Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Children of Kings: Hand of the Gods (#2517)
Author: WinterTouched
Chapters: 4

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Eldarion and his sisters are pretty normal teenagers. They fight with each other, they break thier parents' rules, and get seriously grounded. But life can never be completely normal for the children of the King and Queen of Gondor, especially now that they are the targets of Umbarian assassins, close to danger, and on top of all this, their mother has been very grumpy lately. And you thought your teenage years were rough... first in a series...reviews are STRONGLY *cough* ENCOURAGED. CHAPTER FOUR NOW UP!
Published: 23 Jan 2006
Updated: 23 Jan 2006
Warnings: some cursing and violence
Type: Action/adventure
Characters: Eldarion; lots of OCs; Aragorn; Arwen;


Chapter 1 - Consequences

disclaimer: I am not Professor Tolkien. If I was, I’d be dead. That would probably suck. I am not Pete Jackson either. If I was, I would be grossly skinny, and that would suck. Because PJ without fat is like Kate Moss without crack. Despite the unhealthiness, it’s just not right without that little element in their lives. Anyhow, I use a lot of Tolkien’s characters and places and various names, as well as a number of my own, and kudos to Tolkien Enterprises for sharing.

Anyone who’s pissed at my characters or storyline need not comment. I won’t read it, and I won’t care.
Anyone who’s pleased with my story MUST comment. PLEASE people, don’t leave me hanging. Let me know how you like it! Give me some positive criticism! Tell me who your sex god is! *Eldarion is mine* Anything please! I will be glad to receive your responses.







Chapter One: Consequences

My eyes spy the torch of Cair Andros’ prow
And stars alit upon the great queen’s brow
The lamps of once great Valar days
Destroyed by darkness, here they lay
My eyes spy the light of the rising sun
On the horselord’s lands, the battle’s won
The candle burns where small folk laugh
Behind frosted windows of the perrianath
And far below in chambers deep
The lanterns wake khazad from sleep
My eyes spy the white city’s lamps a high
Terrace lit by torches beneath darkened sky
And in mountain vales the silver light
Of the elven homes aglow at night

It was one of the first rhymes the children of Gondor learned when they were still very small, The Light Song, and even at the age of 17, Eldarion could recite its familiar lines, the words feeling warm and comforting as they rolled over his tongue. Children learned it to remember the names of the Great Races, and also as a lullaby, sung in the dark when children still feared the beasts that lay in shadowy corners of thier sleeping chambers. It was a song that had once held great importance to Eldarion; it was the one poem he had known as a child, the one thing he once recited along with his mother when she sang him goodnight in quenya, and a reassurance of his own safety. If something spooky entered his rooms, he knew he had light to protect him. Mother had, as usual, made sure it was an educational experience, as she had done for all of her children. He had learned it in three tongues: sindarin, quenya, and in the speech of men, which sometimes varied by night. Each had been fairly easy, as they were tongues he had grown up speaking, but as he grew older sometimes he began to forget the words in common tongue, remembering only the quenya his mother had sung when he was but a baby.

And now, standing beside the great black doors to the throne room, his nerves growing tenser with each moment, those same words came back to him.

He whispered the first lines again, glancing around at the empty hallway before him. The windows were just beginning to glow with the dim light of the rising sun, now showing its first rays. He could hardly imagine what time it must be, perhaps 3 or 4 in the morning. A servant passed by, dressed in the black velvets of the chamberlains. Eldarion let his worried mind float for a minute, his eyes lazily following the trail of the busy servant, then turn back to the black wood at his front. Mother and father waited behind those doors, as well as half a dozen punishments and lectures for his probable ‘poor judgement.’ He had to admit, this was much worse than he ever thought it could possibly be...

It had all started with the performers, a troop of artisans who were gathered at the city’s center to perform that night. Luthiel, who probably was with mother and father as he stood outside, had said herself that morning that she was going to go, whether mother or father wanted her to or not. Sneaking out was not a new pastime for Eldarion or his siblings and friends; the only way mother or father let them out to the lower city was with a guard, and guards were very senseless and awkward things to carry around on what could otherwise be exciting outings. So, the children often left their parents without them, or just didn’t bother to ask for permission at all. Often, they got away with it. Other times, they were not as fortunate. Normally, mother was the one who distributed the harshest punishments for such trips; father wasn’t one for punishment, and only for the most serious of thier childhood crimes did he give them any lectures for their behavior. Sometimes he even sympathized with their causes, which always made Eldarion smile; after all, father was Eldarion’s age but a few decades ago, whereas mother had been of a teenage mindset over a thousand years before.

