For so Eärwen named her queen, at least in her own mind. Oh, she knew Míriel had an Adûnaic name, as did Eärwen herself, for use in the markets or where the King's Men might hear, but in her mind at least she would not give in to fear of those brutes. Her mother had taught her that: to dream whatever dreams she could, so long as when she woke, she remembered that Pharazôn and not Míriel ruled Númenor.
She stood up from the stool where she waited on her queen and idly walked out to the balcony. Pulling herself to the balls of her feet, Eärwen looked out the high window to the courtyard below. The night was cloudy, and the moon afforded her little light, but the palace guards who always kept watch over the Tree carried lamps, so Eärwen could see well enough.
Taking in the rest of the courtyard, Eärwen caught sight of a man crouched in the shadows of the opposite wall. She could make out little about him, for he gathered the hood of his cloak close around his face, but when he looked up at the balconies lining the second floor, the light from the guards' lamp caught a silver star he wore on his brow.
The man turned away quickly, and the guards seemed not to notice, but the sight was enough for Eärwen. 'Twas the Elendilmir! She knew, all the folk of Andúnië knew that that star marked the lord Elendil's line.
Eärwen ran from the balcony into the queen's chambers. "Mila—" she began to call out, but checked herself. Inzilbêth lay sleeping in the servants' alcove, and who knew her loyalties? Eärwen hurried toward the bed and laid a hand on Míriel's shoulder. "Milady," she whispered, "come quick, for you must see..."
Míriel's eyes darted open, as if from a nightmare, and for a moment Eärwen thought she might cry out. Míriel looked around the room frantically and (so Eärwen thought, for she too had been pulled out of dark dreams in those dark days) saw that there were no guards in the door, no threat to be defended against, for the moment at least. Eärwen went to the clothespress for the queen's dressing-robe and quickly helped her into it, and the two went back to the balcony.
Soon after Eärwen pointed out the man to Míriel, he dashed out of the shadow's safety toward the tree in the center of the courtyard. Eärwen opened her lips to gasp, but Míriel's fingers clawing at her shoulder reminded her to be silent, so she closed her mouth again. Her breath caught in her throat as the man reached up toward the lowest branch; he still crouched close to the ground, but his arm could be clearly seen in the lamplight. He would be caught, Eärwen was sure of it!
Eärwen heard a soft snap from the courtyard, and the man's arm dropped to his side; she guessed he'd taken a flower, or perhaps a fruit. Suddenly a quick movement caught Eärwen's eye, and her head snapped to the side. Something sailed through the air, followed by a plunk on the roof across the courtyard. One of the guards ran off with the lamp to investigate. As for the man by the tree, he ran swiftly but silently back toward the far wall, and the next time Eärwen looked for him, he was gone.
But for the moment Eärwen's eyes were elsewhere. She looked over at Míriel, who was rearranging the polished stones in the decorative bowl on the banister. Eärwen noticed that the brown speckled one was missing. Had the queen thrown that? Míriel nodded silently toward the door, and Eärwen understood: 'twas better not to be seen, when the guard returned, for he would find no one on the roof and would wonder why he'd been driven out of the courtyard.
Back inside, Eärwen took the queen's robe and slippers without a word. She had questions, more than she could remember having since she'd taken up service with the queen, but was unsure how to voice them. She walked over to the clothespress and re-hung the robe on its hook, and when she turned again to face the queen she was surprised to see Míriel propped up on her pillows, as if waiting for her to break the quiet.
Eärwen latched the clothespress and walked toward her stool, resigning herself to saying nothing. Just then, Inzilbêth's gentle snore drifted out from the servant's alcove, and Eärwen changed her mind. For Inzilbêth slept soundly, and the guards did not seem keen to break down the door tonight. She'd risk a question.
"Milady," Eärwen said in almost a whisper, "if it is not too bold, did you know the man? Is that why you saved him?"
Míriel smiled down at her, a little sleepily. "It is forward, yes, but the days demand boldness. He is my cousin. Isildur Elendilion."
A gasp escaped Míriel at that name. Isildur! She'd heard stories of him ever since she'd come to Armenelos. Isildur the Brave, who harried the king's men with rains of arrows, who seemed to be everywhere but could be found nowhere. The very same who was rumored to be loved by the queen, and not just as kin; for rumor had it that they had planned to marry, before Pharazôn supplanted him.
Míriel looked at Eärwen disapprovingly. "My cousin must have cloth between his ears. Pharazôn set a high price on his head, which Isildur well knows. If he is found in Armenelos, Morgoth will drink his blood ere nightfall tomorrow, I promise you."
"But he is swift?" Eärwen found herself asking.
"Aye, and there are some folk still faithful to the old ways, even here in Armenelos," Míriel answered. "They will see him safely on the road." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
Eärwen nodded pensively to herself. "I have heard tell... I know my father would not have offered me to your service, were you not to be trusted." Míriel gave the smallest nod, encouraging Eärwen to go on. "So you must be one of them," Eärwen said. She remembered of a sudden her brother teaching her to face the West at sunset, to say the ancient words if it was safe to do so, and Eärwen found she could easily see Míriel doing that. "One of us," Eärwen corrected herself. "But if that be true, milady, what keeps you in Armenelos? Surely you could beg need to see your kinsfolk, an elderly aunt with poor health, perhaps. Would even the king dare keep you from such duty?"
Míriel looked out a window, not down into the courtyard but to the sky above. Eärwen fancied she was staring up at the stars, as the girl often did; wishing, perhaps, for the elven-folk, who were rumored to love those stars so much. At last Míriel shook her head. "No, he would not. But 'tis better to know an Orc and confound his purposes, than to leave him to his own devices." She reached over and chucked Eärwen under the chin playfully. "And what would Isildur have done, had I fled to Andúnië?"
Eärwen had no answer, so she sat silent for a moment. At last she leaned closer. "I do not like your lord the king," she said in a whisper so soft she wondered that the queen could hear it. "Nor his adviser, come to that. And those who stand too close to the flame may yet be burned. I fear for you, milady."
Míriel nodded softly. "I know, child, but keep up your hope. Ar-Pharazôn may be strong, and his vicar perilous, but they will not yet strike down the daughter of Tar-Palantír. When that day comes, I doubt even Andúnië could be a haven for me."
Eärwen opened her mouth, but again words failed her. Finally she said, "Well, they'll not strike tonight. Rest you well, milady, for your keen wit shelters us both. I'd not have it blunted from little sleep."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.