continued from this post, where Inzilbêth talked the Andustari rebels out of revolting; Anárien and Farandur fell in love; Ar-Gimilzôr in "gratitude" summoned all the younger generation to Armenelos to be (luxurious) hostages and was increasingly attentive to Inzilbêth; and the forced march from Andúnië to Rómenna began. At the end, a weakened Eärendur insisted on paying his respects to the king in Armenelos with Nolondil and Anárien, all in appalling condition, horrifying Ar-Gimilzôr's court.
warning for canonical rape etc
Nolondil only makes matters worse by admitting that Eärendur had not been compelled to make the march by the king, but instead insisted on remaining with his people. Meanwhile Farandur, despite himself, rushes forward upon seeing Anárien ragged and starving and she stumbles towards him and they embrace in front of everyone, Farandur in silks and Anárien in rags.
If they had cameras, it would be the iconic image of the year. As it is, it's still perfect drama and memorable to everyone who sees them. A great sculptor creates an amazingly lifelike sculpture of a man and a woman clinging to each other which becomes wildly popular; though he has the sense to simply call it The Lovers, by that point there's no one who doesn't know where the inspiration came from. There are assorted paintings as well.
The deportation and the suffering endured by the Westlanders is now a matter of public knowledge. Ar-Gimilzôr is unsurprisingly furious.
This is one of many reasons that his courtship of Inzilbêth draws to an abrupt close--after a manner of speaking. Any woman who could stop armed revolt in its tracks would make a valuable queen--and she is stunningly beautiful--and the daughter of one of the most valued and respected nobles in the land; but she is also the sister-daughter of the Lord of Andúnië, and marrying her against Eärendur's will, and possibly even her own, will only show his power all the more. This marriage, desirable as it is in other ways, will say quite clearly:
The Lord of Andúnië has nothing, not even his own kin, except at the will of the king.
The marriage is exceptionally grand, and Inzilbêth and her family exceptionally miserable. Gimilzagar, King's Man though he is, cries when he hears the news. One of Inzilbêth's brothers, incurably oblivious, is delighted; the elder is coldly furious. For her sake Nolondil tries to appear cheerful whenever he is in her presence. Now Lord of Eldalondë in name if not any kind of reality--they hear Tindómiel's mansion was burned to ashes by looters--he strongly advises Farandur and Anárien to marry before the king can avenge himself on them, as well. They do, very quietly, and Ar-Gimilzôr is sufficiently pleased with himself that he doesn't punish them for it.
Inzilbêth is very great and very unhappy. Gimilzôr is not personally violent but his nature is controlling, possessive, and vicious. He likes to have her with him--some say because of his great love for her, but a greater number that he's parading her around like a trophy, as if she were the spoils of the war she stopped. The King is supremely unconcerned with her feelings or anyone else's; the King's Men are not the King, and the decent among them are quietly appalled. The once-oblivious brother eventually takes his family and followers, many of whom would have once called themselves King's Men, and flee to Middle-earth. They settle around the Bay of Belfalas.
Nolondil is still a young man when he declares his infant sister-son, Taurendil, his heir. He never does marry or have any children. Thus the future generations of their house come from Anárien, not him, as foretold; and also as foretold, they remain in Númenor to the very end, doing what they can without hope.
Skipping over most of the canon/lady academics stuff as, alas, I would like to actually get beyond the Downfall at some point. We all know about Palantir, Gimilkhâd, etc and I don't have the heart to get into much detail about Míriel and Pharazôn. The Silmarillion account is relatively accurate if incomplete. As in the later version given in POME, the Lords of Andúnië, walking the tightrope between alienating the king and supporting their people for years on end, finally tip over the edge when they openly support Míriel's claims against Pharazôn. They're stripped of their titles and lands, though Pharazôn retains enough fondness for Amandil not to banish them to Rómenna. They spend more and more time there anyway.