But today he may not get away with nothing but a few words and a smirk from his father. The consequences of the recent events were surely much worse than any he had done before, and as he thought back to what had happened, he realized why.

He and Luthiel had gone to watch the performers, without a guard of course and without thier parents’ permission. The first act had begun at sundown, and by the second act it was nearly midnight. They had both forgotten the time, and their absences at home had most likely been noticed by then. This hardly worried Eldarion; in fact, it was almost a challenge. He and Luth were always “testing the limits” as mother put it, going to the edge of reason and safety and seeing how far they could tarry without harm. Eothair, Eldarion and Luthiel’s good companion and also the son of Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn, was the only one who normally tried to stop them. Eothair, as father put it, “makes up for you and your sister’s great lack of judgement and overall reason.” And reasonable he was! Eothair, despite his loyalty to Eldarion and Luthiel, had left before the second act, begging the two to come with him so as to not be scolded for tardiness. Eldarion hadn’t said much, as the second act of the tragedy describing a Numenorean war epic was becoming more interesting than he had imagined, but Luthiel had insisted that Eothair stay with them until the first act had finished. It was very hard for Eothair to deny his friends, and something he rarely did, but he had done it that night, and hurried off alone to the palace, leaving his friends behind even after Luthiel’s invitation. The circumstances of Eothair’s return to the palace were something Eldarion did not know, and he had an inkling that Eothair’s probable absence from the palace now had something to do with the long lecture that awaited him.

Eldarion fingered the makeshift bandage wrapped around his neck, the pain coming and going as he moved. He shivered as a cold wind blew from the open windows behind him, and ran his fingers through his almost- shoulder- length black hair. The same color as his mother’s and all his siblings, it was sleek and thick, and during the day he almost always had to pull it back behind his head.

His physical appearance was something he was extremely humble about, though there were many who envied his good looks. His features were fine in quality, all, especially his grey-blue eyes, giving hint of elven heritage. He stood taller than most in Minas Tirith, and always kept in good physical shape; his martial work was becoming renowned, though not nearly like his sister Luthiel’s had. Eldarion’s eyes were what set him apart, eyes that made him look almost at once older than he was, eyes of immortality. Their grey-blue color made them shimmer and shine in both daylight and shadow, and gave light to the features of his face. His expression was clear and intelligent at all times, his smile sincere and his voice both commanding and kind. He knew that many a girl in Gondor had their heart set upon him, though Eldarion had never thought about returning the favor.

It was not always expected of him to dress like a prince, as a prince he was, but since his wardrobe consisted mostly of such attire, he found himself wearing it more often than he pleased. He did not favor the velvets and silks so common in Minas Tirith; his favorite outfit was his hunting attire, soft greens and blues adorned with gold threads, and as comfortable as ever. They were a gift from his uncles Elladan and Elrohir two years ago, and thier elven make allowed him to blend in virtually anywhere, including the streets of Gondor. To most, they looked like peasant or street garb, but on closer inspection the fine threads of pure gold shone of their higher quality. It was these clothes he was wearing then, with only the top tunic missing, as he always wore when he went out into the streets of Gondor, and he hadn’t had any time to change when he had returned to the palace. In fact, he hadn’t had time to return to his quarters at all. The guards had brought him straight to here.

Of course, it hadn’t been as simple as leaving the play late and coming back to the palace. There had also been the issue of the criminals who were working for the company, picking pockets as the unknowing spectators gazed upon the act on the stage. Eldarion wasn’t the first to notice one of the shadowy fellows moving his way toward their position in the crowd; Luthiel’s sharp eyes had caught sight of him first, and pointed him out to Eldarion.

“Eldi,” she hissed, leaning in towards his ear.

“Hmm?” he said, barely turning from the performers onstage, now quoting long lines from a high king’s death speech.

“Eldi!” she hissed even louder, grabbing his shirtsleeve and pulling him towards her.

“What?” he groaned, shrugging her hand away, “I’m trying to watch, Luth.”

“Don’t be stupid. Everyone else wanted to watch too and look where they’re landed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“See the man over there?” She pointed to a black cloaked figure slinking behind a large group of shaved head scholars, laughing amongst themselves as they watched the performance. Eldarion gasped as the man proceeded to cut the purses hanging beneath their belts and slip the contents into a bag tied round his own waist.

“He robbed them!”

“Well of course he did, he’s a cutpurse...and if you’ve been as absorbed in this whole play as you were just now, then you probably have been robbed as well.” Eldarion reached to the pouch hanging behind him from his own belt. Luckily, the two silver pieces he had put in earlier were still there, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“They’re still here.” He breathed, turning to her. Luthiel gave him a half-smile before beginning to walk away from the stage. “But something has to be done...there could be trouble from this, you know.”

