they both stood once more. His hands run up her sides, ghosting over her breasts without really touching them, frustratingly. She felt a lump in her throat.

“They were speaking about war, and ships, and soldiers, and fortresses and…” he started, toying with the knot at her shoulder.

She unlaced the front of his shirt, her eyes on his, hanging on every word.

“And?” she insisted.

He inhaled sharply, but his eyes never left hers.

“And all I can think about is how I would bend you over that damn table and fuck you so hard your screams of pleasure could be heard in Middle Earth and Valinor both” he said in a single breath.

A warm shiver slid down her spine, her heart jumping in her chest.

It was quite… An image to paint in someone’s mind.

She bit her lips, rubbing her thighs together. 

“Does it scare you?” he asked, still twisting the strings between his fingers, as if somewhat uncertain if that was allowed or not.

“I am not a blushing maid, my lord. Do not mistake discretion for ignorance.” She faked her confidence as best she could, but her legs were shaking ever so slightly and her mouth was strangely dry.

One could hardly live up to a fantasy.

He lifted his eyebrows, eyeing her with curiosity.

“Does that bother you, my lord?” she asked, trying to get some leverage again, her fingers tracing the Southlands’ sigil around his neck.

She hoped with all her heart that it would not, the image he had put so graphically in her head too strong to forget now.

“On the contrary, my lady.” He looked at her behind half-lidded eyes, then at the knot at her shoulder, and she nodded. “It will be much more fun then. But I think we can leave the curtsies and titles, do you not agree? It seems quite paradoxical. Given the circumstances.”

The left shoulder of her dress slid down her arm.

“And what are the circumstances exactly?” she teased, lifting her arm free from the sleeve.

“You tell me, Eärien.” He shrugged, toying with the other knot now. “You were the one kissing me yesterday.”

She pulled his tunic over his head. There were still yellowish marks over his ribs. And yet, egoistically, not even those distracted her from… From the rest of him.

She smiled, more to herself than anything. Of course she had noticed his strong arms before - she had had to be blind not to - but definitely noble men did not look like him whatsoever. A smith might. But noble men did not.

“I am not sure what I expected with that” she said - and that was the truth of it -, her fingertips tracing the path below his navel, from hip to hip. His muscles quivered under her touch.

“So this was not your initial plan?” His voice sounded coarser than before.

She shook her head, putting the most innocent face she could master.

“Interesting” he mumbled, untying the other lace at her shoulder, so her dress fell to the ground, pooling at her feet.

“Believe what you want, but being fucked over a table was not my initial plan.” She stepped out of her dress. His eyes grew ever darker as she curled her arms around his neck, a familiar warmth between her thighs. “A bed is so much nicer.”

He pulled her to him, kissing her with the urgency of a drowning man gasping desperately for air, his strong arms around her waist, his hands running up and down her back.

“Aye, that is true” he agreed, parting from her abruptly. “And few beds could be more comfortable than a king’s, I suppose.”

He had that stupid grin again.

But she found she was really enjoying this game. Maybe a little too much.

“So are we back to titles then?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Never” he said, rather solemnly, pulling her chemise over her head.

“Have you tried many beds… Halbrand?” The name felt strange without the usual prefix. But not displeasing. Not at all.

“Does it matter?” he asked, his calloused hands carefully cupping her breasts.

But then his mouth was surrounding her nipple and she did not know what mattered anymore. She could not care less if it had been ten, a hundred or a thousand beds, if that was what it took to make him this deft.

She sunk her fingers in his soft curls, pulling him harder against her, a small sigh escaping her parted lips. He chuckled against her skin, but she never wanted to let him go. 

“I'll assume that was pleasing enough.” He smirked, licking his lips.

She wanted to slap his stupid handsome face.

But right now she wanted to fuck him senseless more. 

She knelt before him, the cold stone rough against her naked knees, but it hardly bottered her.

“That is not very ladylike” he jested, brushing her hair away from her face. 

“Do ladies not kneel before their kings?” She clasped her hands at her front, raising her eyebrows most innocently.

He took off his boots, kicking them across the room.

“From what I've learned here, ladies curtsy before their kings” he corrected “Well, queen, for that matter. And I am not your king”

“Oh. I thought that was part of our deal.” She sounded disappointed while she unbuckled his belt, her hands sliding down his strong thighs slower than strictly needed. 

“And this?” He stepped out of his trousers and she planted a small peck over his hip. “Was this part of our deal, Eärien?”

“It could be. If you want to.” She looked up, locking eyes with him, and shrugged. As if it was a simple matter. Of simpler circumstances. On simpler times.

“Do I want to…” He wiped his red face with his hand, his eyes wide.

She kissed the other hip. His frustrating moan rumbled under her lips.

“One would assume you would, Halbrand.” Her mouth moved ever so slowly to the patch of skin right under his navel, tracing the constellation of small freckles there. He trusted his hips forward but still she ignored it. “Given how much thought you seem to have given such important matters.”

