[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô had never before met this Tar Miriel, but Inzillomí seemed to trust her, and that was good enough for him. He sensed that Inzillomí and the stranger had some previous connections, but he did not dare ask what these were. During the time the two talked in private, Azarmanô grew increasingly suspicious that something of great importance was about to take place, but his honor forbade him from intruding into their private matter. He trusted that if Inzillomí wanted him to know, she would tell him later. Azarmanô repeated Inzillomí’s request to Tar Miriel to join the party and escape what must be certain death, but she refused politely once more. She felt her destiny to be intertwined with that of her land, like a captain who stays behind on his sinking ship.

Azarmanô too felt great pain to be parted so abruptly with his beloved island. Although his head knew that Numenor would soon perish, his heart could not imagine this to be so. Numenor had always been dear to him, but never had this attachment been stronger than now at the moment of its destruction. Despite this, Azarmano knew he could not remain on the island like Miriel and abandon his wife and son. The pain of losing his homeland was great, but the agony of losing his loved ones would have been greater. Even if he lost every physical possession he had, he could continue living if he was with family. Without them, life would be near unbearable.

Lost in is his own thoughts, Azarmanô took a moment to look up and examine the man leading the expedition. He had heard Miriel call him Moizandû. The man’s bright red hair and beard streaked with white seemed familiar to him. Azarmanô felt sure that he had seen this man’s face before, although his name seemed foreign. After several moments, he finally remembered these features belonged to the stoic shopkeeper who had seen Inzillomí being harassed by the crowd on the party’s way into the dungeon. Azarmanô wondered who this mysterious ally was, but knew that they would not have the time to become better acquainted now- later perhaps, if they were fortunate enough to survive.

The underground tunnel rumbled as more rocks fell from the sides of the cavernous walls. How long did they have before the island was underwater? Would the sinking come quickly or slowly? Azarmanô longed to know the answers to the questions that plagued him, but realized that no mortal could possibly know such things. Their only hope was to get off the island as speedily as they could and pray that it was enough. The passageway wound forward, and still no one in the party said a single word. In the distance, Azarmanô glimped a small patch of moonlight that made his heart stir. The end of the tunnel was near and soon they would be out of Sauron’s foul dungeon. Miriel had not led them astray.

As he inched slowly towards the opening, with the weight of Arabapanu slumped on his shoulders and Inzillomí following close behind, Azarmanô pleaded to his unconscious companion, “Cling tight my friend. Soon we will all be safe and aboard Elendil’s ships in Rómenna. We need only reach them before time runs out.”