Inzilbêth's oldest brother's family have also left Middle-earth by this point, along with most of the Faithful, the King's Men who supported Palantir's daughter out of principle, the King's Men who leaned moderate, and later many more who watched the desecration of their home without increasing horror (though, as not themselves the primary targets, never so high a number leave as do among the Faithful; however, there's a younger generation of Faithful who speak rather halting Sindarin and seem less interested in Valar and Elves than opposing the policies of the king).
The people in and around Rómenna, whether openly identified as Faithful or not, are loosely affiliated together and keep one another's secrets. The Faithful continues to be called Elf-friends, even by themselves, but there's a significant number of immigrants considered Faithful, and allies, who really couldn't care less about Elves. They end up a loose, overlapping coalition of genuine Elf-friends, pro-Westlanders, supporters of the Queen (a number of women, especially women from the university who previously considered themselves King's Men, count themselves of Tar-Míriel's party, and call her that among themselves whatever their political persuasion), and eventually the party of Not For Human Sacrifice.
They disagree about a great deal and there's plenty of quiet infighting. But the threat they're all faced with is so extreme and so overwhelmingly, excessively awful that it holds them together. The pro-Adûnaic and Elendili factions alike are positively twitching with outrage when Sauron becomes a valued advisor to the King, and still more when he insists on being called Tar-Mairon.
In later years, Míriel very meekly asks her husband for a page from among their grandmother's kin. She doesn't actually expect to get one, but he's had a great victory in Middle-earth and is in a tolerant mood. The message goes quickly to the Faithful: Tar-Míriel needs someone quick, clever, trustworthy, from among Eärendur's descendants. The one chosen is in fact Eärendur's namesake, a young great-grandson of Anárien and Farandur, heir to the nominal Lord of Eldalondë. His rank is sufficient to wait upon the Queen. His parents are dead in the fires and his uncle alarmed for him, but unwilling to withhold anything from the Queen. Eärendur himself is eager and honoured to serve her.
In fact he does so faithfully and discreetly, calling himself Azrubel and avoiding any particular notice. Míriel confides in him as much as she dares (privately Eärendur's twelve-year-old heart is wrung, but he tries to stay calm for his mistress' sake) and he's actually quite useful to her, for he can see easily into the hearts and even the minds of others. He invariably skitters out of Sauron's way, but at all other times he stays at Míriel's side.
After Pharazôn's fleet leaves, and a great shadow falls over Númenor, Míriel sends him back to Rómenna, commanding him to return to his folk and fight on in whichever way is best.
But my Queen--
Promise--promise me, says Míriel, eyes burning like stars in her hopeless face, and despite himself Eärendur agrees, his freckled face pale and stern, and in a flash of insight swears that he will remain faithful and all after him, and fight beyond hope. And then he slips away to the ships at Rómenna, escaping on one of Isildur's ships. The last sight of him that Míriel has is an image of her mind of Eärendur grown tall and strong, building a house in hills by a river.
She firmly puts that and all else out of her mind when Sauron comes to speak with her, eyes frozen and piercing, words honeyed. But the sea is coming and she cannot see beyond it, and Pharazôn is gone with his armies, and that grants her a courage she had thought crushed out of her in all her years of suffering.
I am Tar-Míriel, Queen of Númenórë, she says defiantly, and you are naught but master of lies and thralls. Step aside or the wrath of the Valar will fall on you once more, and they are in no mood to hear your pleas!
He's so completely taken aback to be challenged by little Zimraphel that he does take a step back and she runs on ahead to the Meneltarma, laughing.
It shall fall on you still! May you enjoy the fruits of your labours, Tar-Gorthaur!
continued from this post, where the future Ar-Gimilzôr accidentally got his elder sister and rival killed by a pet poisoner; he banned Sindarin and established an armed 'committee' to ensure linguistic compliance; a number of his agents killed non-compliant Westlanders rather than roughing them up; the enraged Westlanders killed three agents in the various clashes, and are now openly rising up against the King.
same general warnings as before, with an extra dose of dub-con-in-process, and Ar-Gimilzôr being an even worse oppressive power-mad asshole than before.
