Prisoner of Númenor RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Inzillomí caressed her daughter's hair as she would a frightened foal, feeling Kâthaanî relax under the gentle touch. She looked up at Ziraphel, gazing deep into her eyes. "Gimilnar indeed, sister. The King has offered us the 'honor' of relocating to the East. His Men will return tomorrow, mid-morning, to escort us. I fear what Gimilnar will say when he does not find all of my family together."

Kâthaanî glanced at her mother, fear in her eyes, anger in every line of her face. "Mother, I will go to Abârpânarú. I will save him." Inzillomí caught her daughter's chin, tilting her face toward her. Kâthaanî read her mother's expression, drawing away abruptly. "You would have me stay!" she cried, angry. "You would leave your own husband at the hands of a crazed King and his men!"

Inzillomí let her daughter go, unfathomable hurt showing in every motion. Ziraphel spoke. "Cerveth, child, you must never speak to your mother so. You cannot conceive the responsibilities that she has shouldered. You cannot understand the pain you have just caused her." Inzillomí thanked her husband's sister with a glance, looking sadly at her daughter. She spoke coldly.

"Cerveth, if the Valar hear my prayer, you will never know the burden of my work. There is more here than you know. Your father will not be left behind. Elendil would not sail without us, but there is so little time, and so much danger." She softened, eyes asking for understanding. "Without your father, Cerveth, it is my task to lead the Faithful safely East. How am I to do this if you would have us all ride to his rescue, trailing the King's Men... and his wrath?"

[samsmyhero]

Tiru's thoughts ran faster than the swift mare carrying him back to his master's house. By now the little mistress would have told Lady Inzillomí the terrible news and he could only imagine the anguish and alarm that must be gripping both mother and daughter. But Tiru had not served the family for these forty years past without discovering the core of steel that lay at the heart of his mistress. Was she not the daughter of Elendil himself, leader of the Faithful now that his brave father had sailed into the west? Even in this moment of greatest crisis, Lady Inzillomí would not wilt and succumb to despair, like some hothouse flower. She would know what needed to be done, and make sure it was accomplished.

Glancing briefly over at the man riding knee to knee with him, Tiru replayed in his mind his brief exchange with Captain Azarmanô at the harbor. It had been both encouraging and troubling. That the Captain would be willing to assist in a rescue attempt was a hopeful sign. At least it would not only be Abârpânarú's family which believed that rescue was possible. But the news which Azarmanô brought from Rómenna now made the situation acute. There would be so very little time in which to accomplish so daunting a task All the Annanost should at this very minute be packing their most treasured belongings and making ready to sail back east to Elendil and the waiting boats. Instead, at least some must venture to Arminalêth , the very last place any of them would wish to go at this black hour, and walk right into the lion's den. What a disaster!

Finally arriving at the house, Tiru was on the ground before the grey mare had even stopped. "Captain, I'll take your horse, if you'd care to step inside. I'm sure my lady Inzillomí will want to hear your news and will want to talk of what to do about my master's arrest." Tiru stepped forward and grabbed the chestnut's reins, and Azarmanô deftly slid from her back.

"My thanks. . . I'll see you inside then?" From the tone of uncertainty in his voice, it was clear Azarmanô was unsure as to Tiru's further involvement in the situation. As the sea captain strode towards the house, the servant realized that perhaps he was mistaken to assume so blithely that he would be sent as part of the rescue. Oh, to be sure, he was going, with their blessings or without. The Kariborim were his family now, and he would not scuttle away to Rómenna with his tail between his legs, leaving Lômi to her fate! But surely . . . his mistress would know his heart, and would understand. They could not refuse to send him. Servant he might be, and his hair, what was left of it, was now streaked with grey. Yet he was still fit, stronger even than many men much younger, and larger, than he. And his skill with a bow was known, if only in the hunt. No, his mistress would never deny him his right to a place in whatever plan she would set in motion to rescue her husband. But, what if others thought differently?

Hurrying to tend to the winded horses, Tiru resolved to go straight on to the house as soon as he was finished. He tarried just moments to check on the other Kariborim, and, seeing they had been well cared for, he hurried out of the stable. Whatever plan the Annanost might come up with, Tiru knew one thing with absolute certainty – he would be going to Arminalêth, to rescue Lômi, and his master!

[TomBrady12]

Marsillion slowly walked the sweat soaked Kariborim toward the stables, wondering why he hadn't thought of riding to the harbor himself. Tiru would have prefered to stay and tend to the horses, Marsillion did not doubt that. When it came to the care of the Kariborim, Marsillion knew he was not above the rebuke of the dark little man, despite their obvious class difference. It was well known that concerning the Kariborim, Tiru had authority over all save Abârpânaru. Marsillion himself had been on the receiving end of more than one tongue lashing at the hands of the passionate foreigner when care that, while good, was not quite adequate to satisfy Tiru's standards. Today; however, Marsillion would risk the little man's wrath. He quickly removed the ornate saddles and bridles, and turned the magnificent animals loose in the paddock alongside the roadway.

