Silmarillion Writers' Guild To Create a Queen by Lady Roisin

The eastern shore of Númenor came into view. The sun had not risen yet but the small dots of light, no larger than the head of a needle, were scattered all along the coastline. They reminded Almárëa of the clouds of fireflies that hovered in the trees of Lindon during the summer months. The sights alone made her homesick and feel the edges of regret tug at her heart. It did not help that the storms and rough currents were regular travel companions on the long journey from Lindon to Rómenna. Almárëa had never been afraid of foul weather, but it was far different when one was in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to hide.

But now the skies were cloudless and Almárëa watched the shoreline draw closer from the ship's railing. The crew worked furiously behind her to prepare for the ships arrival in Rómenna. It seemed to go on forever before the sun began to rise and the ship was returned to the quays. Aldarion had already arranged for Almárëa and her attendants to be guests in his home in Armenelos. He had mentioned many times that he had instructed his wife to prepare the house for their arrival, yet something about the way Aldarion spoke of his wife, Erendis, gave Almárëa cause for hesitation. They clearly seemed to be in the midst of some sort of marital strife. Even Almárëa overheard her ladies occasionally gossip about what they had learned from Aldarion’s servants, and Almárëa was quick to silence them for fear of unintentionally offending their host. But most of all, she simply wished to remain as uninvolved as possible in whatever was occurring between Aldarion and his lady, especially since Aldarion was the King’s heir and his wife would be his Queen.

Unfortunately, things seemed to take an ominous turn for even Almárëa’s most well-meaning plans. Only a messenger stood upon the landings to greet the party from Lindon. Aldarion quickly moved ahead of the group and spoke privately with the young man, his face turning redder as the conversation progressed. By the time he returned to Almárëa and her attendants, Aldarion was fuming.

“I must apologize, your highness. But there has been a change in plans.”

“When do you believe he shall return from Emerië?” One of Almárëa’s attendants asked for the second time that day.

“I do not know,” Almárëa replied while adjusting the heddles on her loom. She wanted to add and I do not care to her reply but knew better than to do so. “Whenever he has seen his family I am sure.” She looked down as she spoke and jumped in surprise when a small brown mouse ran past the toe of her slipper. Almárëa had heard the soft scuffle of mice behind the bedroom wall the night before, much to her dismay. She should not have been surprised by their presence though. When Aldarion brought Almárëa’s entourage here to his house in Armenelos, the halls smelled of stale air and the putrid stench of rotted food came from the kitchens. It had been the first evidence Almárëa had witnessed of the turmoil taking place between Aldarion and his wife. The house had clearly been abandoned with haste and left in such a sorry state for some time. A few of Aldarion’s servants remained behind by their master’s order and they tried to rid the house of the cockroaches and other pests taking up unwelcome residence.

A shrill cry caused Almárëa to wince and she shook her head, knowing exactly why her attendant had shrieked, “It is just a small mouse, ignore it.”

The attendant stood from her stool and swished her skirts in an annoyed fashion, “If this is how all Númenóreans treat their guests then I am unsure if I want to see the inside of their citadel. How can they bear to live in such filth?”

“It is an abandoned house,” Almárëa replied calmly despite her own rising irritation. “I am sure the citadel is different.” It had been bad enough to be left behind in a strange, decrepit home in a foreign land. But her attendants were not helping Almárëa to feel any more at ease about their surroundings. She hated it every bit as they; however, Almárëa knew complaining about their predicaments would not make them any more livable. Instead she had taken it upon herself to use a sheet of decorated parchment her father had given her from his desk before she left and wrote a message to Tar-Meneldur, letting him know of her arrival in Armenelos and that she bore an important message from her father in Lindon, one that carried the gravity of life and death for her people as well as Númenor. Almárëa sealed it with the official wax seal that Gil-galad gave to her, instructing her to use it only in the most dire of situations. A second letter was penned for Tar-Meneldur’s Queen, Almarian. This letter was far more personable, complimenting the Queen on the beauty of her city and expressing Almárëa’s desire to meet with her as well, as offering herself as a servant at Her Majesty’s command. Both messages were sent on the same day by separate messengers. All that remained was waiting to see who responded first.