The four children of the Lord of Andúnië, two children of the Lord of Eldalondë, and Inzilbêth are horrified. Ar-Gimilzôr will raze the Westlands to the ground. Eärendur is too ill at the moment to be of any use and there's no time to turn to Lindórië again--it's too dangerous, anyway.
Eärnilmë, Eärendur's daughter and the oldest of them, takes charge. Her brother the heir stays safely with their father, and his family with him. Númendil is only a baby. Farandur, her second brother and Anárien of Eldalondë are sent sneaking south to try and talk urgency into Anárien's father; and if it's impossible, to salvage what lore and clippings they can. Almardil goes north to try and talk sense into the mountain folk and Nolondil and Inzilbêth scout out the movements and state of the army. Eärnilmë herself keeps Andúnië and the Andustar still functioning.
The Lord of Eldalondë is alarmed but frankly tells them that he is not at all equipped to deal with a revolution. He does want his beloved studies and trees to survive, so he gives them leave to take whichever books and scrolls they hope to salvage and take cuttings from the most precious herbs and trees of Nísimaldar. He very seriously tells them to mind well what they take, for in that moment he foresees that nothing else will survive the darkness that will inevitably fall upon them all. They obey.
(Farandur and Anárien didn't know each other well at all up to this point; he's seventeen years older, insignificant in terms of lifespan but enough that they didn't often encounter each other, especially since Anárien had more to do with women. They naturally click through all of this, however, and as they pore through the great library of Eldalondë, choose from the trees of Nísimaldar, they feel a terrible weight on their shoulders, as if in those moments they're carrying all Númenor. And when they wander through the deserted streets of the once-magnificent haven, it seems as if nothing else is quite real. When Anárien leans up to kiss him, Farandur is somehow not even even surprised, and thinks of nothing but kissing her back.)
(There are still archers secretly guarding the secrets. They've been shipping Farandur and the Lady Anárien anyway and they politely look away until both leave, grinning foolishly despite everything.)
Nolondil and Inzilbêth, meanwhile, don't fall in love during their own adventures bc they already were, in a sweet courtly childhood sweethearts sort of way. They talk quietly of marriage.
Almardil does manage not to get killed in the mountains but the folk there aren't interested in his urgent explanation that they cannot possibly win. They don't especially care whether they do or not. They will never give in, and if it means a doomed war, doomed war it is.
They reunite as the army passes by Andúnië and rush out for one last desperate plea--all of them. There's Eärnilmë and her sister-in-law, Lauranna, holding little Númendil; Eärendur leaning on his son's arm; Farandur and Almardil on his other side, Nolondil and Anárien and Inzilbêth. They don't have a clear plan and for a moment there's an awkward silence. And it's Inzilbêth who breaks it.
(When Lindórië was pregnant with Inzilbêth, she knew that this child would be a great speaker, that her words would be her destiny. It was she, not Gimilzagar, who named her; in another time she would have been Lossebeth or Quettalótë, flowery speech, but of course the Lord Gimilzagar's daughter had to have an Adûnaic name.)
Please, Inzilbêth says in Adûnaic, please, listen! And she quickly adds that she's sorry that she has to use the language of their enemies--it's the only one she speaks well enough to address them in, but she's not an enemy, she is a child of the Westlands and she loves it above all else, loves them. That's why she's here, why they're all here. News of this is going to go to Armenelos. There's no hiding it. And if the army is still standing the king's armies are going to kill them. It's not just a matter of simple numbers--sometimes an army, strong as they are, on their own land which they know far better, and their cause just, might stand against a force three times their size. But it'll be more than three times. It will be many, many times.
She describes the breadth of the Númenórean empire. The king will be so enraged at a threat from within Númenor itself that he'll strip the colonies if he has to, to crush the Westlands so far that they never dream of rising up against him ever gain. He will burn everything--Andúnië, the farmlands and forests, Nísimaldar and Eldalondë. Their wives will be slaughtered, the elderly, children.
