The Tower Watcher by Diane Finnis-Robb  

The Nine: 

“The Tower Watcher”

12/28/19 revised on 09/21/2026

This is a draft of one of nine short stories set within the Tolkien Legendarium, each recounting a possible origin for one of the Nine Mortal Men corrupted by Sauron.

Year 1700 of the Second Age

   The Sun had already passed well over Oromet, second greatest hill of the star-isle, on that afternoon in which lord Minastir turned his eyes to the East. To do this he had come up to the tower roof, unwillingly it should be told, and only after many late and weary days in counsel and many long and cautious months of hearing the petitions of very many of the people. 

   For captains and emissaries of the coastal lands had come at this time to Oromet, to the feet of Elostirion,¹  Minastir’s tower home, to make suit with the lord. And so it was that many tents with many banners covered all of the hillside below the seven points of his walls and that there was a great camp set there to receive each of them in respect to their station and even to hear their pleas and record all that they would say for the lord’s perusal. For Minastir, a solitary figure by nature, was a cordial lord who knew well the responsibilities of his house. A great pavilion the lord had set there before the Westgate as a hall with his own banner; the azure lion of his mother’s lineage quartered with the white swans on a golden sea of his father’s.² And so it was that in this hall all visitors kept the peace of Anadûnê and were given great comfort. For they had traveled far from their eastern lands to bring troubling news to the courts of Númenor yet they were given no place in the capital of that land or among the court of its Queen, no counsel in their time of hardship other than here, outside the walls of Elostirion, the Star-tower. There in that pavilion the lord was gracious in accepting these emissaries, but quartered none against the Queen’s own wishes. So therefore many people of Minastir’s house were thus set into the service of these guests, and the petitioners lacked for nothing as they waited, each in turn (and some outside of the wishes of their Queen) for an audience with the lord.

   But the lord Minastir was, of course, not yet a king and therefore he would not receive petition or grant counsel as a king might do nor be seen to impose his own will over that of his Queen.

   Thus each lordly visitor, or so Ministar made certain, would be recognized and each would be given provision and respected position on the hillside as travelers rather than ambassadors. Their flags would fly upon the slope representing the lands they had come from and the importance of their mission, but none would be given respite within the tower so that none would be called “guest” according to the grace and manner of the day. But also, it was said, that a delegate from each land, province or captain would be provided the opportunity to record the purposes of their coming and their hopes of assistance in a singular meeting with Minastir himself. 

   For they were all told that no great counsel of war would ever be allowed here where the windows of his tower looked only towards the West. For Elostirion, the Star-tower of Númenor, had been built as the watchtower of Peace and Hope for Men and he that built it would never see it serve as a court of war.

*****

   ‘Tomorrow will be too late, Sakalkhôr,’³ the boy said, ‘just as yesterday was too late and the day before it. Men die in defense of our homes while we stand here as beggars at your lord’s gate.’

   This was true of course, but no one in the lighted tent, none of the Númenóreans nor the Minhirathuirim and lâi Algraig⁴ assembled here wished to speak of it, particularly not Sakalkhôr himself, the new captain of the eastern seas north of the Greyflood. He had spent much time and traveled far to petition the Queen’s aid and many of his men’s thoughts were bent towards the homes that were now so near rather than the troubles of the lands they had left behind. So Sakalkhôr distilled the tension as best he could.

  ‘Yes, Oisin,’ the condir⁵ said, ‘Men are dying. Is this your best counsel as we prepare for tomorrow? Shall I thank you for reminding me that all men die? And will you also remind me, yet again, that had you remained it might be that you would be home raising the defenses? Would you still be hoping your neighbors would indeed join with you as they have too often promised?’ Many in the tent laughed at this, but not the young emissary Oisin in his boldness nor Sakalkhôr the captain in his wisdom. 

   ‘Good friend, that has not happened,’ the captain continued. ‘You woodsmen are valiant and we welcome your allegiance, but all the tribesmen of Middle-earth flee before this enemy while you and few others have come seeking Númenor’s aid. That is your best hope to stand. Trust to the wisdom of your choice.

   ‘Truly I would stand with you,’ Sakalkhôr said as he looked across the room to his men and the others who had come from other encampments, ‘as would the many, nay, I would say the every man assembled here on Oroset. This place holds the colors of courage for our people across more than a hundred pavilions. I would see these colors that are set along this hillside streaming on the prows of a thousand ships that would roll up the Long River of your land against our foes. And truly that might kindle all hearts, here and in Middle-earth, with fire and valour. And, if I could, I would follow my heart in this matter and bring a glorious triumph over this enemy of your lands and all his dark creatures. And many, many here would join me.

   ‘All this I would do if I was, as you are, Minhiriath and not Númenórean,’ he said, giving pause and time and weight to his speech.

   ‘But the Men of Númenor do not go to war without the Word of Command and Law; for the wisdom of our King-’ there were some sounds of argument here amongst the crowd that he was quick to contain, ‘ -or, aye, our Queen,’ he said louder to quiet them into order, ‘for that Command is what governs the hand of a lawful People, not hot revenge, nor even our sense of your own just cause. Númenor awaits Word and Orders of War and we Númenóreans shall not strike forth without these.’

   There was a rousing call of agreement in the tent at this speech, but yet it was not nearly as unanimous as Sakalkhôr might have hoped. There was instead a mumbling of many voices who doubted the purpose of their waiting and of their mission here at the foot of the tower. There were many more Númenóreans here in the captain’s pavilion than there were people like Oisin, representative as he was of tribes from the eastern lands, but all of them had come far with a singular purpose; to petition the lord Igmil-magân⁶ to send war to Middle-earth. And now the waiting had made them question that purpose.

   Sakalkhôr’s pavilion, placed in high honor on the westward face at the feet of the Star-tower, was not great in size nor lavish in its furnishings. As a captain of the sea for many years he cared little for broad exhibits of wealth and expected his men should feel the same. They had traveled far to reach the hill of Oromet, and he was glad that the Great Pavilion of his host had so much to offer the many assembled here as the restless amongst his charge met with friends and kin from many different crews and many ships; for at this time the Númenóreans lived widely on all the seas of Arda, and in many a man’s youth he came only seldom to the star-island that was his home. Many were weary from their travels and the waiting made all of them impatient. So tonight in his own tent the captain now held counsel with only half-score of his men and a few honored guests, as many as the tent might hold. For tomorrow Sakalkhôr was to meet with the lord Igmil-magân and present his personal assessment of matters in Middle-earth and, or so he hoped, beg the lord for the Orders of War.