“You are talking too much for my liking” he all but growled, pulling her up against his chest, his rough calloused hands on her buttocks as he lifted her up as if she weighed almost nothing, and unceremoniously thrusting her onto bed.

“I thought you enjoyed our conversa- Oh!” she gasped, her fingers hopelessly grasping the blankets under her, his lips gently sucking her lower ones.

He hummed in approval, and she sunk her heels in the mattress, desperate to press even harder against his mouth. It felt so good, so good… 

“You are so wet, Eärien” he whispered, eyeing her, his finger slowly stroking her folds and sending jolts of pleasure to the back of her head. “Are you this wet for me, my lady?”

She felt her face burn.

How did this happen? If someone had told her, all those weeks ago, she would end up on this man's bed…

She nodded, swallowing thickly. 

“Do you have dark thoughts of your own too?” he asked, first a finger, then a second one sliding into her with no effort. She arched her back, letting her head fall to the pillow behind, the room disappearing behind her eyelids. ”Late at night, alone in bed, your small fingers inside your delicious cunt.”

It didn't feel half as good as what he was doing to her right now. Not nearly close.

“Did you think about that too?” She had tried to sound defiant, but he was stroking a particularly delicious spot, and her voice sounded raspy instead.

“Almost from the first time I laid eyes on you” he confessed, stroking faster. This was too good. This was too good and it had been so long… “So cocky, making demands from a thief. It was hard not to think about that, for a man drifting for so long in the Great Sea.”

His fingers stroked faster and faster and her head was hollow, her fist tightly over her mouth to stifle her moans.

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” he insisted, catching her wrist and pulling it away from her mouth.

He hoovered over her face, and the last rays of the day caught his hair and his beard, turning them a reddish shade. A few strands of hair half-hooded his eyes, but they were on hers, waiting. And she could feel his hard cock against her thigh.

She gulped, and nodded again, her face aflame.

She might be a blushing maid after all.

He growled, kissing her with a fury she had never known, in a mess of lips, teeth and tongue.

“You can’t even begin to fathom how… Intoxicating that thought is” he muttered almost against her mouth.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty accurate idea.” She reached between them to grab his shaft, smiling impishly and he groaned into her neck

Before she could steady herself he had rolled her on her stomach, his mouth ever so slowly tracing her spine lower and lower, his beard tickling her skin.

She stifled her whimpers against the pillow, reminding herself for a heartbeat of the poor guard at the door. Or maybe he was accustomed to this sort of… activities and would not be bothered.

She did not care much, anyway.

“Was this what you had in mind, Halbrand, when you thought about bending me over?” She twisted her neck, trying to look at him again. He grazed his teeth against one of her buttocks, his almost black eyes on hers, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“No” he said, his warm hands gently squeezing her flesh. “I did not think this arse might be this beautiful.”

“You thought my arse was ugly?” she spat, propping herself on her forearms and turning around as much as she could with his hands on her.

“Do you think one could have guessed anything with those proper lady dresses of yours?” he complained.

However, she had made a good guess about his arse more than once. And not just about that. 

She bit her lip.

At least that was an advantage she figured women had over men.

He lifted her hips, and she rested her head on the pillow once more, her hair pooling around her. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs.

The soft tip of his cock poked her entrance and she thrust her hips back, although futilely.

“Aren’t you an impatient lady, Eärien?” He leaned forward, kissing the back of her neck, and she groaned with both frustration and pleasure.

“Well, Halbrand” she all but hissed between gritted teeth “We do not have all day. Do you not have other matters to attend to?”

“Not really.” His voice in her ear made her shiver, his hand reaching around to cup her breast and lift her ever so slightly. “No more meetings today, I am afraid.”

“Good” she said, taking advantage of his distraction to lean backwards a couple of inches.

He bit her neck, groaning as his cock entered her, and she stifled her own whimper against the pillow.

Oh, this felt so good, too good… His hard hot shaft inside her at last.

“Does that please you, my lord?” she moaned, awkwardly curling her arm around his neck to stroke his hair. She could feel his shallow breath against her neck.

“Say my name, Eärien” he pleaded, his hand cupping her breast, the other under her chin, raising her up as he started to thrust inside of her, ever so tortuously slow. “It sounds so good coming from your pretty mouth.”

She sucked on his fingers, tugging at his hair as she moved against him, his pleasure muffled against the skin of her neck making her quiver.

It felt so good, so good…

“Fuck” she whimpered, his now wet fingers stroking her nub, and she fisted his curls, too weak to support herself anymore. “Fuck, Halbrand, that feels so good…”

“Hmm, that sounds so much better, sweetling” he mumbled in approval. “And you feel so good, so good, Eärien.”

She thrust her hips back and forth desperately, her eyes closed, her mouth agape.

She wanted more.

She needed more.

She leaned forward, supporting herself on her forearms, and he took the suggestion well enough, his rough hands at her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pounded harder into her.