She talks so long that her voice cracks. And in that moment--that hour--she puts everything right (not always smoothly, but right). The words for which she was named are swiftly translated to the few who don't speak Adûnaic. At the end, she says something like:
I'm not saying this for the sake of myself or mine. I don't even like Arminalêth; I would stay here all my days if I could. Perhaps someday I shall. I look on you all as my countrymen, my brothers and sisters of the West. But there is no winning this war. No matter what happens some will die, but it need not be all the Westlands. And if they are trying to stamp the life out of this land, the best thing that you can do, that we can all do, is live. Even if our lives are mostly spent suffering.
And even as her cousins' hearts are just about stopping and Nolondil and Anárien are quietly praying, the leaders of the army stand in horrified silence. Then they admit that she has said wise things and call for a quick hurried vote. The army agrees to disband and return to their homes. Inzilbêth kisses the leaders, weeping, the others all bow, even Eärendur and little Númendil.
When they go home, Eärendur barely able to walk, supported by Lauranna and Anárien, it's Nolondil who says this will not be the end.
And it isn't. An entire army does not gather without the king hearing of it. Nor do they disperse at a speech from a woman out of Arminalêth. Ar-Gimilzôr has never paid a second thought to Gimilzagar's youngest child, but there is no overlooking her now.
He thinks: three of the Lord of Andúnië's children, and both the Lord of Eldalondë's, came riding into Arminalêth in a hurry, not long ago. They were closeted with Lindórië of Andúnië and left with her daughter. He hears that they have been riding over all the Westlands and that they stood before an army with old Eärendur to beg them to disband. And Inzilbêth of Arminalêth stood forward and spoke to them in Adûnaic and a people who have murdered king's agents and now risen up against him, the rightful king, they listened.
Inzilbêth is very well-spoken, says Lindórië quietly. Her heart is full of dread.
Ar-Gimilzôr is determined to find out exactly what happened. And he is determined to know more of the Lady Inzilbêth. He sends for her, and her kin with her: Eärnilmë, Farandur, Almardil, and the eldest, Calamir, with Lauranna and Númendil. They don't dare refuse. Anárien promises Farandur that she'll look after his father in Andúnië and Nolondil goes home to care for theirs. From that point on, Anárien is effectively running the Andustar.
It's not very long.
The Andúnië contingent half-expects Ar-Gimilzôr to clap them all in chains. But he seems only very pleased when he sets eyes on Inzilbêth and receives them all with great honour, patting Númendil's curly head.
A charming boy. Has he a name?
Calamir and Lauranna exchange a glance.
Adûnazir, she says. We...we used another name at home, before your Majesty's edict, but now we wish him to be known as Adûnazir son of Zimrabel.
This, too, pleases the King. He has them housed in luxury, attended with the utmost care. He takes a great interest in Númendil and begs Inzilbêth to play her harp and sing for him; it soothes his many cares. Terrified for her cousins and her people in the Andustar, she doesn't dare refuse, though he declares that he would not have her feel obligated. Even pragmatic Lindórië urges her to stay away.
What will he do if we displease him? Any of us, Mother?
Nolondil and Anárien write, or try to. Nolondil is a straightforward soul and his letters tell frankly of what's happening. Somehow they always get lost. Anárien's carefully coded ones make it through.
Two of the leaders of the revolt were tortured and executed. The king's agents come on monthly raids, searching for any sign of treason, from scribbled notes in Sindarin to icons of Elbereth, Ulmo, Uinen. Most of the transgressors are not killed, but they're sent to a rough camp that's been set up not far from the main road and gets larger by the day, where they work. Anárien has no idea what the camp is for or how large it's intended to get, or what is planned at all.
Fatalities are very high in the north. They had to march in a small army to take control there, and still many died; though not as many as the stubborn folk living there. A few have been forced out, but most prefer death.