   Lord Igmil-magân, or Minastir as he was called here on Westernesse, the unwanting heir to the throne, had heard such petitions before as the power within Mordor had grown. He was not a young prince, no, but instead the aged nephew of a barren queen who had never wished nor expected to rule. But now, in his two hundred and twenty-sixth year, after a life that the lord had spent building this tower and looking for his wisdom to come out of the West, these petitioners, Sakalkhôr included, had come to his door with a plea to action. Unwatched in Middle-earth the troubles from Mordor had grown and many amongst the wise men of Númenor spoke openly of it and discussed it as portent even when the Queen herself would not listen. But there were none in Númenor, not Sakalkhôr nor even of those other wise men of distant shores, which yet understood the depth of these troubles.

   ‘He comes, he does, over any lands and over any defenses we might set, captain Sakalkhôr, and you know this. He has destroyed homes and settlements from Gilrain to Leifnui claiming the lordship of all Middle-earth. He crushes the old Elven kingdoms like brittle shells of their former majesty and fills their open lands with creatures who are horrible, deadly and abhorrent to Men,’ Oisin said. ‘And who shall stop him? The Queen of yours who will not receive us in her court or the future king who now keeps us on his doorstep? If Númenor could but raise its gaze to the east-’

    ‘All of us here, youngling, assemble from the East,’ a new voice interrupted, ‘and all the race of Men, even here in Númenor, first had their homes there before the kindling of the Sun.’

   Few lanterns were hung here in Sakalkhôr’s tent but they were of keen design and gave great light to the faces of the men gathered so that few shadows pervaded in that place. But the man who spoke now in response to Oisin’s pleas seemed to sit in a very rare spot of shadow that covered his face almost entirely and Sakalkhôr did not recognize him immediately. He wore a simple dark traveling cloak with no mark of house nor rank and on his head there was a large-brimmed yet equally simple hat which shaded his eyes. He was not one of Sakalkhôr’s men, but he had a lordly bearing as he addressed the crowd. Moreover, he gave off a familiarity as he spoke, so the captain allowed him to continue.

  ‘And in the lands East there is now a turmoil that has never been seen here in the star island of Anadûnê. Never. The Western lords of Númenor, these majestic lords of the Sea, polite as they are to receive you, have no idea of the powers which battle on the land in Middle-earth and which now shapes the causes of all people there. Their Queen turns her back and has no imagination that can conceive of this Enemy and all of His devices.’

   He stood then, a taller figure than most assembled there, to further address the crowd, knowing that he had captured the attention of everyone within the hall. Yet somehow his face managed to hold the shadows of the corner of the tent while everyone gathered there was drawn to his speech. And then it was that Sakalkhôr looked hard at the man and believed, or he thought he believed, that he knew him.

   So, his curiosity arisen to this new turn of events, Sakalkhôr let him continue to speak without revealing himself.

   ‘And so I remind you, Men of Westernesse and friends from far-off lands,’ the man said addressing the crowd, ‘that we are here, all of us, to meet one purpose; to send Númenor to war with the enemies of Man abroad in the lands of our birth. Would you, Oisin, tribesman of a courageous people, have us pull up tentstakes now before a meeting which can bring this hope, only to fly home and raise weary swords against an unmatchable foe? As Sakalkhôr himself has wisely seen, here on this island there is a great power to challenge the very Order of the World. Would you leave now out of some vain bravery and deny the opportunity to call this mighty power to your cause?’

   Oisin was quiet at this and indeed, to Sakalkhôr’s eye, the whole tent had grown quiet in attendance of the words from this new speaker. A power was clearly on him and the captain himself felt this confirmed his own suspicions of the man’s identity. And so, once again, he allowed the speaker to continue.

   ‘It may seem to many that these mighty people, happy in their homes of Anadûnê and their mastery over the Seas, no longer care for the troubles in the land of their birth. And it may indeed be so. 

   ‘The Queen will not receive our counsel and the windows of this tower, greatest feat of the very lord whose help you might seek, Oisin,  look only to the West. It could be that Men here in this tower and on this island neglect their rightful struggles in the World and dream only of the promises of lands which they are forbidden to see. It may be that their past, their former home, is of less regard to such a mighty people as the Númenóreans have become. Perhaps they look only West now as this tower does. Tell me truly, Men of Númenor, is this so?’

  And to that claim there was a loud cry throughout the tent and Sakalkhôr knew that this unlooked-for visitor had caught the heart of every man assembled in a way that he himself had hoped for. And this made Sakalkhôr certain at this time of his guess. 

   And in this Sakalkhôr was himself the first of many Númenóreans to be so deceived.

   ‘Should the proud and mighty people of Anadûnê turn their backs on the lands of their birth and those brothers from ancient lineage that they have left behind them?’ the speaker continued. ‘Shall they turn their eyes to look only West to old allies who themselves flee into lands from which all Men are forbidden? Should the great victories of their grandsires be no example to the valiant deeds they might yet do in Middle-earth? Tell me, Men of Númenor, have you left your old home, your old brothers and your old courage aside to look only to a land from which you are forbidden? Are you men of valour or refugees with no place to go?’

   ‘Nay!’ ‘Never!’ many Men in that tent shouted and, indeed, if others were silent, thoughtful and unmoved by this speech, they said nothing of it.

   As the voices in the room fell into a tumult of assent for the mustering of all the great force of Númenor, Sakalkhôr rose to speak again.

   ‘Tomorrow,’ he said loudly over the crowd, ‘tomorrow I shall meet with the Lord of the Tower. You here are Men of my counsel, assembled to make your wisdom in matters of the East known as I myself am called by honor to present them. What would you have me say?’

   ‘War! War! A Great War to take and to hold the lands of our birthright!’ was called. ‘A great ending to the Enemy wherever he may be found! A landing and a fortressing of the East! A kingdom without border!’ was called. ‘Plunder and destruction! Let no Darkness stand to the ends of Arda! Let the greatness of our People be unfettered!’ And many more cries of battle and of courage and of righteous violence on the Enemies of Man. At these the eyes of Oisin, the young tribesman from the forest shores of Middle-earth, grew startled; unsure of the power and mighty calamity his pleas may have unleashed in these dread people.

