Brian Crawford - Isildur

When he entered the palace, Isildur was overjoyed to see two tall young men coming forth to greet him, their faces wreathed in smiles. "Aratan! Ciryon!" he shouted. "I did not know you were here!" He rushed forward and embraced his sons, while Elendur happily waited his turn.

"Ari!" Elendur said with mock severity. "Have you left your post unguarded?"

"No, elder brother. Annúminas is in safe hands. But when word at last reached us of your victory, I turned its rule over to Thinros and rode here as quickly as I could. I have been here over a month."

"Thinros is guardian of Annúminas?" asked Isildur in surprise. "But he is only a boy."

Aratan laughed. "It is long since you left, father. He is a man of thirty, a seasoned warrior and a father of three. Long was he in command of the southern marches of the realm and he drove back several orc raiding parties."

"I see all has not been quiet at home," said Isildur gravely.

"Oh, there has been no trouble at all for nearly a year. I think the orcs lost all their will to fight when they learned of Sauron's fall. The last time we saw any was when one of our patrols spotted a party trying to get over the high pass of the mountains. And they were going east, trying to escape from Arnor. I think they will not trouble us again."

"And Ciri!" said Isildur, turning to his third son. "How you have grown. When I left you were but a boy still in kilts. And look at you now. Why, you have a beard!"

"That's not a beard," laughed Aratan, punching his brother's shoulder. "He forgot to wash his face this morning." Ciryon looked grieved, but then laughed. "It is a better growth than that line of fuzz on Valandil's lip."

"By Eru!" exclaimed Isildur. "I still think of him as a babe of two, bouncing and laughing on my knee."

"Vali is twelve now, father, and his sling is a terror to all the squirrels and rabbits in Rivendell."

They laughed and stood looking at each other in wonder. Finally Ciryon said quietly, "It is good to see you again, father."

"How I wish your grandfather were here to see how you have grown," said Isildur, standing back and looking at his sons together. Their smiles faded.

"It was a terrible price to pay for the victory," said Aratan. "The news of Sauron's fall and grandfather's came together, and we knew not whether to cheer or weep."

"We should cheer," said Isildur. "He died bravely, in battle against his greatest enemy. If he knew that Sauron was destroyed as well, he would have gone to his long sleep with joy. Nevertheless, I miss him terribly. He had reigned so long that somehow I thought he would always be there. I find kingship more of a burden than I had expected, especially since the Elves departed. I could always look to them for wise advice.

"But now tell me, how is your mother? Is she here as well?"

Aratan's face fell. "No. She remained at Rivendell with Valandil. She said she was not up to the journey. She has never been well, you know, since the flight north. It seems she is always sitting silently in some quiet corner, thinking."

Isildur nodded. "She is mourning for her home in Minas Ithil. She loved it so. It nearly killed her to think of orcs living in our palace, destroying her lovely gardens. But now they are gone. I mean to restore it all just as it was."

"Do you think to bring her and Vali back, then?" asked Ciryon.

Isildur shook his head. "I think not. I have given it a great deal of thought these last few months. With your uncle Anárion gone, Meneldil has ruled here in Osgiliath. He has ruled well and he is loved by the people here. He has fought long and well for Gondor, and it is meet that he should be its king. I have it in mind that when our work here is done, we shall go to Annúminas. Now that the roads are safe again, we shall go to Rivendell and fetch your mother and Vali. We shall live in father's palace there on the shores of Nenuial. She will be mistress of her own house with her family about her, and I hope she will then shake off her melancholy and become herself again."

"But we forget our duties as your hosts," said Aratan. "We did not expect you this week, and cousin Meneldil is away in Minas Anor. Come in, and let us drink mead and hear your tales."

And so Isildur and his sons worked all that autumn and winter in Osgiliath, overseeing the repairs and the planting of crops in the fields that had lain fallow for so long. In those first weeks it seemed he was always saying farewell to old friends as one by one the companies of warriors departed for their homes. He was especially sorry to wave goodbye to Ingold and his men, but they were eager to return to Calembel.

Isildur spent many hours closeted with Meneldil, instructing him in the ways of kingship and teaching him the ancient lore of their line. He also spent many days alone in the archives of Gondor, reading the ancient scrolls there, many of them brought from Númenor. Now and again they were visited by friends: Duitirith, Lord of Pelargir, was a frequent visitor, and sometimes he was accompanied by his mother Heleth, though now grief had slashed a wide streak of grey in her lovely red hair.

Early in the year two a procession arrived from the north and Amroth the Elf stopped with them. He was on his way to visit the shores of Belfalas which he had come to love. That summer he and his party started building a small settlement they called Dol Amroth on a lovely uninhabited promontory that reached out into the bay. When it was finished, he hoped to persuade his beloved Nimrodel to forsake the Golden Wood and abide with him there. Amroth and Duitirith became close friends and often sailed together from the quays where they had first met. The sight of Elves walking in the cities of Gondor no longer elicited stares of surprise.

When the spring came Isildur and his sons led a party of the residents of Minas Ithil back to their home. They drove great wagons loaded with food and tools and seed for the fields. They found that although the garrison guarding the city had started the work, the cleansing of the city proved much more difficult than they had hoped. The walls were white again and the various repairs effected. The filth was swept from the streets and houses, but there remained an odor of decay that could not be removed. They set fires of sweet-smelling herbs and wafted the smoke through the houses, they tried various oils and perfumes. But for all their efforts, the buildings stank as if something dead had lain too long within.

They planted crops again in the fields, but these too seemed blighted. Some would not sprout at all; others bore only shrivelled, bitter fruits. Many that ate of them complained of nausea and a lingering flux. Some of the residents who had returned with Isildur closed up their homes and moved to Osgiliath or went to establish new farms in south Ithilien or across the River in Anórien. Many of the younger men who had served in the war moved to Dol Amroth to help the Elves establish their new colony.

Although discouraged and frustrated, Isildur refused to admit defeat. Many times he told his sons that he was not to be disturbed, and he was not seen for many hours. They thought he was resting or planning new policies, but in fact he was attempting to use the One Ring.

He found when he put it on that the Ring transported him into a shadowy world, separate from the world of sun but occupying the same space. The Ring also made him invisible when he wore it, and he could move about without being detected. Wearing the Ring, he could see the houses and buildings of the city but they were still stained and filthy as they had been when the Ring-Wraiths ruled there. It was as if all their efforts had carried away the physical filth, but left the noisome leavings of evil untouched. But the Ring gave him no new powers to cleanse it away. The inscription inside the Ring, once as bright as fire, was now fading and barely legible. Isildur copied it down lest it be lost.