Anárien herself has only seen the agents occasionally. Andúnië is mostly given a wide berth. When they do come, however, they are not slow to remind them that Eärendur's heir and his heir's heir, and his other children, and his sister and sister-sons and sister-daughter, all dwell now in Arminalêth, at the King's pleasure. The rebels who fled there had to hide in the tombs. After the last raid they sailed away with their followers and Andustari mariners afraid of being forced into the fleets. Others are headed to Eldalondë, less closely guarded. Large groups gather and sail from the old port, as large as can slip under the eye of the king's agents, dare the dangerous journey, and are willing to leave Númenor forever. Anárien can only guess at the numbers, but even the most conservative estimate is larger than any would have dreamed even in Ar-Sakalthôr's time.
A small group of Elves arrived once the current sweep of King's men passed; they were clearly aware of the danger and landed down the coast, then came to the city in secret. Anárien told them everything. They don't know what's going to happen either, but like the others, their hearts tell them that only deeper darkness awaits. Soon it will be too dangerous for them to come at all. But they bade her to take courage; for they foresaw that she will live, and experience joy, and from her will come endurance beyond hope. She asks Eärnilmë to tell Farandur.
(The Elves hold her hands tightly and she's comforted by how exactly like her own they seem, by the warmth of their embrace, by the tears of a golden-haired elleth who kisses her goodbye. Númenor is not safe for Númenóreans, Anárien says, much less the Eldar. Tell the others. We cannot have the deaths of your people on our heads as well as our own. Finduilas swears she will see that all Tol Eressëa knows just how dangerous it is.)
Inzilbêth is relieved to have any news at all, but only more alarmed by what there is to tell. The King's men are preparing for something worse, and despite Ar-Gimilzôr's terrifying liking for her, she does not dare ask him.
He doesn't offer the prayers or have the White Tree tended, though he does not seem to care one way or the other if anyone else cares for it. And, finally, he openly declares his intentions. Anyone who's found to break the ban on Sindarin and the old forms of worship, or to question the ban, is to be removed to Rómenna, where they will dwell under his observation. A portion of his standing army is marched along the great West-East road to 'escort' those in the first camp to Rómenna.
Even the King's Men are amazed; some say that the kings of lesser men, would never permit rebels and traitors to live. How merciful is Ar-Gimilzôr of Anadûnê. But others whisper: he cannot mean to strip the Westlands of all its people? Where are they to live? They should be condemned, or not, but this is no life for any man of Anadûnê. Is it just the men? Are women and children to march hundreds of miles?
Yes. And the raids of the king's agents only became more frequent, dragging people off with even less cause--suspicion of sedition, whether there is real cause or not. It's increasingly clear that Ar-Gimilzôr does mean to strip all the Westlands. People are fleeing to the havens and sailing away in ever-increasing numbers. The vast majority are Faithful, but not all. (It's them now. It could be us later.)
The rest of the Westlanders are forced on the long march to Rómenna. The lord of Andúnië, expected to pay all expenses for his failure to contain his people--though otherwise acclaimed as an honoured vassal of the king--is permitted to remain in Andúnië, and the lord of Eldalondë, with their retainers. But Eärendur ignores Anárien's pleas and declares that he will not sit in comfort while his people are driven like cattle. Old and frail as he is, he walks alongside them.
The soldiers don't always recognize him, so now and then some wayward rookie spits at him, or insults him, or prods him to hurry up. Anárien is always quick to remind them of who he is, or the people nearest them, and the more experienced soldiers are generally appalled (Westlander or not, he's still the greatest lord in Anadûnê), but still it happens. Eärendur graciously accepts their apologies, but Anárien's eyes are hard, and the Westlanders whisper about the open disrespect to their lord. Some are angry, others worried.
How far have we fallen, when even the Lord of Andúnië is the sport of soldiers?