   ‘Sakalkhôr!’ The lone speaker shouted from his dark corner of the tent. There was an evenness and command in his voice at which all other voices were suddenly quieted.

   ‘Sakalkhôr, Watcher of the Shores,’ he said, ‘you must tell Igmil-magân, this Tower-builder and Watcher-of-the West, this lord who holds our hopes, to bend his sights upon the East and, if my counsel seems of use, you will take this young Man of Minhiriath, Oisin as he is called, along to plead the hopes of his people. For he is brave in his desire to face the Enemy and respectful in his need. Let it be in his hope for action, his cry of aid, upon which the glory of the Men of Anadûnê will be written.’

   There was a great rousing call at this from the other men assembled and Oisin’s earlier expression of worry turned to one of pride as his name was called by so many great people.

   ‘It shall be so,’ Sakalkhôr said. ‘And tomorrow I shall go before the lord, with this man as ambassador, seeking the Command of War.’

   And a great cheer came up from all those assembled.

*****

   There were seven long and sharp points to the seven radii that formed the star-shaped tower of Elostirion. Seven sharp buttresses that ran deep from its peak and down into the hillside creating fourteen high walls. And although these walls were sheer and mighty they had not been built against any foe, for no enemy ever came to the shores of Anadûnê by force in all the history of the world.

   For one hundred feet each point radiated outward, but to the North and to the South and even towards the East these ran even longer and sharper. For in the designs of its builder this tower took light from the West and desired to spread it unto the furthest areas of the World through a keen work of reflection. Great mirrors had been constructed at its peak so that each day, at the setting of the Sun, great light would pour from the Forbidden Lands into the tower and then outward to all the land and seas on which the Númenóreans now ruled. 

   But this purpose had not been accomplished, and whether that was by lack of knowledge or fault of design none could say. But no light passed out of the tower since its building and for many lands nearby its height blocked the setting of the Sun and stole its grace.

   Towards the West the tower’s point was blunted, open and concave, a cup as if to allow, contain and receive all which the Western wind and the light of the Valar might send it. Even at the base, the stone was smoother here; warmer to the touch and welcoming to the hand.

  A great and winding stair was set into this western spire turning back and up upon itself towards the summit which was many hundreds of feet above the top of Oromet. The Sun’s light fell on the stair from the West at each juncture within its many turns and doublings, but no lanterns were to be found upon these steps; and all the windows of Elostirion looked only to the West, just as Minastir had deemed it. For he was far-sighted in his youth and had spent earlier days instructing the great builders of Númenor in this one purpose; that Men might only reach the top of his tower by the grace and light of the West and in darker hours they should fear to move within it.

   It was an hour’s climb from base to summit of the great Star-tower and so, in these days as Men sought the Command of War, many were found to assemble before the lord’s gate at the very first light of morning. To all of these Minastir’s people showed their graciousness, but only select petitioners might take the stair on each given day. All others waited below in hope of being called forth.

   At times, or so it was said, from this high place built so many years ago in his youth, Minastir believed he could smell a sweet fragrance on the air and hear the sound of fair singing as it came over the water. Sometimes, in his deepest concentrations some years ago as he stared towards the Forbidden Lands while the Sun was still high, he believed that he saw the grey rain-curtain of sight’s edge turned all to silver glass and rolled back. Then, or so he believed at the time, he beheld shining white shores and beyond them a fair green country under a swift sunrise.⁷

   Hope, through all the days of his youth, had drawn his eyes to the West for this vision. But now Men came, Men whom soon he must rule. And the lord knew in his heart that they would beg that his attention be turned to the East.

*****

   Sakalkhôr came to Elostrion’s gate before the rising of the Sun, for he was restless to begin. Unlike many who had petitioned the lord before, he came not in arms but instead had chosen clothes of modest refinement and in a tabard bearing the lion and swans of the lord’s own house, but showing here only white on black and without color nor ornament; for as “watcher of the coasts” Sakalkhôr served in the great navy of which Igmil-magân was admiral but not king. Even in turbulent times he was loyal to the heir of Elros and would not be seen to choose colors that were other than those of the Queen.

   ‘And I will wear no crest nor carry any sign of warlike readiness,’ he told his pages the preceding night, ‘for my hope lies in reasoned speech and not in vain shows of valour. For those, I have the Woodsman.’

   But Oisin, Woodsman of Minhiriath, did not meet Sakalkhôr at Elostrion’s gate as was planned and this made the captain more restless. Men were sent among the pavilions to search the woodsman out, but he could not be found.

   Many of Sakalkhôr’s men then counseled him to go before the lord alone as other captains had. ‘He is a woodsman, Condir, and a boy,’ they said. ‘He probably ran off in the night, or became drunk with his notoriety last evening and has since fallen from a tree as these people sleep in. Do not let your important work wait on such uncertain allies.’

   But Sakalkhôr remembered the other visitor to his tent last night; izindu-bêth⁸ he thought him, truth-sayer, and he remembered his entreatment to bring Oisin before the lord. So, thinking he knew who that man was and foresaw that man’s purpose, Sakalkhôr was unwilling to climb the Stair of Elostirion without the woodsman at his side.

   ‘Let others go now to the lord and give him counsel before me,’ the captain said. ‘And tell the lord that, if he shall forgive my lateness, I shall come as soon as I may and bearing with me great witness. If the advice of these others should move him then I shall be glad; for the will of all Men on Oromet seems bent to one cause and I would have the lord hear this. But should they not sway him then, I beg, have him await one last audience with me; for the word that comes late may be no less weighty.’

   And at this the people of Igmil-magân’s house went up with word to their lord and so others of lesser title than the captain’s, some who waited for many days at the gate, were then permitted. And Sakalkhôr himself, greatly angered by this delay and embarrassment, went forth in search of the woodsman.

   It was well past the noon hour when the captain found him, in the lengthening shadows of the north-east spire, seated on a small pack and honing the crude handaxe he had brought from his forest home.