Fortunately, they did not have to wait long. Soon after Almárëa’s attendant made a fuss over the mouse and complained yet again about their living conditions, a heavy knock pounded upon the entry door, causing all of the women to jump upon hearing the loud noise. Almárëa jumped from her chair and covered the distance between the sitting room and the large entry foyer with long strides. She unlocked the heavy double doors before opening one of them a crack to peer outside. Two armored guards bearing the royal symbol of the tree and seabird stood upon the stairs, peering back at Almárëa with stern faces.

“We are here to deliver a message to Lady Almárëa,” one of the guards began. “We are sent by her illustrious majesty, Queen Almarian, who commands that Lady Almárëa’s servants gather her belongings and that we are to bring the lady to the citadel immediately.”

“Of course,” Almárëa murmured before closing the door. She turned around to see one of her attendants standing a few feet away, a terrified expression in her eyes. Almárëa waved her hand, “Do not be afraid. Do as the men ask and pack up all of our belongings.” She offered the girl a comforting smile even though Almárëa’s stomach tossed to and fro. “I am certain by day’s end that they will find their proper place in the citadel’s luxurious rooms.”

Almárëa rushed to her own bedchamber and hurriedly changed into a more formal gown before returning outside for the guards to escort her to her audience with the Queen of Númenor. She made certain to bring along Gil-galad’s message for the King. Even if Aldarion was away taking care of his own domestic disputes, Almárëa would not waste any time in attending to the affairs she was brought here for.

Almárëa breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the solace the gardens provided from the clamorous celebrations of the royal court. Despite the haste with which Aldarion’s coronation celebrations had been prepared, no expense or lavish feature was spared. Once Almárëa showed King Gil-galad’s message, Tar-Meneldur made the decision to pass the Sceptre to Aldarion, believing he was better equipped to deal with the situation at hand and the rising tensions in Middle-earth. Even Aldarion’s lovely young daughter, Ancalimë, came up from Emerië to attend. The child had barely pulled her eyes away from Almárëa the entire night and seemed completely uninterested in her father’s attempts for his daughter’s affection. Almárëa’s heart went out to the girl, knowing full well how difficult it was to be so far away from one’s home and familiar surroundings.

Almárëa passed a row of benches when a hand reached out and grasped her arm, nearly causing Almárëa to scream in fear. Aldarion stood and moved further into the lights lining the winding pathways through the gardens.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the new King said with a low chuckle. “It seems we have the same idea.” He turned and motioned for Almárëa to join him. Almárëa noticed the half-empty bottle of wine resting near the bench and the empty pewter goblet seated upon the stone seat. Aldarion refilled the glass and took a long sip before speaking again. “You should feel a measure of relief knowing you have achieved what you came here to do. Your bold actions have ensured that.”

“I am,” Almárëa replied. “I am glad to know that an alliance is secured between our people.”

“Yes,” Aldarion murmured, “For now.” He turned to look up at the stars and lifted his goblet to his lips again. “It is secure while I am king. But I shall not live forever.”

Almárëa met Aldarion’s eyes as he shifted his gaze towards her and smiled. “I admire your courage. Had you not demanded an audience with my father, he never would have known how dire the circumstances were in Middle-earth.” He reached for Almárëa’s hand and clasped it within his larger palm. “I need a queen who is bold like you, not one who will cower in exile.”

“But you already have a queen, Your Majesty.” Almárëa looked down at her hand and back up at Aldarion’s face. Discomfort caused her heart to lurch once she recognized the edges of lust in his eyes.

“Erendis?” Aldarion laughed heartily and shook his head. “That stubborn woman, she and I shall never reconcile and I would not take her back now if she begged. Erendis is a bitter and cowardly female, unworthy of any royal title.”

Aldarion lowered his voice and edged closer to Almárëa. “However, you were born to be a queen. I see now why your father sent you here. We work towards a common goal, you and I, and together we can see them through.”

“Your Majesty,” Almárëa gasped and shot up from the bench as if someone had pinched her sharply and frightened her. “You should take care in what you say.”

The king stood and took a hold of Almárëa’s elbows before she had a chance to pull away. “Because of you and your father’s letter I am now king. My wife no longer loves me as she did and has estranged herself from me without giving me a viable heir. I need a son to ensure the treaty between Númenor and your father’s people.” Aldarion’s hands slid from Almárëa’s elbows and clasped her waist, pulling her body against his as he spoke in a low voice. Almárëa felt the heat and rigidness of his desire pressed against her stomach, causing her senses to recoil even further while Aldarion spoke in a husky tone. “And who better to do that than an heir created through our union? Permanency of political unifications is achieved through more than what is written upon paper.”