“Oh, I know, trust me.” She smiled again, a slier one this time.

“Well, the purse...” He stammered, watching as she slowly walked away.

“It’s there, you said?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” She murmured. “Although it would have been a lot more fun if someone had robbed you, or gutted you and left you in the streets, or-”

“That’s not funny.” He growled, striding after her. “And where are you going, anyway?”

“Home...where else?”

“But what about the cutpurses?”

“What about them?” She casually raised an eyebrow, still pushing towards the back of the crowd. Eldarion stopped in his own tracks, holding out his hand.

“Now wait; don’t tell me you really plan to just leave-”

“Why not?”

“Well...I don’t know...people are being robbed after all. Shouldn’t we do something about it?”

“And why would we do a thing like that?” she said, rolling her eyes and not stopping as she meandered through the crowd, Eldarion reluctantly following.

“Because it’s right!” He blurted out. “If we fought and revealed the criminals it would be-”

“Noble?” Luthiel gave him a disapproving look. “Eldi, there’s more to the world than noble deeds and family honor and all that bullshit they throw in our faces. It’s called ‘minding our own business, going home, and not getting in trouble.’ Doesn’t that sound much better?”

“We’re late as it is, thanks to your judgment, so it doesn’t matter when we get home at this point; there’ll be a punishment waiting for us anyway. Besides Luth, I thought you were the one who was up for the adventure; always throwing yourself into danger whenever you get the chance...”

“I hate to tell you this Eldi, but there really isn’t much danger involved in a street fight...besides, it’s time we got home, whether we’ll be punished both ways or not. I love a sword fight just as much as the next man, but this is really ridiculous, and the play got far too boring for my tastes an hour ago...”

“Wait a minute!” Eldarion smirked, his eyes sparkling. “I understand what’s going on, you hypocrite. You talk to me about honor being bullshit and here the only reason you won’t go fighting a street thief is because you think he’s below your standards!”

“That’s not true, Eldi.” Luthiel huffed, rolling her eyes angrily. “I just don’t want a brawl, alright? This sort of thing leads to-”

“It never stopped you before! We practically got arrested that time-”

“And we’ll be near close to it again if we don’t get the hell out of here.” She whined, grabbing his sleeve. “Look, I’m in a tight situation as it is, mum and all...”

“What?”

“It’s nothing...nothing for right now...but...”

“Wait...” Eldarion froze in his tracks. “What’s going on that I don’t know about?”

“Nothing Eldi-dear. Just come with me and we won’t end up in jail, alright?”

“Don’t ‘Eldi-dear’ me. What is it Luth?”

“Look, it’s not simple enough to explain right now-”

Eldarion folded his arms across his chest, looking suspicious. “We have time, Luth.”

“Oh really, because a few seconds ago if we let one more person get robbed, you were going to piss your pants.”

Eldarion raised an eyebrow. Luthiel snarled at him as all agitated younger sisters do, and began:

“Fine...just fine. You want to know?” She huffed, throwing up her arms. He nodded, still keeping a careful eye on her. “Look, it’s all because of the other day, when we got lost on our way back from the market-”

“You mean when you purposely got lost so you could miss lessons.”

She winced and growled up at him.

“Yes...that.” She spit out the words like poison. “Well, mum heard about that little incident and, since she apparently is sick and tired of my behavior as of late concerning such matters, she’s said that one more stroke like that...and...”

“And what?”

“Um...”

“What is it?”

“Well...I lose all tournament privileges.” She blurted out, almost stamping her foot with anger.

“You mean you can’t fight in a tourney?”

“Nope.” She said, avoiding his eye.

“For how long?”

“As long as she likes...and she’s a damned elf, so a few years to her is like a week of bloody grounding by her standards.”

“So for years?”

“I don’t know...but probably something like that, yeah.” Luthiel frowned. “She’s so damned cranky lately...”

“Can’t blame her...” He said, hiding a smile. “So the only reason you don’t want to do this is so...you won’t get in trouble?”

“Yeah...and I do have some bloody honor left, but only in the tourneys...so they can’t take that away from me yet.”

“I guess not.” He smiled, and put his arm around her shoulder. Luthiel looked ready to throw up. “Oh, come on Luth. It’s not as bad as you think it is. We’ll get back to the palace and none of this will be a problem. Besides, I wouldn’t have put you through the thief stuff if you’d just told me before, you know.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But does my big brother always have to know every time I’m in trouble?”

“Well, you always seem to know when I’m on mum’s leash...”