   ‘You are overly late, boy,’ Sakalkhôr called to him hotly, ‘and it is your tongue and not your ax which will need sharpening today if you are to make a proper excuse for this tardiness.’

   ‘Forgive me, good captain,’ the woodsman said rising, ‘but there are… observances which my people make before such important occasions and they can only be performed once the sun has left the East.’

   Both men looked east at this, the woodsman from the shadow and the captain in the late and westering light, and both faces were grave with concern.

   ‘You should have informed me of this last night, Oisin,’ Sakalkhôr said as he moved toward the man, his temper cooling a bit as he came into the shadow of the tower. ‘To serve as an emissary for your people before my lord is a great responsibility that you, in your youth, are perhaps not prepared for-‘

   ‘Captain, please,’ the woodsman begged. ‘I must be allowed to speak with your lord commander. Please forgive my wanting to prepare in my own ways, but we have come so far for this and it is of such tremendous importance. I believe that the doom of all Men rests in our meeting.’

   Sakalkhôr too believed this. He knew that the lord of Mordor had quickly overrun the lands surrounding the mouth of the Long River in Middle-earth and that only a marshaling of Númenor’s great powers might stop him. He knew also that the Eldar, long allies of his own People, were hard-pressed against this new enemy but were, by their nature, too proud to seek aid as the Minhirathuirim were. For those Eldar who did speak of Mordor, and there were few, had become more wary than any Man of this age could remember, as if puzzling some old riddle that they had nearly forgotten and now were unsure of reading. It was this, more than anything, that had stirred Sakalkhôr’s original interest in the enemy. For he counted himself nimruzîr, or ‘elf-friend’ as his fathers had been, and he desired to know why even the Eldar would fear an upstart lord of Easterlings.

   In the previous evening in Sakalkhôr’s tent the unlooked-for guest had moved him and his crew with another cause beyond curiosity; for he had given them a hard reminder that the lands of Middle-earth were the home of all Men and that valiant hearts should not leave them abandoned. He had heard those words and, like his men, felt moved to action.

   And now, hearing this boy speak, Sakalkhôr’s own heart was moved by still another purpose, surprised as he was to not have felt it before now. He felt pity for the woodsman, and also for all of those people who remained in Middle-earth and had not been given the Gift of Númenor at the Breaking of the World. For surely the hosts of Mordor and these worshippers from the East would destroy them all if Númenor would not bring aid.

   ‘Leave your weapons behind, Oisin,’ Sakalkhôr told the woodsman, placing a gentle hand on the young man’s axe blade, ‘for they will not be permitted in the tower. But gather your thoughts and whatever gift of speechcraft you might have. It is a long climb to the summit of Elostirion and you will need to make apologies to and beg the favor of Igmil-magân, lord of the navies, and not to me. I can only hope that you are suited to the task.’

   At this the woodsman smiled saying, ‘I’ll need no weapon there, captain, and, young though I may seem,’ he said, putting his hand to his breastpocket, just above his heart, ‘all the gift that I may have to sway your lord has been long prepared for this meeting.’

  And the two men made quickly for the stair of Elostirion.

*****

   Many turns and windings were set along the western spoke of the star tower as it rose to its summit and the council chamber of Minastir. If the steps themselves were ever counted no record tells, but they were said to be daunting to all, having no uniformity or set scale so as to bewilder any unwise guest who might attempt them without the aid of daylight. Maze-like, some have called it, with many places in which a traveler might go astray, though always the steps lead inexorably upward.

  Without the daylight as a guide any unfamiliar guest might turn and twist their way wrong; left or right at any point and then into some empty room, some cul-de-sac, which would halt their journey. And in each of these rooms there was, or so it was told, ample store of comforts so that such an unwary guest may pause and await the morning light for further guidance; for this tower and its stair was not meant to be a trap that the lord Minastir had laid against enemies nor as some puzzle to test the unwise but, instead, as some lesson, some long and high lesson in which Men might learn that their way to the summit came only through awaiting the Light of the West.

  But always, to whatever end, the steps went continually up, and few would brave them late in the day. And fewer still might expect an audience with the lord of the tower when the hour grew late; for the end of each day Minastir reserved to sit in silence and watch the Light go down in the West.

   His council chamber was large, crescent-shaped as it faced towards the Forbidden Lands, but no chair other than the lord’s own sat there. That was on a raised dias, also crescent-shaped, which afforded Minastir, Igmil-magân to some, his solitary view West above the heads of any who came and sought his wisdom.

   For the lord was sapthân; wise indeed, wise amongst any other Men in his time, and many came to Elostirion to seek his wisdom even before these troubles in the East. A true descendant of Elros, he had traveled much in his youth before he turned his attention to study. And now, in his two hundred and twenty-sixth year Minastir was a healer and a builder, a lord of the navies and a master of farming, knowledgeable about the Heavens and the Waters and all the Lands of Middle-earth. Few things within the histories of Men were unknown to him. He knew the names, true and legend, of all his ancestry and many of their deeds which even the Elves had (seemingly) long since forgotten. He shared his wisdom freely now when men came to him but he no longer left his tower and he never interfered in matters of the court; for Minastir had not been expected to rule when in his youth and did not wish for the weight of ruling that the Queen’s age had brought to him now. So he waited, alone in his tower, and listened to the concerns of others but withheld, for as long as possible, his judgements. 

*****

   ‘Here in his tower the lord Igmil-magân’s  is to be called Minastir, which is “tower watcher” in the tongue of the Eldar,’ Sakalkhôr said to the woodsman as they approached the last long flight before the council chamber. ‘This shall be his name as king, but he has worn it long already, since the building of this tower, and as an honour of his faith in the West.’

   ‘“Watcher” is what you call him,’ the woodsman said, ‘but his tower has a narrow view.’

   ‘Be careful of your words, Oisin. This is no time for youthful pertness. The lord of the Star-tower may seem as a kindly old man to you, but he is of another sort than you have ever known; proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage and power than you have ever met, though he is not yet called a king. I am called forth to report, but I think that he will speak most to you, and question you much. Although a private and scholarly man, he is gracious to all his guests and you have traveled far and braved much to come here. Yet under cover of this courtesy he will think it easier to learn what he wishes from you rather than all other sources, for he has not yet been petitioned by your folk.⁹ 

   ‘Do not tell him more than you need, and leave quiet any matter of which you are uncertain. And say nothing of the Eldar.’