Almárëa yanked Aldarion’s hands off her waist and stepped back a safe distance, glaring at him in shock and disgust. She could hardly believe what the king proposed. While it was true that the marriage between Aldarion and Erendis was broken, it had yet to be permanently severed. Almárëa would be nothing more than the king’s mistress and brood mare. If the king’s marriage had been fully annulled she might have forgiven his error in judgment. But she was the daughter of Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, and Aldarion gave great insult not only to her, but to Gil-galad himself by speaking of such a base idea. No matter if she was only a common woman, Almárëa would not go to Aldarion’s bed, despite how handsome he was. She knew his secret and that he would never be pleased with any woman.

Almárëa had told no one what she had witnessed in her father’s household a few years ago. The door to Gil-galad’s study had been left slightly ajar. It was late in the night after all the servants and members of the royal household were meant to be asleep. Almárëa was restless that night and decided to seek solace at her loom. A woman’s soft moan came from behind the door of her father’s study along with the sounds of heavy breathing and male grunts. Almárëa was about to pass by the doorway quickly, believing at first that her parents were having another one of their late night lovemaking sessions. But for some reason Almárëa’s curiosity got the better of her and she peered through the small crack between the door and its frame.

The sight within the room had been far from what she expected. Indeed both her mother and father were inside. Her father and Aldarion’s naked bodies were bent in a passionate embrace while her mother reclined upon her husband’s desk, watching them with lust covering her face. She had pulled her breasts free from her bodice to fondle them while she watched Aldarion being bent over the smooth wooden desk as Gil-glad thrust into him from behind. One of her father’s hands reached out to pull his wife’s skirt up over her knees before it disappeared between them. It was not the first time Gil-galad and his queen allowed a male lover to come to their bed, but Almárëa had turned away from the sight hurriedly and rushed back to her bedchamber.

After that night she had become more aware of the interactions between her father and Aldarion, especially when the Númenórean was brought into the royal bedchambers. It was clear that while Aldarion appreciated beautiful women, he much preferred the company of men, a fact he was obviously trying to keep a well-guarded secret for the sake of his claim to the throne and to uphold his many delicate alliances. However, his recent separation from his lovely and eager wife had sent the speculative whispers buzzing in the royal courts of Númenor. If only Númenor knew the things Lindon’s royal court knew about their new king.

The rage swelled within Almárëa’s body as her thoughts returned to the moment at hand, “And you wish to offend Gil-galad by bedding his daughter without seeking his explicit consent?” she hissed, certain her eyes threatened bodily harm if Aldarion dared to touch her again. “I may be a guest in your household and a servant of my father, Your Majesty. But if you truly wish to honor the alliance between our people, then you will give me the respect that is due. I know your secret as to why you have spent so much time in my father’s home. And if you dare touch me again without my consent, I will not hesitate in revealing them.”

“Very well.” Almárëa saw the anger flash in Aldarion’s eyes as his face began to turn red. He was a man who rarely heard the word “no” and for a moment she feared he might lash out at her, or worse, force her to submit to his will right then and there. “I shall do as you ask and seek out your father’s permission for your hand. I am well aware that if the order is from him, then you will obey.”

Almárëa watched the King as he walked back up the garden path, his anger lingered behind him creating a deep tension in the air around her. It was not until Almárëa chose to return to the great house that her ears caught the sound of movement near the large bushes standing alongside the path. The branches shook until a figure moved past them and blocked Almárëa’s passage. Ancalimë looked back at her with a look of rage and intimidation that far surpassed her father's. Almárëa’s heart lurched towards her stomach as the girl took a few steps towards her. How much had Ancalimë heard? Almárëa opened her mouth to call out to her, but instead Aldarion’s daughter turned and ran in the same direction her father had disappeared in, leaving Almárëa to drown in her own fears and guilt.

Hardly a month passed before Aldarion set once again for Middle-earth. His lumber cultivation and trade required his attention along with his other alliances. Almárëa knew all too well that a visit would be made to her father to try and secure a new bride. Almárëa felt confident that her father would never allow the marriage or consent to Aldarion taking her as his mistress, especially since Gil-galad and Aldarion had their own history to contend with. Even though her father had enjoyed Aldarion’s company, Almárëa was well aware her father disapproved of how Aldarion disregarded Erendis, as well as her desires and feelings. Almárëa’s mother knew she was marrying a man who preferred men, but he still honored her as his queen and pleased her as well. He had even permitted her to have her own female lovers. There was a deep friendship, love, and respect shared between Gil-galad and his lady that Almárëa always admired. It was so different than the strife and upheaval between Aldarion and Erendis, where none really accepted the other for the way they were.