“We’re always on mum’s leash, Eldi...” She laughed. “So can we go back now?”

“Sure, if you-” But just at that moment, Eldarion froze. Because as he was talking, he had felt the smallest of movements beneath his lower back, along his waist. Like his belt’s weight had shifted. Luthiel was watching him fervently.

“What is it Eldi?” She asked her eyes wide.

He closed his eyes, letting his hands slowly slip to the back of his belt. Please, no. He prayed. Those silver pieces were his good luck charms, besides being authentic currency from Numenor, some of the last pieces last. Don’t be gone. His hands reached the leather pouch, his fingers carefully feeling along the edge. Finally, his hand felt the long line that his fingers could slip through and fell the inside of his empty purse. He clenched his other fist in anger, holding his breath and closing his eyes to hide his rage.

“Eldi...what...” Luthiel said, and he saw her hands going to her own purse. “They didn’t touch mine.” She said, pulling out her still heavy purse. She handed it to him, and he clutched it between his fingers. “See, they didn’t rob us.”

He handed the purse back to her, then carefully untied his own from his belt. Handing the empty pouch to her, he saw her eyes widen as her fingers closed around the leather.

“They did...” He said, blinking for a very long time. “Well...at least mine.”

“I’m really sorry, Eldi.” She said softly, before handing it back to him. “But I think I can do something about it...”

“What?” He said, turning to look her in the eye.

Luthiel’s eyes burned passionately for a moment, her usual battle flare, before she gave him a quick glance and swerved away into the crowd.

“Luth!’ He called after her as she ran through the people. “Wait!” He hurried after her, pulling his dagger from its sheath beside his left leg. This was not going like he had planned.

“Luth!” He called again, before spotting her near a large group of children. “What are you doing?”

She turned, giving him a smile. “There was no reason to fight before.” She called back, grinning. “I can never pass up a good chance, you know that...and besides, no one’s allowed to mess with my brother but me...” She smiled even wider, then took off into the crowd.

“No!” He yelled, diving towards the sounds of commotion near the front. The performance had stopped, and now there was screaming and sounds of combat. He pulled away from the crowd just in time to see Luth and a black hooded man circling, his pouch full and jangling. Both their weapons were drawn, though Luth’s sword looked like an obvious advantage over his dagger. Still, the man didn’t look too concerned; he was grinning as he passed his dagger from one hand to another.

“This man is a thief.” Luthiel said, just loud enough to hear over the crowd. “He, along with those on stage and some in the crowd, have been stealing your money all night.” The crowd murmured softly, and Eldarion watched as some drew their own daggers cautiously. It was common knowledge in the streets that when a dagger was drawn, it was likely the brawl could become an all-out block fight. The crowd shuffled anxiously, their eyes fixed on the two in the center. The members on stage however, did not seem too pleased by this development, and, in a whirl of force, leapt from the stage and onto Luthiel.

“Luth!” Eldarion cried, advancing towards her. His other dagger drawn as well, he sliced through an opposing thief who had stepped in his way, a long knife in his hand. Eldarion slammed the man hard with his left side, right into a wooden table, hard enough to knock the man out. He pushed through the huge throngs of people, knocking some over as he went. It was taking too long, and Eldarion became frustrated as he pushed through.

Somehow, something wasn’t right. The crowd wasn’t really helping Luthiel at all; in fact, they appeared to be moving away from the fighters, letting Luthiel be beaten upon by about a dozen performers, some armed with daggers. It’s not working. Eldarion thought to himself. I have to do something. But...

“Everyone!’ He cried, in a voice loud enough to soften the fighting as some of the performers looked at him along with the crowd. “These people’s purses are filled with your good coin. Check your purses; I swear it!” A few in the crowd, no, now it was all in the crowd, reached to their belts. He heard gasps, angry shouts, and much cursing as the people slowly realized what had happened. Eldarion smiled to himself. ‘They’ve robbed you clean!” He cried, pointing at the heap of performers, some lying where Luthiel had left them, others still circling around her. Luthiel stood, sword erect, her whole body as fluid as she moved this way and that, striking out at her opponents with extreme force. She turned towards Eldarion for a second, a smile of gratitude on her face. He smiled back.

“Seize them!’ He cried, pointing at the thieves. The crowd advanced forward. “And-” But just as he began, a swift punch to his jaw sent him reeling to the ground. When he hit the hard cobblestone, he had but a second to look up before diving to the left to avoid a kick in the face. His attacker was the man who had collected thier money at the beginning, a weasel-like man with greasy hair and skin, and blackened, grimy teeth. He grinned, showing his yellow smile, and pulled a knife from his belt.