   This last comment more than any other in their long climb together seemed to catch the young woodsman’s attention. ‘Why not? Surely your lord follows their suspicions about this enemy?’ Oisin paused on the stair and then whispered quietly. ‘Have none of the Eldar come here with their counsel?’

   ‘I do not know. It may be that the lord has received some secret message,’ Sakalkhôr said, also pausing and speaking quietly, ‘for that is often the way with the Firstborn. If so, we who seek the Word of Command know naught of it. And many of my people would gladly go to war just on word of such a thing. But visitors now come to Anadûnê seldom from the Forbidden Lands, and the Eldar who remain in Middle-earth will not speak of your Enemy.’

   As they came then to the top of the stair Sakalkhôr saw a strange light kindle in the woodsman’s eye, though his face seemed yet in shadow.

   ‘You have surprised me, captain,’ he said, ‘and I had not expected this. I believe it will greatly aid my cause.’

   ‘A cause for all of us, Oisin,’ Sakalkhôr replied with some sternness, ‘for I would not have brought you over vast seas and up countless stairs and before the lord of this tower for anything less; for while Men suffer we must fight.’

   ‘Yes,’ the woodsman said as they crossed into the antechamber, ‘men will fight while they can.’

   Two guards in the livery of Minastir’s house stood at the end of the antechamber as doorwarden. Sakalkhôr gave his name and his pledge of faith and the guests were permitted to enter. As the doors to the council chamber were opened a tremendous and bright light fell upon them all, for it was now late in the day and the westering sun was directly before them so that both the guests shielded their eyes against it. Here Sakalkhôr stepped forward in front of the woodsman and into the great room.

   To enter the hall of Minastir one had to walk directly toward the West and into the expanse of the lord’s window which was called Ûrîzôr, the Flame of the Sun. Few but the lord himself would come there late in the day, for to enter through this straight-facing way was perilous. 

   The window was a great opening, more than thirty ranga¹⁰ across and three high, slightly curved and open to the sky without rail or barrier and only a few short steps inside the door. After the long dim climb of the stairs, entering into the bright light of the setting sun blinded many men and some there had tragically stumbled forward to their sudden and unrewarded death. But Sakalkhôr, who had come before the lord three times before this, knew of the peril and was watchful. The young woodsman had covered his face completely and stood as one stricken and unsure. Indeed, it seemed that a great harm or terror was on him. But the captain came forward and took the arm of the emissary, drawing him to the right and away from the precipice. 

   And here Sakalkhôr made his second mistake.

   Turning into the hall and away from the blinding light Sakalkhôr saw that they were not alone in the lord’s chamber. As his eyes adjusted he saw a tall man coming towards them, in long and urgent strides, his clothing simple and, though he wore no hat, once again he seemed without ornament of station or lineage.

   ‘Captain and friend,’ the man said enthusiastically in the loud clear voice that Sakalkhôr had come to expect, ‘Mae govannen!¹¹ We had become doubtful of your coming so late in the day until word was brought that you were on the stair. My lord father refreshes himself after many long conversations and will return in a moment to greet you.’ 

   ‘And my greetings to you, lord Balkumagân,’¹² Sakalkhôr replied, his heart lightened by the sight of this man who he believed to be instrumental in the previous night’s decisions. ‘I owe our lord many apologies for my tardiness, and such I will humbly offer, but a few less, perhaps, I owe to you; for I have found and brought the emissary that you thought so important to our cause.’ At this he indicated the woodsman, but with a knowing look as if the boy’s appearance in court had been long discussed.

   It must be told that Balkumagân, shipwright of Númenor and first son of Minastir, was a tall lord of great renown in those days. Though less traveled, he was as bright and as hearty as his father had once been and, as a master of shipbuilding he had, through craft and invention, made the navies of the Númenóreans stronger in his lifetime than ever before. He was young yet, for the Númenóreans of old were long-lived indeed, but he was wise like his father and many folk esteemed him ready for the great tasks which lay ahead. For if his father, the lord Igmil-magân, now named Minastir, was old and reticent for the role of kingship, then the lord Balkumagân was bold and ready for the future. As matters grew dark on the borders of Middle-earth, as the Queen seemed less concerned with the troubles of distant lands and her nephew the heir seemed so removed from anything but his books and his tower, Balkumagân seemed to many as a great hope for the future of the people of Anadûnê. And so Sakalkhôr was happy to see him again.

   But now the young lord looked with his grey eyes on Sakalkhôr’s friendly expression and then, slowly and carefully at the woodsman. Then, and for just a moment, the captain saw a likeness between the two, and he felt a strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire, drawn eye to eye, that before him burst suddenly into flame and made the lord Balkumagân blink; for by some sense other than sight Sakalkhôr perceived that Oisin, the simple woodsman he had brought to plead for the salvation of his people, had the greater power and deeper wisdom, a quality that was somehow veiled before and was now only revealed, and only partially, by Balkumagân’s scrutiny. 

   And this for Sakalkhôr seemed a terrible thing to realize so late.¹³

   Then, and suddenly, the door opened, but no one could be seen to open it. Sakalkhôr, his eyes having now adjusted to the brightness, looked deeper into the great council chamber. As the room arched back from the window, tall pillars upheld the roof; monoliths of black marble rose to great capitals there, carved into great seabirds supporting heavy clouds. Far above in the shadows there was a wide vaulted ceiling which gleamed with dull gold. The floor was of polished stone, yellow-gleaming and inset with the trace rises of many colors shining from many gems whose like are no longer found in this world. There were no hangings or storied pictures, nothing woven or of wood or anything else which might seem current, timely or fleeting; for the council chamber of Minastir was meant to be timeless and its focus set ever Westward.

  And from the opened door, full into the light of the setting sun, the lord of Elostirion came then in the late hours of that day to take counsel.

   The lord Minastir was taller even than his son and so was the tallest within the room. He wore the bold, rich blue of his mother’s house which now shown like fire on the seas in the westering light of the day. White swans were embroidered around the hem of his robes and a single brooch, showing the golden lion embattled, glimmered on his breast. Like his son, and like Sakalkhôr the captain, he wore no arms, but at his waist there was a great sheath, jeweled and pearled, which held no blade. A pale smile, like the gleam of the cold sun on a winter’s evening, passed over the old man’s face as he greeted his guests.