“Don’t stop, Halbrand” she groaned, panting desperately. She felt as if she was about to burst, somehow, as if it was too much all at once. “Please, do not stop now!”

The sound of his hips slapping against the back of her thighs melted with both their moans of pleasure and filled the room. And Eärien was not sure they could be heard in Valinor or Middle Earth -  or both -, but surely from the corridor behind the door they would.

“Fuck!” he roared, as she swung faster against him. His fingers reached between her legs once more, rubbing insistently, but the pressure was just right. “Fuck, Eärien, I can’t… I can’t stand it much longer, sweetling.”

She felt as if something was pulling her tighter and tighter, a tension she was not sure she was able to bear, sweat dripping from her forehead into the sheets below.

“Come for me, Eärien” he huffed, shoving her hair from her face, but his rhythm did not slow down a bit.

She turned her face towards him, biting her lip. He looked magnificent, his chest glistening with small droplets of sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face.

And then every muscle in her relaxed as she felt hot pleasure wash over her, his name dripping from her lips over and over again as her whole body quivered to its own accord.

“Oh, Eärien” he all but whimpered, pulling out from her all too abruptly, and she collapsed on top of the mattress. “You are so sweet, so sweet.”

She heard his ragged breathing. Then a deep, low growl, and then felt something hot and sticky on her back.

Eärien tried to regain some control over her own breath. Her legs were exhausted, and so were her arms and maybe every last bit of her. Her neck was sore, her nose had been squished against the pillow.

And yet she could not care less.

She felt more satisfied than ever in her life.

As if finally - finally! - she had just found out what she needed.

When she opened her eyes his nose was mere inches from hers, and he too was still panting slightly.

She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and he sighed.

“I am… exhausted” he whispered, licking his lips. “Just do not move, I made a mess but I will clean it up. Just give me a minute. Or a thousand.”

She laughed, and he did too.

“Do all men from the Southlands fuck like this?” she asked.

He gave her a short peck on the nose and got up.

“I would not know, I have not bedded any Southlands’ man” he said, shrugging.

His cock was still half hard and Eärien decided that that and his naked arse were truly a sight to behold.

But there were also strange marks, fine lines, paler than the rest of his skin, going from shoulder to shoulder, neck to lower back.

Her heart leapt in her chest.

“Halbrand, your back…?” she started to ask. But somehow those scars felt more intimate than anything they had just done.

He came back with a wet cloth, and gently rubbed her back clean again.

He then took a long breath after he was done, throwing the cloth to the floor before lying down beside her again, his eyes on the ceiling.

“Orcs” he said, sounding almost apathetic. “A dozen years ago, at least.”

She turned towards him, but all she felt was shame.

How could he come back to that dreadful place?

What had she done?

He turned towards her, but his smirk was back.

“Now tell me, my lady Eärien” he asked, his fingers tracing her waist. “Do all numenorian ladies fuck like that? Or was I just incredibly fortunate?”

Eärien propped herself on her arm, preparing herself to get up. But was forced to remain seated at the edge for a while, the room swirling around her.

“I would have to fuck every numenorian lady to know” she answered, somewhat harsher than she would have intended, when the walls finally stood still. “And some of them are either too young or too old or too ugly for my liking.”

Halbrand grabbed her hand, but he was not laughing. Not even smiling. His eyes slowly dragged over her body to find hers. He was frowning, and so did she.

“Eärien” It sounded like a plea. “I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you.”

“You did not offend me. I think it is I who might have overstayed my welcome.”

She had prodded into matters that were of no concern to her.

“No, please. Please, I would… Could you stay?” he stuttered, his fingers slowly caressing her wrist, his eyes down.

Stay?

“Just for a while.” He gently tugged at her hand, pulling her down with him back to bed. “Please, stay. I did not mean… It is not an easy story to tell.”

His brown eyes were filled with sadness, and she had no strength - nor desire - to say no to him.

But this was new, too new to her. 

Not that she was the most experienced woman in Numenor, but this was not usually what happened… Afterwards. There was always a rush for both parties involved to return to their usual lives and never talk about the matter ever again.

However, he outstretched his arm over the pillow, making space for her against his chest.

She nestled her head on the crook of his arm, and he held her as close as possible, a small sigh ruffling her hair.

“You do not owe me any explanation, Halbrand” she assured him, caressing the coarse hairs of his chest, while eyeing the strange bracelet at his wrist.

“We will talk about it some other time” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head. And somehow that relaxed her. “But at the moment I would rather relish the fact that you are in my bed. Naked.”

“If it pleases you” she said, kissing his shoulder.

She closed her eyes, savouring the warmth of the afternoon sun - and of the hearth - against the back of her legs, the steady beating of his heart in her ear.

“It does” he said, in a low voice. “Does it please you?”

“Very much, Halbrand.” She was not in the mood for lying.

“You are welcome anytime” he said, his voice slow and heavy. “My lady Eärien.”

He fell asleep not long after that, and she slipped away then.