Even though Almárëa was fairly certain her father would not give his consent, a small part of her feared that in these desperate times Gil-galad might actually consider Aldarion’s offer since it was true that it would unite their kingdoms in a far more permanent alliance. The very thought of being bound to Aldarion terrified Almárëa to no end. Not only did she not desire him in the least, he was not a man suited for marriage and Almárëa knew she would end up as bitter and lonely as Erendis. For a very short time Aldarion might desire her, at least until she gave him a son and heir. But once the child was born, he would forget her just as he had poor Erendis. It was true, Erendis had been cruel and biting towards Almárëa on the only occasion they had met, yet she found it surprisingly easy to pity the woman. Aldarion had promised Erendis the world and taken it away from her in a single motion. They had hurt each other, really, and their daughter had been caught in the middle. That was the part of it that seemed to infuriate Almárëa the most. Unlike her parents, Ancalimë did not have a choice to walk away from disaster.

There was a knock upon Almárëa’s door and one of her attendants moved to allow the visitor inside. Ancalimë did not even wait for Almárëa’s attendant to announce her arrival before stalking into the room and plopping down onto the stool next to Almárëa’s in front of the loom.

“So is it true?” Aldarion’s daughter asked without bothering with a greeting of any sort. She leaned forward on the stool and twirled a strand of her coppery blond hair around her finger.

“Is what true?” Almárëa replied in as calm of a tone as she could manage. She put down her shuttle and turned to give Ancalimë her full attention.

Ancalimë stared at her with fierce gray eyes. “My father plans to replace my mother with you because he wants a son.” Almárëa caught a glimpse of the pain flashing across the girl’s face. The anger was obvious in her voice. “I thought we were friends, you and I. How could you do this?”

Almárëa knew Ancalimë’s passionate fits well enough by now to know that she could not allow this one to continue. “I can assure you, Ancalimë, that I have no intentions of replacing your mother or giving your father a son.”

“But I saw you and him in the gardens,” Ancalimë spat back. “Surely you have not forgotten?”

“I have not.” Somehow Almárëa managed to remain calm despite the passion Ancalimë thrust back at her. “I wanted to speak to you then, to reassure you. But you ran off before I had a chance. I will leave Númenor before I marry. Believe me when I say your father is not someone I would ever be able to desire. And believe me, if there was something I could do to ease your mother’s troubles, I would do it.” She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “I do not wish to ever marry. You can at least give her that reassurance, if she requires it.”

Finally the anger seeped from Ancalimë’s features and a sad smile came to her face, “neither do I.” She laughed and shook her brilliant waves. “I hate men and I don’t think there’s anything anyone could ever do to make me want me a husband. Marriage is a terrible thing. Look what it did to my parents.”

Almárëa sighed softly. It pained her to see Ancalimë making such absolutes about her future when she was still not fully blossomed from her childhood. She wanted to explain to Aldarion’s daughter that her parents were more at fault for the failure of attaining wedded bliss than the marriage itself.

A sudden sadness pulled down the corners of Ancalimë’s lips and she began to twirl her hair around her fingers again. “If I was born a boy then maybe they might still love each other and my father would not have abandoned my mother and I.”

“Oh Ancalimë,” Almárëa breathed. In that moment her heart broke for the poor girl as she reached out to try and pull Ancalimë close. “None of what transpired between your mother and father is your fault in any way.”

Oddly Ancalimë knelt at Almárëa’s feet and rested the side of her head upon her lap. “I try so very hard to make both of them proud of me. But they never will be because I am female and cannot be King. And I want so very much to be King.”

A stroke of inspiration exploded in Almárëa’s mind like timbers combusted by a bolt of lightning. Thanks to Ancalimë, she now knew a way out of any potential arrangement Aldarion might try to force her into. She reached out to stroke Ancalimë’s hair in a soothing manner. “Maybe you can be King.”

Ancalimë sat up wide eyed. “What do you mean? How can such a thing be possible?”