  ‘The wind is easterly today, Sakalkhôr,’ the lord said, ‘and you bring its tidings, dark as they may be. But the hour is late, and the Sun is still in the West. How should the light meet these tidings of the wind?’

   ‘Cautiously, lord,’ the captain said, bowing at the waist for a moment, but standing again quickly to meet Minastir’s eyes, ‘and faithfully, as you have taught myself and so many others. But seriously also, as I hope to show you here and as I cannot show others in Armenelos.’

   ‘This is not the city of kings, shore-born, but a place of study,’ the lord replied. ‘I welcome you here, as I do your traveling companion, but neither of you should confuse my hospitality for the Queen’s blessing nor my advice for the Queen’s command.’

   ‘Of course, my lord,’ the captain said. ‘And I am happy again to be in your counsel and to receive your wisdom.’ And at this there was a great ease between the two men and Minastir then took his place upon the high seat. Balkumagân, now with some concern, looked long at the woodsman and back to Sakalkhôr, and then to his father. Quietly, he withdrew in silence from the others and to the right side of his father. 

   And this was another mistake made on that day.

   ‘My most gracious lord,’ Sakalkhôr began, ‘I come to you now as the hour grows late. For my inability to come earlier in the day I would apologize, but even then the hour was too late in my estimation. What news could I bring to you at dawn, lord, what tidings from the east should I carry that you have not already heard? We hold the seas of Middle-earth, as we have since the flowering of our navies, but we still forswear the lands there as they now fall into siege and to darkness. You do not need me to tell you this and I do not ask you to help solve this problem any more than I can tell you of the darkness. For we have not been inland, neither of us, and I can tell you only as a true Watcher of the Shores all that I have seen. 

   ‘But I can, lord, report the observations of my watch in few words; if Númenor would still profit from trade in the east then refugees should soon be our greatest commodity. All Men flee the lord of Mordor and no land there is safe from his grasp.’

   ‘Agannālō burōda nēnud... zāira nēnud…’¹⁴ the woodsman said softly, yet the three other men in the tower heard it deeply in their minds and harkened to it. There was a pause then as the lord Minastir looked long at this newcomer.

   ‘You have a surprising knowledge of our history, woodsman,’ the lord said, ‘and a great gift for our language which is equally surprising. I commend you for these and welcome you to my counsel, though you speak out of turn. How shall you be called?’

   At this there was a silence and the woodsman looked down to the floor, lowering his shoulders and affecting the attitude of one who acted poorly before such a great host. A silence followed in which the woodsman did not speak.

  ‘My lord, this is Oisin of the Minhiriathiurim,’ Sakalkhôr said, cautiously breaking the silence. ‘The woodland people who hold the forests and shores of Belegaer from the White Mountains to Eriador. Forgive his impetuousness for he is young and has traveled far to come before you…’

   ‘Far indeed, lord,’ the young woodsman interrupted loudly, looking up again at the lord Minastir who was seated on his dais. ‘Far through a long and tedious sea journey which I loathed, up a long and ridiculous stair which was tiresome, and through many vainglorious counsels which have tried my patience.’

   Sakalkhôr, shocked by this outburst, stood with his mouth agape. But there was something new and commanding in the woodsman's presence which compelled him to listen.

   ‘Lord “Watcher”,’ he continued, ‘as I am to understand it soon you will be king, or chief, or leader of all these mighty people,’ the woodsman said, ‘and soon you must decide the fate of the East and whether your sunset isle of Númenor plays any part in that.

   ‘Should it? Should you?’ The woodsman stood and walked before the western window and before the setting sun to make his case more emphatic. His silhouette was like a great mote before the day’s light that made him harder to see in detail. And Minastir’s eyes were thus drawn from the West toward his pacing guest.

   ‘O, noble people, and you most among them my wise lord, what care should you have for the East? They tell me that Westward is your watch, to a land from which you are forbidden, a shore you may never touch, while the world behind you, the land of your birth, burns before this new Enemy. But tell me, great lord with your eyes set to the West, why should you care for my people, the ancient cousins of your own folk? Why should Middle-earth matter to the people of Anadûnê who have long since left it to gaze only to lands of no reward and a place which you may not visit?’

   This was met with a silence. The woodsman continued his pacing, his dark form like a spot over the westering sun as Minastir’s sharp glance tried to find the eyes in the man’s shadowed figure.

   ‘That surprising knowledge of our history has fostered a great impertinence in you, Oisin of Minhiriath,’ the lord said to him after a great pause, ‘or perhaps it has birthed a boldness that other emissaries from the Old Lands have less courage to show here in my home. Boldness I will take it for, as the abâr¹⁵ of your people is well known to me, while an impertinent manner carries much less weight in these lands and, I should warn you, in other courts of my People.

   ‘But, as I say, your people’s history is known to me as well, boy, so I forgive much. For ever it was that boldness of tongue came with valour of heart amongst Haleth’s people.’

   At this the woodsman stopped his pacing and faced the lord, but still his eyes were downcast in respect, or so it seemed, of Minastir’s authority.

   ‘They hold the forests still…’ the woodsman said, though his voice trailed off almost into a question.

   ‘As ever,’ the lord Minastir replied, ‘and their valour is an example to all Men.’

   ‘My lord,’ Sakalkhôr then said, seeing, as a soldier, an opening for his report between the unexpected fencing of these two diplomats, ‘shall we not follow this example of valour? I know little history of these folk, but you have made me watcher of their shores and I have seen much. From Gwathló to the Gulf of Lune I have held the coasts and kept our trade while rumours of the devastation in the Old Lands travels. The folk of Mordor, demons and dark things, orcs and Easterlings, foul creatures by all report, will not come to the shorelands and seem to fear it, yet they run openly through all of the inlands destroying fortresses of old or retaking the strongest for their own twisted purpose.

   ‘Our friends amongst the Eldar will not speak of this new enemy but say only that he’s known of old and should not have been overlooked. They tell us nothing, but clearly they depart the Old Lands in greater and greater numbers. But the Men of Middle-earth cannot do this and they flee to the shores calling for solace, for our defense as allies and the mighty wrath that we might bring against their unnamed “Dark Lord”.’