Anárien thinks it a miracle that Eärendur survives the journey. Not all do. Even on the road it's a long hard march and the soldiers keep them moving at a punishing pace. Nolondil, who (with their father, at long last) joined her shortly before the departure, is hiding books in his trunk. Anárien has scrolls hidden in her clothes (some sewn in). The clippings are hidden in the rest of their baggage. Others grabbed what they could; they're only permitted to keep what they can carry. The rest of their possessions are to be seized by the king.
(The remnant still hiding in the Andustar, the last to sail from the western coast, strips everything they find and wrecks or burns much of the rest in sheer vindictive rage. Ar-Gimilzôr gains far less than he hoped--than he even expected.)
The Lord of Eldalondë is one of the last fatalities; he dies within sight of Rómenna. Many say it was sheer misery that killed him; others that the march was too much for him. The king killed him, as he did the others. The Westlanders don't dare rebel again. But they remember. They memorize lists of the dead and the wrongs against them.
Meanwhile, Eärendur, who has meekly endured everything, suddenly insists near the end on going to Armenelos instead of Rómenna. It would be improper, he declares, to pass by without paying his respects to the King. And when they're uncertain, he points out that they're not even under orders to take him at all; if he could have stayed in Andúnië why should he not go to Arminalêth? So he, Nolondil and Anárien, his retainers who accompanied them, and two soldiers ('for your protection, my lord') head instead to Armenelos. Anárien and Nolondil are nervous; 'unpresentable' is the kindest thing that could be said about their appearance at this point. It's just luck that the Lord and his household had been permitted to bathe in a nearby stream that morning. Does he really want to be seen in such vulnerability by Ar-Gimilzôr? But Eärendur serenely tells them that duty must be done.
Still they can't really grasp how awful they look: the great Lord of Andúnië, miserably thin and clearly underfed, fine clothes reduced to rags, coughing and barely able to stand, and Nolondil and Anárien haggard, exhausted, shivering under tattered cloaks. When Anárien tries to rub her face clean, Eärendur stops her. I would not have the king miss one speck of his triumph, my dear.
So when they're taken by stunned guards to stand before the king and all his court, the great Lord of Andúnië, and the heir and daughter of the Lord of Eldalondë, look as if they've just clawed their way out of Angband. The great nobles of the land are aghast, swiftly coming to the same realization the Westlanders did:
continued from this, where I discussed my headcanon about the early houses of Andúnië and Eldalondë, the development of Andustari culture through Númenórean history, how early King's Men are basically obnoxious white liberals, and Ar-Adûnakhôr is a total asshole
(this is still deep in Faithful land)
(literally)
The Westlands have had plenty of tension and grumbling over the years. But this is the first time they have openly flouted a command from Armenelos.
Yes, I actually agree with the pro-King's Men folk about this. The ban on teaching Sindarin was completely ineffective. The Westlanders got the message that the entire ruling class of their country hated them and was trying to suppress their culture--not just including the King but particularly the King. The King who was already immensely unpopular there.
Everyone is angry. The aristocracy is enraged both for the same reasons as the rest of the Faithful and at the king overriding their authority to say what gets taught in their own lands. The mercantile folk fear for their livelihood as the Andustar becomes more and more suspicious of outsiders, and fewer of them come (those who do aren't there for trade). The peasants hear the King not only trying to seize their farms and forests for his damn armada, not only introducing heavy taxes, not only stamping all over their traditions, he's now trying to control what they teach their children. And everyone they interact with or hear about is angry too.
The Elves are becoming more and more scarce because they're unhappy with Ar-Adûnakhôr like everyone else. No more feasts and gifts for everyone.
For the first time, they simply refuse to acknowledge the King's authority. In all but the most prominent schools (and probably quietly in those too) Sindarin is taught as a primary language, Adûnaic an acquired one. If anything Adûnaic probably loses stock with the Andustari. Even the small number of Westlanders that prefer it start primarily speaking, and teaching their children, Sindarin out of solidarity and a "fuck you" to the King. Pretty much the entire Andustar's response to the king's edict
It's Númenor. Change happens slowly. I think, eventually--quite possibly after Ar-Adûnakhôr's time--it gradually becomes common knowledge that the Andustar is completely ignoring the authority of the king.