Marsillion's ride had been a difficult one. The weather had been enjoyable throughout the morning of his departure, but that afternoon he encountered a wild hail storm, incomparable to any weather he had ever seen. Hail stones the size of his fist were hurled from the bubbling sky, leaving both Marsillion and his horse bloodied. The weather streaked between warm sun, and dangerous storms throughout the duration of the journey, weather that would baffle even the most salted sea captain. Sleep was a luxury too rich for Marsillion's purse, and food was difficult to gather quickly, so it was quickly forgotten.

Marsillion's long strides carried him quickly across the distance to the house, where he was encountered by his mother, Ziraphel, before he was able to eat, bathe, and dress, as he would have liked. Marsillion could see lines in his mother's face which he had never noticed before. Where they new, or had he just been too preoccupied to notice them before? Marsillion opened his mouth to speak, but found no words willing to come forth.

Ziraphel saw pain written across her hulking son's face, and saw an unformiliar sag in his broad shoulders which discomforted her.

“Nimi,” she said, almost to herself. “You're bleeding.”

“Nimi,” Marsillion muttered aloud, recalling the name his mother had called him throughout his childhood. He had not heard it for years, but hearing it now somehow brought hope. “I was battered with hail,” this time when he spoke, the words were strong and powerful. “Do not trouble over mere scratches. They make good reminders that bones could have been broken.”

Ziraphel smiled slightly to see her son back to himself. She felt almost as if she were speaking with Azaruth, as she had years before. The thought of her murdered husband, coupled with the capture of her brother and the imminent departure into the east was too much for even wise Ziraphel to handle. Her lips trembled and she wept openly. Marsillion hadn't seen his mother cry since his father's capture, and was taken slightly aback. He quickly recovered and pulled the quaking women into his arms. “Do not worry,” he said in the sturdiest voice he could muster. “I will fix this, I promise. I will go to Armenelos and bring Abârpânaru home. I will bring him home for you mother. For you, and Kâthaanî, and aunt Inzi. I'll bring him home because I could not bring home father. I will bring him home,” Marsillion assured her, as he pulled one of his long finger across his eyes, wiping away the fear and doubt that must be kept hidden.

Ziraphel slowly let go of her son's muscular shoulders, and managed a slight smile. “Oh Nimilroth,” she said, no longer feeling the need to speak to him as a child. “You remind me so much of your father sometimes. Come, let us go find Inzillomi and Kâthaanî. You must be hungry, I'll have food brought into the sitting room where we can begin to make plans.”

Hungry as he was, Marsillion insisted on washing and putting on fresh cloths before he did anything else. When the dirt and dried blood was cleansed from his fair skin, and a fresh light blue tunic was belted comfortably around his waste, he went and joined the rest of the family in the sitting room.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Azarmanô bade farewell to Tiru and walked directly toward the door of the house. After knocking, he paced and waited in front for someone to answer. Usually when Azarmanô came to the west to deliver supplies, his contact had been Tiru. One time, however, when Tiru had been very ill, Inzillomí herself had met with him at the secluded cove. He had been intrigued to make the acquaintance of the daughter of the great Elendil, his leader and close friend. They had talked at length about the day they both dreaded and yet knew was close at hand, the day when they would have to leave Númenor and sail east. Now that day had finally arrived, and it felt no better than Azarmanô had suspected it would. And to add to the sting of sailing away, he now must rescue Abârpânarú from prison. Azarmanô would not stand for the blood of a fellow Faithful to be spilled on the vile stones of Sauron’s altar. He was glad to make the acquaintance of the Lady Inzillomí again; however he would have rather done so under more pleasant circumstances.

Eager as he was to help, Azarmanô was determined to embark on the mission soon and complete it swiftly. The ships were ready to leave with his wife Eirien and son Thoron on board, and they could not wait long. Azarmanô approached the door and pounded the large bronze knocker on the thick wood three times. He waited for several minutes, pacing back and forth anxiously, before he heard a reply from inside.

A cautious voice spoke steadily, “Who is there?”

Inzillomí , thought Azarmanô. It must be. I remember her voice as clearly as the tranquil sea on a calm day. She must be worried about the king’s men; I can sense the fear in her voice.

“Do not fear, my Lady Inzillomí . It is I, the traveler of the seas, Azarmanô. I come with news from your father. I pray that you find it in your heart to let me inside.”

The door swung open to reveal Inzillomí , just as Azarmanô remembered her. After greeting her, the two went to the living room where her daughter, Kâthaanî sat in a cahir. Azarmanô spoke with a friendly warmth in his voice.