Almárëa smiled and lifted Ancalimë’s chin. “Your father is king, and he can change the laws, including those of succession, can he not?”

The pieces already seemed to fall into within Ancalimë’s mind as well. She quickly leapt back onto her feet and clapped her hands. She seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that she had badly wrinkled her dress and her hair and jewelry drooped in a lopsided mess upon the crown of Ancalimë’s head. “I can ask Father to change the law. Then it will not matter if he has a son or not, and he can make all the sea voyages he wants.”

Almárëa smiled in admiration of the girl’s keen intelligence and reached out to place her hands upon Ancalimë’s shoulders to calm her. “Yes, but you must convince him that this is the proper decision by showing him what a great leader you can be.”

“But how do I do that?” Ancalimë question while pouting slightly.

“Well, first you can start by learning to control that temper of yours,” Almárëa reached out to catch the shuttle in her other hand as she drew I through the warp upon the loom.

“I do not have a temper,” Ancalimë spoke impudently, earning her a smirk from both Almárëa and the attendant winding a skein of yarn. “Well, maybe a little bit of one.”

“As a Queen you must not be so quick to make rash assumptions,” Almárëa continued in her calm tone, moving easily past Ancalimë’s minor outburst. “Such assumptions can be very costly, not only to those around you but also to yourself. A good queen must not be a tyrant and she should be mindful to treat her subjects with respect if she wishes for them to respect her in return. You will need to learn diplomacy, Ancalimë.”

The girl nodded and leaned forward to listen to Almárëa’s instructions. “You will need to be well-versed in history, politics, and multiple languages and cultures. I am willing to instruct you in these subjects only if you are willing to apply yourself completely.”

“I know Sindarin and some Quenya,” Ancalimë piped up, her lip upturning in pride. “And I promise I will learn everything you think I should know.”

Almárëa smiled, “That is good and we have a deal then. And on top of exercising your intellect, you will need to learn how to act and dress like a Queen. No more slouching, dirtying your good clothing, belching at meals, or telling crude jokes about men’s privates in public or mixed company.”

Ancalime pouted again for a moment but nodded, “Very well, if you say so.” She stood up and replaced her frown with one of her bright smiles that made it difficult for anyone to say no to her. “May we start tomorrow?”

Almárëa nodded, “of course.” She was rewarded by Ancalimë’s happy squeal and her clapping her hands together briefly before bounding out of the room. Almárëa watched her go. Sometimes Ancalimë reminded Almárëa of herself when she was a child, and in other ways they were completely different. It was clear that Ancalimë had been very molded by Erendis’ jilted perspectives of the world, and it moved Almárëa for the child’s sake. Hopefully she would be able to nudge Ancalimë away from the bad habits that seemed to be engrained in her behavior for Ancalimë’s own sake.

Just as Almárëa half predicted and hoped, Gil-galad refused to allow a marriage between Aldarion and his daughter. However Almárëa’s relief was short-lived. Aldarion returned to Númenor in an even surlier mood than he had left in. Unfortunately that was not the worst of Almárëa’s problems, when Erendis made an unannounced arrival in Armenelos.

Almárëa was having tea with Almarian when the door to the Queen Mother’s chambers flew open, and Erendis burst in with servants at her heels. “How dare you,” she stormed at Almárëa, approaching her with such force that Almárëa rose from her seat and placed her hands out in front of her.

“Whatever is the meaning of this,” Almarian demanded sternly as she also stood up from her chair, casting a warning look towards her daughter-in-law before looking worried when her eyes met Almárëa’s.

“She is dallying with my husband,” Erendis spat angrily. Her entire body seemed to burn with rage, with the way she carried herself and contorted her face. “Did you think because I reside in Emerië that I would not find out?”

“Where is your proof?” Almárëa asked calmly despite Erendis’ anger, boldly meeting the woman’s eyes even if it enraged her even further. “If it is true, then bring forth a courtier, servants. Surely someone would have seen me with him or delivered gifts from him to me. Bring forth even one and I will stand corrected and beg for your mercy.”

Erendis backed up a step while Almarian took one forward. The tension was so thick within the room that even Almárëa was unsure if Erendis would break down in tears or reach out and punch her squarely in the face. The uneasy moment was temporarily broken when a voice called out from the doorway.

“Mother?” Almárëa did not have to look to recognize Ancalimë’s voice. “Mother, what is the matter?”