Now, Ar-Zimrathôn follows the earlier tradition of not giving any shits about the Andustar as long as they continue to supply him with timber for the fleets to bring back tribute of jewels. They do so, if with increasing reluctance, and less than he would like. He's too indolent to bother himself about it, though; their conquests bring them other, larger forests anyway, lowering the price of Andustari wood. The foresters are even more pissed off, but otherwise, Zimrathôn does nothing to worsen the situation, though he doesn't improve it either.
Ar-Sakalthôr, however, regards the Andustar as an insolent, rebellious fief presuming to flout the authority of the king. He often pressured his father to do more and when he comes to power, he starts sending officials to enforce royal decrees, which become increasingly restrictive, and blatantly targeting the Westlanders.
Their simmering resentment is just about at the boiling point. Eärendur, Lord of Andúnië, is doing his best to hold the Andustar together, at the cost of somewhat neglecting his duties--and his influence--in Armenelos. He deputizes his sister Lindórië to act in his stead, rather to the horror of the now ragingly misogynistic Kingslanders, who have their own habit of disregarding a royal decree they dislike (Aldarion's). Lindórië's deputyship is legally watertight, however, and she herself extremely competent, and eventually one of the great lords finds himself more intrigued than repelled. Lindórië is privately less than overwhelmed but, weighing her options, concludes that a marriage to someone in the king's inner circle will be extremely advantageous and he's far and away the least objectionable.
Back in the Andustar, the Westlanders quickly realize that Sindarin has completely fallen out of use outside their own lands and these new intruders don't speak any. Naturally they speak past the officials in Sindarin at every opportunity, the lower and middle classes often pretend they don't speak Adûnaic, attractive young men and women pass themselves off as Elves, and in the rocky north with its handful of concealed settlements, it's well known that it's taking your life in your hands to go question the residents. Or even find them. (Think Sharkey's Men in Tookland.)
In the rest of the area, though, most of what goes on is superficially petty, even light-hearted. (How'd you get rid of the king's agents? --Oh, I told 'em I was Fëanor come to get my vengeance on the descendants of Eärendil for withholding a Silmaril.) But in fact the simmering resentment is reaching a boiling point. More and more agents enter the schools, question their children, question tenants, send spies pouring through, raise taxes, demand higher and higher amounts of timber--and this is actually ameliorated, little though they know it, by Lindórië and her husband Gimilzagar (not Faithful but he considers the draconian treatment of the Andustar both unnecessary and extremely unwise).
Eärendur ages before his time, though that's still a longer lifespan than any of the King's Men. That's part of the tension going on here--the distinction between Elrosian and non-Elrosian lifespans has largely vanished, but a clear one has emerged between Westlanders and non-Westlanders. An Andustari peasant can expect a longer natural life than the King.
Eru is withdrawing his grace from the Kings and the King's Men for their blasphemy, some say, their whispers racing through the Westlands. But his blessing lies on us still, we of the west, we who have remained faithful. What right has the tyrant of Armenelos to command us? Why should we sweat for him, give him our fruits and our precious wood, suffer his rats to come sniffing around our children and our land?
The current Lord of Eldalondë is a mild, scholarly man, interested primarily in the maintenance of his library and his trees. It's left to his young son and daughter to manage the lands about the increasingly desolate haven. They're the ones who hear the whispers. Papa won't understand. Papa won't do anything. Lord Eärendur is sick. They're friends with the children/grandchildren of the Lord of Andúnië, third cousins or so, and they daren't trust the news to letters.
Eldalondë is safe enough. Eärendur's eldest son remains with his father. Then the others make the journey to Armenelos, and manage to gain a conference (brief, urgent, extremely suspicious) with the Lady Lindórië. Their message is simple.