“My dear friends, I am deeply grieved to hear about the imprisonment of Abârpânarú in Armenelos. I swear to you by the Valar that I will do everything that I can to get him back. However, we must hurry for your father has assembled the rest of the faithful in Romenna and plans to leave very soon. He sent me to gather up the remainder of the faithful, but after I learned the news I sent my ship back, for I could not leave while your husband sits in chains. How may I serve you now my lady? I beseech you, act fast, for time is a luxury we do not have.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A heavy silence weighed upon the air of the room. Inzillomí looked at the delicate needle-work in her lap, waiting for her daughter to speak. With Abârpânaru's capture, it was Inzillomí's responsibility to safely remove the Faithful to the East. Now, with the King's Men to return in so few hours, Inzillomí needed one thing she did not have: time. She could not leave her husband to torment and death while she sailed away in safety. She also could not order rescuers to sacrifice themselves in order to save him. As the weight grew heavier, Ziraphel slid quietly out the door. A faint knocking reached Inzillomí's ears. She removed to the front doors, leaving Kâthaanî.

Passing Ziraphel and Marsillion, she motioned for their already given silence. A cautious hand on the razor sharp fan tucked discreetly in her sash, Inzillomí spoke. “Who is there?”

A gently familiar voice met her ears. “Do not fear, my Lady Inzillomí . It is I, the traveler of the seas, Azarmanô. I come with news from your father. I pray that you find it in your heart to let me inside.”

Inzillomí unlatched the door, swinging it open. "Come, friend. You are welcome in the house of Karíbzîr." Taking the captain's arm with the confidence of one who belonged there, she passively led him into her home. "We shall speak more openly where my daughter awaits."

Waving to Ziraphel and Marsillion, Inzillomí led the small group into her private sitting room. When all were seated, Inzillomí looked with expectation at Azarmanô. "What news, traveller, does my father send? I feel that Tiru has already told you some of what you shall soon hear. When you have spoken, you shall hear it afresh."

"My dear friends, I am deeply grieved to hear about the imprisonment of Abârpânarú in Armenelos. I swear to you by the Valar that I will do everything that I can to get him back. However, we must hurry for your father has assembled the rest of the Faithful in Romenna and plans to leave very soon. He sent me to gather up the remainder of the Faithful, but after I learned the news I sent my ship back, for I could not leave while your husband sits in chains. How may I serve you now my lady? I beseech you, act fast, for time is a luxury we do not have."

Inzillomí rose, an aura seeming to grow about her. She spoke with no art but the eloquence of haste. "It is for the ears of all present that I do now speak. My husband has been arrested under orders from the King. My father has sent word for us to travel swiftly to Romenna. The King's Men arrived here only hours ago to award my family and those near and dear to us the honor of relocating. They shall return in the morning, and it is then that I and my household must leave." She looked at her audience, feeling again the weight of her responsibility to them all. Her cheeks, pale as the face of the moon, were flushed.

Kâthaanî, introspective until now, spoke. "Mother, we cannot leave him." She met her mother's eyes, pleading.

With a smile, Inzillomí looked at her daughter. "No indeed, we cannot. But I will order no man to ride in his rescue, nor will I permit haste to overcome rationality. Where time is not, there it must be made. We shall think as though we had all the time in the world, so that when we act, it will not be in vain." A sound startled Inzillomí, although only Kâthaanî noticed it. Azarmanô rose, shifting his weight to his advantage, as the door gently pushed open. Tiru stepped inside as a collective breath was released. Inzillomí spoke again.

"I spoke that no man would be ordered, for I will condemn no man to a fate that he does not choose. Were it possible, I myself would go to my husband, but with the King's Men returning tomorrow, it would be disasterous to even attempt. If a discreet party can be arranged, and discreet it must be, for with lack of discretion comes many sorrows, not least the loss of life... If a party can be found, they shall ride with my blessing."

[littlemanpoet]

They led Abârpânarú inside, his hands tied behind his back and his ankles chained. They were taking him away from Lómi, who was being led by her bridle to the King's stables, no less a prison for the Kariborim than the dungeon to which they led him.

"Take care with my Karibor. She is precious." They led Abârpânarú down the dark, dank corridors of the King's dungeon; with the King gone to sea, more accurate to call it Sauron's dungeon.

"Fear not, anúphnimir," said a guard, "be assured your mount shall receive treatment at least as kindly as yours." The other three guards laughed.

Fool of the Elves, is it? They may say what they will. "Better anúphnimir than Anúpharazón."

The guard landed a blow on Abârpânarú's head with his mailed fist. "Núph! You shall never see your precious Karibor again. She is the King's now."

Which meant that she was Sauron's. Never. He vowed silently to free her if not himself. Somehow.

They threw him into a cell with a mere chink in the wall through which sunlight passed. They did not unlock his hands or ankles. He sat against the walls, his rage building at the injustice. He schooled himself to calmness. It would do no good to waste his strength on impotent rage. He knew the fate they had in mind for him. This island of the West was no longer ruled by Men. It was Sauron's now, who would see Abârpânarú on his blasphemous altar. He was willing to die if it would save his family and friends. It would fall to Inzillomí now to see that they achieved Rómenna. He wished them luck and all the wit they would need to avoid the watchful eyes of Sauron's Men.

They had better not try to rescue me. If Kâthaanî so much as shows her face here, I shall give her a proper scolding. He smiled a ghost of a smile. He knew his daughter, and his wife, knew what they would do. Take care my dear ones, take care.