   ‘I can name him, lord,’ the woodsman said quietly, ‘as I believe you can. Shall I whisper that name as assurance into your ear and so move your heart to action?’

   At this Balkumagân rose from the right of his father and spoke; ‘You are welcomed here, outlander, but you are not welcome to approach the Lord of the Tower in this way. You will know your place and-‘

   ‘You may approach me, guest,’ Minastir said above his son’s outrage. ‘For I see unexpected wisdom in your face and would hear more.’

   ‘But cunning too, my lord,’ Balkumagân said, turning towards his father. ‘There is cunning in this man that is also unexpected.’

   ‘A cunning man is dangerous, Ciryatan,’ the lord replied calmly, ‘but his wisdom, when met with equal cunning, may tell us much. Do you feel me unequal to the task?’

  Balkumagân cast his eyes down at this chastisement from his father. ‘No, my lord,’ he said, ‘I await your will.’ But instead of sitting back down in his chair on the right side of the lord, he moved closer on the dais to stand beside him.

   “I will hear you, woodsman,’ the lord Minastir said. ‘Approach me.’

   The council chamber was wide and its vaulted ceiling was tall. The great window was open to the far west and the four men here were unattended so all the room was quiet. Balkumagân and Sakalkhôr stood as near as possible to their lord as the outlander stepped up upon the dais to reach the lord Minastir’s ear. The light streamed still from the West, but if there was music or fair voices from that direction, none in that chamber heard them.

  ‘He is, lord, a great Enemy of old,’ the woodsman said as he ascended the first step of the dias. ‘He has waited long for this, and he has planned for much, much more’, he said on the second step. Taking the third and final step the young emissary stood boldly before the lord and their eyes met in a sudden kindling.

   ‘He is…’ the woodsman said as he bowed low to the lord’s ear…

   Sakalkhôr knew it, though afterwards he was surprised. But even with his little knowledge of history he knew then why the Eldar would not speak of this foe. He knew then the important news that this woodsman, his charge carried and he was glad to be the one who brought this emissary before his lord. He stood but a step away from the dais, just like Balkumagân, the lord’s own son, ready to defend Minastir if this was some unexpected treachery. But he knew, even as the woodsman approached, that this was the information that would stir all of the Anadûnê to war and to justice and, moreover, turn the eyes of all  Númenóreans towards the lands they had forgotten.

   And the words were whispered, and the whispered tone of any man’s voice should probably not have been heard by Sakalkhôr three steps down the dais from the lord. But it was heard, and Balkumagân, across from him, his eyes alighted, for he also heard it. So these words whispered into the lord’s ear chilled all three Men within that chamber.

   ‘He is Sauron, lord,’ the woodsman said, ‘Sauron of old,’ and his low and whispered voice somehow echoed throughout the room or within the ears of each of the Men assembled there. ‘Sauron, King of Shapeshifters, and Master of Men. Slaver and maker of dark creatures. Sauron, Deceiver of All he was once called, but Sauron Ring-master they name him now; for he has caught even the Eldar themselves in his schemes of power and they are humiliated, humbled by their indiscretion and flee in great numbers before him. He is Sauron, my lord, chief lieutenant of the Old Enemy, and while Elves will not speak of him Men, bold Men whom you lords of the West have left behind, know him for the evil he is and still stand against him.’

   The three Men of the Anadûnê were amazed by this and stood as if struck. Sakalkhôr and Balkumagân stood silent beside the dais, each believing that they were the only one to overhear the woodsman. So their eyes turned cautiously to their lord. But the lord Minastir showed no immediate reaction.

   The woodsman then kneeled low before lord Minastir and cast his eyes down. ‘This is what I have traveled far to tell you, Lord Watcher,’ he said. ‘This is what your cousins in the East can tell you that the Firstborn will not. This is the power that is the Enemy of Men now running free in the place of your birth.’

   ‘This is a grave tiding, woodsman,’ lord Minastir said as he gazed down at the young man. ‘If it is so. But no other than yourself have so named him. We hear only Tar-mairon from those servants he has who speak our tongue, but this is only “Excellent King” and no true name. Tell me, woodsman, how do you or your people claim to know this?’

   ‘Through sight, my lord,’ the woodsman said, his head still lowered and his voice now even and without inflection. Calm he seemed, or cool, Sakalkhôr thought, as if this was a moment frozen and without the urgency of a call to war. Slowly then he drew from breastpocket a small leather pouch and held it in his cupped hands before the lord. ‘And through the Gift of Sight which I bring you. For with it you may look far beyond this tower and into the lands of Men. And with it you will see much that is hidden.

   ‘It is a gift for Men, lord,’ he continued, ‘but it is not made by the hands of Men. The Eldar made it, and others of its like, so that Men might see much as they themselves do. But it will not reveal the West, lord. Never. For that way is forbidden to Men and the Firstborn will not reveal it for you. Ever. They will make no gift as this, no stone nor scry nor well of seeing which will show you the lands wherein you are forbidden. Never. Man may not go forward with their help as they once believed you were truly meant to, for you have come west as far as their Ban will allow. But a Great Gift of Seeing is given to those who would use it.

   ‘Will you take it and look east to the lands of your birth, to the struggles of the people there? Will you use this gift to see for yourself the power of the Enemy that this captain and so many others camped at your gate have warned of? With it you might receive great knowledge with which to lead all Men to valiant deeds. 

   ‘Or will you forsake it and look only West, to that land from which you and all Men are forbidden? Will you take or will you pass, Lord Watcher, the Gift of Sight which I offer?’

   There was a long pause then as the lord Minastir considered the boy that kneeled there before him with his upraised hands and the small pouch he presented. The woodsman did not look up, but neither did he flinch under the lord’s gaze as others might and of this Sakalkhôr was again surprised; for the two, mighty lord and low country emissary,  stood stock still and a strange calm seemed on them both. And now, made anxious by the exchange between these two, uncertain of what was at play between them, Sakalkhôr looked across to Balkumagân, the lord’s son, for some suggestion of how to respond. But even Balkumagân, great lord that he was, seemed wary and so both men were held as spectators before a conflict they could not understand.