Almárëa’s heart beat faster with each step Ancalimë took into the room. She had not forgotten that moment in the gardens the night of Aldarion’s coronation feast, and she was sure Ancalimë had not either. Erendis turned a malice-laden smile towards her child, “Very well, then, I trust my daughter to tell me the truth if no one else will. Tell me Ancalimë, has the Elf become your father’s whore?”

Terror filled Almárëa’s being. Of anyone here in Númenor, Ancalimë was the single person who had enough knowledge to ruin her. Was it possible she might do so now in front of Almarian and the many servants who had gathered to witness the commotion within the room? Even though Almárëa had already invested a great deal of commitment into Ancalimë’s education, Ancalimë now had the ambition to be Queen of Númenor, and Almárëa could easily be replaced if it suited Ancalimë. All eyes were upon the King’s daughter as they awaited her answer.

Ancalimë shook her head, “No mother, Lady Almárëa has committed no crime against you.” She giggled rather loudly. “Believe me, Mother, Father and Lady Almárëa avoid being in the same room if they can.”

Almárëa did not wait to hear Erendis’ response. Instead she turned and walked as briskly as possible onto Almarian’s large balcony without betraying the anger simmering within her mind. A series of conversations echoed from Almarian’s sitting room yet Almárëa paid them little mind. She was more concerned with the comforting breeze brushing across her face and the myriad of smells that filled the city below. After an undetermined amount of time footsteps clipped towards Almárëa, nearing the railing where she stood. She caught the strong heady scent of Erendis’ perfume yet she did not honor her presence by turning around.

“So it is you who put the idea in my daughter’s head that she can become Queen?” The coldness had not left Erendis’ voice, however Almárëa sensed an edge of hesitation, a small unraveled thread in her resolve. It was all that she needed to turn around and face Erendis again, this time with unimpeded boldness.

“I have,” she began, matching Erendis’ cool tone. “And I did it for her sake, and yours. Maybe now you shall not be ashamed of her because she was not a son.”

“I was never ashamed of her,” Erendis argued back, her gray eyes going wide at the suggestion. “I only wished I could have been allowed to give my husband a son as well before he ran off to your kingdom and your father.”

The two women shared a knowing look that Erendis quickly escalated into a battle of wills. So Erendis did know Aldarion’s secret after all. Almárëa broke free from the grasp of Erendis’ sharp gaze and shook her head. “Your husband may have loved my father, but I was never your enemy, Erendis, and neither was he. You are not aware how many spoke on your behalf.”

Almárëa pushed past Erendis, in no mood to continue this discussion or any other with her. Almarian stood in the doorway leading back into the sitting room. The Queen Mother’s eyes were wide and her face was filled with silent hurt. “I’m sorry,” she murmured as Almárëa passed by her with a respectful bow of her head.

My Dearest Father,

I wish I were able to write with only good news, but alas a great storm surrounds the Royal Sceptre of Númenor. Aldarion has declared his only child and daughter, Ancalimë, as his heir, much to the dismay of his sister’s family. The King’s nephew, Soronto, may still claim the Sceptre if Ancalimë does not abide by the terms laid out by the council and marry by the time she is to take the Sceptre. Ancalimë is furious and has retreated the fields of Emerië and the citadel is silent with unrest.

I have received your latest letter and I do not know when I shall be able to return home. For now Aldarion has permitted no one to leave the citadel due to uprisings in the city. Soronto has become a very powerful man even in his few years and there are murmurs of possible civil war. I find myself sympathizing with Aldarion’s eldest sister, Soronto’s mother, even though I know I shall come to great danger if anyone were to discover my thoughts. All her life she trained for a duty she would never be permitted to have simply because she was born a woman. I sympathize with her even if I am the one who trained her niece to be Queen. I hope that Ancalimë will not cause me to regret my decision, although I fear my faith in her waning these days. In so many ways she is still a child, too immature for the duty she must do for her people.

I long to be home but Ancalimë has pleaded with me to come with her to Emerië. If only there was a way to say no to Ancalimë without endangering our alliance with Númenor. Oh Father, how I miss you and Mother. I want nothing more than to be home in Lindon. Yet I pray that I may be able to be a positive influence in Ancalimë’s life while I am here.

I miss you and Mother so much but I am proud to serve our people in my own capacity. I hope to receive a letter from you soon for they always help to ease the longings for home.


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