Okay, so my little sister challenged me to write a story about the Númenor. So, I decided I would. I have never come across a full length story dealing with it and so here I am with my attempt. After reading the detailed story, Another Man's Cage, I decided that I could do that too. I hated, Another Man's Cage, but I felt that I couldn't judge it until had doen the same thing myself. I thought I would bounce the idea off everyone here before posting on FF. If you have any flames, advice or criticisms feel free to post. I can take anything you throw at me.

Thanks Ahead of Time.

 Jaffee Leeds

A City in the Sea

Chapter One

Míriel leaned over Elendil’s sleeping form and allowed the fuzzy head of the dandelion she clasped to tickled the tender skin under his nose. His hand lazily came up to swipe at it and he rolled a little away from her. The Princess, not to be out done, scooped closer to him and tickled his earlobe gently. Again his hand came up to swipe at the annoyance, but his hand collided with her’s and his eyes flew open.

 “Míriel!” he shouted and shoved her brusquely. She fought for balance but landed on her rear-end, her skirts flying up in an undignified fashion.

“It was only a joke, Elendil,” she giggled, throwing her skirts into order. The little girl shook her hair out of her face leaving a yellow smear along on cheek, “I thought it was funny.”

Elendil flushed angrily, “Well, I didn’t. You shouldn’t behave so badly, Míriel. You’re supposed to be a princess.”

“And you’re a prince of the realm,” was the tart reply, “And you know it’s boring to always be good. So, I wanted to tease you and I did.”

“I don’t think it was very funny,” he mumbled stubbornly, “And anyhow I like being good. I like doing what I’m supposed to do.” He scrabbled to his feet and brushed the grass off his tunic, “Whatever are you doing here anyway?”

Míriel stood and waved the wilting dandelion toward Elendil’s home, “Papa came to talk to your father about something and I asked if I could come along. It’s dreadfully dull up at the palace and my nanny is after me.”

“Pulled another prank did you?” the serious eyed boy guessed. Míriel tried to look ashamed but her eyes sparkled with mischief. In spite of himself, Elendil grinned, “Was it something really good?”

“Absolute murder,” she whispered gleefully, “You should have seen her face!”

Their heads bent together as the naughty princess confided her latest misdeed to her friend. They made a pretty pair. Both were tall and gangly children, their limbs thin and slender; the promise of height. Black-haired and gray-eyed, Míriel’s soft waves were constantly out of order while Elendil carefully groomed his short locks. The ends turned up slightly where it would have curled had he let it grow longer than chin length. He was sturdy where Míriel was delicate; Elendil would be far taller even than Míriel, but she was the risk taker, the adventurer at heart. Elendil was a thinker and did nothing without meditating long and hard over it.

“It does my heart good to see them together,” Tar-Palantir commented to Amandil from his position from the wide, “Míriel is too much alone. She needs other children to keep from being so wild and self-centered.”

“Perhaps what she needs,” Amandil said dryly, “Is more attention from her father. I heard that she dyed her nanny’s perfume so the poor woman is going around with a green neck and wrists.”

Tar-Palantir chuckled under his breath, “And a green bosom as well, or so I hear.”

“Yes, well, yes, I wasn’t going to mention it,” Amandil replied, a faint tinge of red staining his cheek.

Tar-Palantir turned away from his friend and looked back out the window. The Lord of Andúnië had always been modest in matters of the delicacy was even embarrassed when he announced his wife’s first pregnancy. He had treated as if the conception had happened spontaneously and he had nothing to do with it. Even now, when he was the father of two fine sons, he was still sensitive to the bawdy jokes and tales that circled about court life.

 Tal-Palantir watched as the children suddenly burst into a round of laughter, a smile creeping over his lordly face, “Tell me, Lord Amandil, what plans do you have for Elendil?”

“Plans, Your Highness?” his brow furrowed, “He is full young yet to begin his military career.”

“No, no. You mistake my meaning,” Tar-Palantir folded his arms across his chest, “I meant for his future. Every prince serves the army.”

“An honorable enough calling,” Amandil pointed out.

“Nevertheless,” the King went on, “Elendil is more than the ordinary young man, already he shows promise of a noble figure and stature when he comes to maturity.”

Amandil couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his breast at this praise for his child, “Yes, Elendil is a fine boy. A good scholar, I can hardily keep him from his schooling and he is already taking weaponry lessons with Captain Hyllifler.”

“And what is his success?” the King continued his examination of the children who were now running around the garden in some game, “Do you think he may once day reach the rank of general?”

Suspicion stirred in Lord Amandil’s breast and he walked out from behind his desk, joining his king by the wide window. He followed the Tar-Palantir’s gazes to where it lingered on Elendil. There was intent in the King’s eyes that caused uneasiness to coil within the father.

“My Lord what plans do you have for my son?” he asked quietly.

Tar-Palantir shot a quick sideways glance at his friend and back to the garden, “I have at times though...” he began and halted, “I have sometimes thought that Elendil might be fitted for a higher calling than even general.”

“He’s only a boy, my lord,” Amandil reminded him gently, “He is not yet eleven.”

“Still, he shows remarkable advancement for one so young and,” he laughed suddenly as Elendil caught Míriel and began tickling her mercilessly, “He is good for Míriel.”

Amandil sighed within himself. His fears had been answered. Tar-Palantir wanted his son for the royal consort. His Elendil could become the most powerful man in Númenor and Amandil didn’t have to try to gain the position for his son. Elendil would be more than secure the rest of his life.

“Míriel will be a beautiful woman someday,” Tar-Palantir went on his eyes searching his friend’s thought gaze.

Amandil stirred from his reverie, “Yes, I have no doubt. She will be like one of the queens of old. You are fortunate, Your Highness, to be blessed with a daughter.”

        “You know, Amandil, there is no reason why we cannot both share the joy of a son and daughter,” the King said, “Someday, perhaps this childish fondness could blossom into love.”

        The two men stared at each other for a long time. Outside the children’s laughter floated up to them, Míriel’s high pitched giggles and shrieks and Elendil’s triumphant exclamations. Assurance rested in their happiness. The Lord of Andúnië smiled a bright and brilliant smile and clasped his king’s hand.

        “Then let us pray it does,” he said fervently, “Let us pray it does.”