   And so Sakalkhôr remained silent. 

   And this was his third mistake that he made.

   And so long minutes passed.

   ‘Rise then, guest,’ the lord said finally. ‘Rise and tell me of this gift that you suggest, of its benefits and, most importantly, of its origins.’

*****

  The Sun had already passed well over Oromet, second greatest hill of Anadûnê, on that afternoon in which lord Minastir turned his eyes to the East. To do this he had come up to the tower roof, unwillingly it should be told, and only after many late and weary days in counsel and many long and cautious months of hearing the petitions of very many of the people.   

   He was alone there, clad in the rich and shimmering blue of his mother’s house, and he stood tall to face a hot wind which blew out of the east. Behind him the Sun was setting like a fire and sending her flame through the chamber of his great tower. It came bright into his council chamber and there failed his greater purpose as builder; for it did not on this day and for ever after leave the mirrors and beacons of his devising to go out to the remainder of the world. Minastir, for all his deep knowledge and lengthy study, could not share the light of the West with others.

   For all his earlier trials the light which came from the West could not be spread from this tower to all the surrounding lands and seas by his contrivance. In this great hope and ambition of his life he had been thwarted and the miraculous tower he had built brought the light of Aman closer to himself and lingered there for him alone, shared with no one. He saw the West and could not share it. 

   He once believed that the Eldar who remained in Middle-earth could see his glorious and ambitious tower. Far-sighted they were and their eyes looked ever West. Perhaps they could see the far-off silhouette at day’s last light from their Havens. or perhaps it could be seen from the Forbidden Lands themselves, against the blue sky in the mornings through the mists of their own Blessed Isles. But in all the years since the tower’s building the Eldar had never spoken to Minastir. Secretly, now in his older years, he believed that if the Eldar had ever noticed Elostirion that they felt it to be a folly, a conceit of Man to capture the end of a single day while their own joys were found in the night’s unchanging stars. 

   Men were different. Dawn and the Sun were ever the hope of Men and he had spent his life looking for answers at the ending of days.

   But, now he knew, he must see the East. Long leagues overseas and distant those lands were; far from sight of the tower and its comforting light. 

   And so, unwillingly, Minastir stood there atop his tower at day’s end, his back towards the West for the first time in many long years, and facing the hot winds that blew from the East. In his hand was a small leather pouch and the light from the sunset behind him lit the edges of his dark figure so that he looked, to any who might have seen him, as a creature of shadow and fire.

   How far might the light from his tower have traveled, he wondered. If he had been able to make his original plans for the tower work and found a way to take the light of the setting Sun and reflect it forth, how long might it have lasted? He would never know as he had accepted somehow his inability to complete his design. And he felt surprised to realize that he had never bothered, in all the long years, to measure these questions before nor work harder to understand the flaws of his plan. But he knew now, standing atop the tower and watching the light from behind him spill forth over all of the sea, why this was so; he had been vain to believe that the light of the West cared to be shared. Not to the East. Certainly the light which struck Minastir’s tower had failed long before it reached those far shores of Middle-earth. And certainly the East now needed it most.

   Minastir turned West then and without moving to the other side of the roof looked long into the horizon. He listened intently, stilling his own breath and closing his eyes to focus his hearing. He could see no white towers and he could hear no gentle music. The West remained shut.

   He opened the pouch and a small argent ring with a stone of azurite spilled into his waiting hand. It was simple in design, but expertly crafted; clearly not the work of woodsmen like Oisin and perhaps, though Minastir could not be certain of the origin, as refined as any Elven work he had seen. He held it aloft in the sunset for a moment to examine it further. Light shot forth from the gem in seven distinct directions; but not West. If some device made it catch the Westering light as Minastir’s star-tower was meant to, he could not tell, for the light that poured forth from it felt colder, much colder, than the light of the West.

   It was beautiful in its coldness. And Minastir, looked down then from the warm light of the West that he had studied for so long and was entranced by the ring’s beauty. 

   And he placed it on his finger. And he turned his back and looked into the East.

Chapter End Notes

• 
  1) This should not be confused with the later tower of Elostirion that Gil-galad built for Elendil after Numenor’s fall. “Elostirion” is a Sindarin word which means “star watch”.

• 2) The “white swans” are, of course, the symbol of Elros line. But the lion rampant here is an allusion to the crest of Henry Percy, “Hotspurs”, of Northumberland from English history.

• 3) A proper name in Adûniac, like in most of Tolkien, is often derived from a description. This would mean “lord of the shore.”

• 4) This name comes from the expanded universe of the LoTR online game (which is surprisingly faithful in some respects). It’s a name for the families and tribes of the Avani who eventually become the Dunlendings.

• 5) This is a Sindarin word for “chief” and would be the closest that I can find for the idea of a provincial governor in that language. While using Aduniac as often as seems appropriate, it seems notable that titles would be in Sindarin and sometimes even in Quenya.

• 6) “Igmil-magân” is an Adûniac construction. “Igmil” is means “star-shaped figure” and the suffix “magân” means “builder”.

• 7) Many times I will use direct quotes, layering them into the story. I believe this is a fundamental part of fan fiction, "the quotable refrain." This one in particular echoes Frodo’s dream in the House of Tom Bombadil that presages his own dream of the West.

• 8) “izindu-bêth” Adûniac noun meaning “true-sayer” or “prophet”

• 9) The paragraph above is another such quotation of text to make things feel resonant. The description here, and for some upcoming passages, are drawn from Pippin’s coming to Minas Tirith in “Return of the King”.

• 10) A “ranga” is the principle measurement of distance in Adûniac; a pace, much like a yard, but somewhat longer given the heigth of Numenorean Men.

• 11) “Well met” in Sindarin.

• 12) “balkumagân”, a noun in  Adûniac meaning “shipwright” is used here as a proper name.

• 13) Another lift from the original text. This meeting of Oisin and and the future king Tar-Cinyatan is made to echo the meeting of Gandalf and Denethor in "Return of the King" as witnessed by Pippin. Much of the description of the lord's council chamber also comes from this section of the novel.

• 14) From an old song in Adûniac meaning “Death-shadow heavy  on-us ... longing on-us”.

• 15) “abâr” is a noun in  Adûniac meaning “strength, endurance, fidelity”.

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