[Himaran]

Abarzadan wandered aimlessly through the streets of Armenelos. All around him, people were going about their daily tasks; plainly clad residents pushed their carts, sold their wares, and scolded their children (when such action was necessary). The man paused often to admire the rich architecture of the buildings he passed by, gazing in awe at the towering structures. So this was the place of beauty and tranquility that his father had pleaded with him to seek. The meandering tourist could not help but speculate that the display of anger he and the others had witnessed toward Inzillomi - a member of the Faithful - had been an isolated incident involving few misguided zealots. Surely there was no hatred to be found amongst the ordinary citizens of the magnificient Numenorian civilization. After all, they saw her as the wife of a dangerous criminal, not as the kind and gentle woman that she had turned out to be.

Then Abarzadan saw something that did not fit with his current take on the city. A young boy, not more than four years of age, was walking near him. The child was skinny, almost dangerously so, and very ill-clad. He was caring a box of small trinkets for sale, and shouted out to anyone who would listen to "c'mere and buy s'mthin!" Everyone else merely looked past him, but not Abarzadan. He caught the boy by the shoulder, stopped him, and started picking through the wares. His right hand lifted out a small wooden carviture. It was a man on horseback, dressed in military garb, wielding a deadly battle axe. For all the man knew, it could have been his father. Choking back the oncoming rush of tears, he payed double the price for the figurine and sent the now smiling salesboy on his way. What sort of family would send their infant out on the streets just to make a dime? His father had certainly never done so, but then, they were well off. Was there really such poverty here? Shaken up by the encounter, Abarzadan walked over to a nearby bench in the center of the square and sat down.

"That was very kind of you."

The voice was smooth and melodious. Abarzadan looked up to find a young, well dressed woman sharing the bench. She had a beautiful face, and the wide smile only made it more exquisite. He was too stunned to speak, so she spoke again. "He comes here every day, on his way through the city. Most people just ignore him; tourists certainly do."

In the pause that followed, the man once again could not think of anything to say. "Thank you," he mumbled, but here merry laughter drained the embarressment from his face, and he could not help but smile too.

"So, do you live in the city?" she asked.

The man thought for a moment, eventually deciding to just be honest. "I was born here, but my father and I left when I was young. It has changed so much since then that I don't recognize a thing. It seems so young and fresh and active."

The woman nodded sagely. "Yes, Armenelos in indeed a wonderful place to live. And what might your name be, good sir?"

Without even thinking of the possible consequences, he spat out "Abârzadan Batânzâira."

Her eyes were dull for a moment, and then lit up brightly. "My father used to do business with a man named Batânzâira. It was a long time ago, though, and I don't recall his first name. I was young at the time, you see. But I have forgotten my manners! My name is Ellinel."

Abarzadan was suddenly exciting. The prospect of meeting an affluent friend of his father was both intriguing and exhilerating. Perhaps he could start over after all. Pushing the nagging feeling of guilt - that of betraying the group he had set out with - from his mind, he asked another question. "Dear Ellinel, could you take me to visit your father? I am Batânzâira's son and sole heir, as he has recently passed away. If what you say is true, your father and I may have some loose ends that need to be tied up."

The deep smile only grew wider. "But of course, Abârzadan Batânzâira. Our place is just to the south of here."

Suddenly, there was a slight tremor in the earth. Everyone in the marketplace slowed, steadied themselves, and waited. When it had passed, they continued on their way, oblivious of the disaster to come.