“Think we’d let you get away with that?” He said, still grinning. Eldi reached for his daggers, which had both fallen from his hands when he hit the ground, but the man brought down his foot on his hand. Eldarion cried out in pain. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too much. This just got more fun, that’s all.” The man said, pressing his blade’s edge up against Eldarion’s throat. Eldarion struggled against the man’s other hand, which was now around his throat, but it was no use. His hands, both beneath a boot, were screaming with pain, he couldn’t breath, and his daggers were gone. There was only one thing left to do.

“Screw...you...” He choked, spitting into the man’s face. The man hardly flinched, and only tightened his grip.

Yep...to swear. Eldarion thought, almost smiling to himself. Cursing always makes the best of things, as dad likes to say.

“You wanna repeat that?’ The man spat out, leaning in towards Eldarion’s face. Eldarion winced under the man’s repulsive breath. The man drew the blade down closer to his throat, breaking the skin on top. Eldarion hissed in pain, feeling the warm blood dripping down his neck and beneath his collar.

“That’s what I thought.” The man said. “But for that you’re gonna pay. You and the girl...easy to silence. Goodbye, Your Highness.” Eldarion gasped, realizing the man knew who he was. The man simply grinned and tightened his grip on Eldi’s neck. He pulled the blade back for a second cut, this one most likely deeper and probably intended for killing, but just at the moment he was about to draw it across Eldarion’s throat, the dagger fell, and the man slumped to the ground, another blade in the back of his neck. Blood suddenly flowed from the corners of his mouth, the man’s bloodshot eyes wide and staring right up into Eldarion’s face. Eldarion, his hand around his own neck, stared amazed at the man, shock still in him after the struggle. Besides, there was something odd about that dagger... it looked like it belonged to-

A hand reached for Eldarion’s collar and pulled him to his feet, pulling the dagger from the man’s back at the same time. Eldarion turned to face none other than his father, sheathing his hunting dagger, covered in the man’s blood.

“F-father...?” Eldarion gaped, rubbing at the cut on his neck.

Aragorn shoved Eldarion out of the way as he unsheathed his dagger for a second time, this time to stab an incoming thief whose knife was near Eldi’s head. His usual garb had been replaced with black hunting clothes, his hair was down and flecked with dots of blood, as were his face and hands, and his expression was anything but happy. Uh-oh...

“Out.” Aragorn growled, turning towards Eldarion with a frown.

“W-what?”

“Out. Get the hell out of here. Back to the palace. You and your sister.”

“B-but...” Eldarion stared at his father, his legs feeling wobbly already.

“Now!” His father yelled, pushing him forward and out of the brawl. Eldarion lost his balance as he scuffed forward, falling hard onto the stone. Luthiel was there beside him almost immediately, helping him up, her hand going immediately to the cut on his neck. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him as hard as she could away from the following fighters, some of whom had noticed the two and were pursuing. Only Aragorn’s swift blade had stopped them before they could reach his children, and Luthiel turned back towards the terrace, Eldarion’s arm in her hand, and Eldarion began to run.

“Eldi...are you...alright?” She breathed, sounding winded as she tried to cover his neck with a piece of her hair ribbon. They knelt on the stones above the performance stand in the center of the market, almost to the terrace above that one, away from danger. “Did you get...hurt?”

He nodded, still out of breath.

“I’m...I’m alright, Luth...” He panted, brushing her hand away.

“Ada...he...” Luthiel said as she turned back to the brawl, sounding as shocked as he had just been.

“I know.” Eldarion said softly. He turned back to the crowd, still able to see his father’s head as he defended a large group of unarmed peasants against two thieves with swords. Eldarion winced at a sudden pain in his neck, his hand going to it immediately. Or perhaps it was the thought of what lay ahead that pained him; of the retribution he was to receive from his mother and father for this brawl...a brawl he started...“We have to get back to the palace, Luth.’ He turned to his sister. She nodded and helped him on along, silent climb to the palace. Finally, after they were almost to the sixth terrace, she turned towards him.

“I’m sorry Eldi.” She whispered as they ran up the long streets towards the top terrace. “I shouldn’t have...shouldn’t have fought like that...”

“It was my...my idea...” He panted, his hand still to his neck. He could still feel the heat from the blood, which was soaking his collar and the top of his shirt. The speed at which the blood poured from his wound was increasing with each step, and his head was starting to feel lighter and lighter.

“But I went after them...I’m really...sorry...”

“I know.” He nodded, giving her a weak smile. “I suppose we’re...we’re both to...to blame...”

She nodded slowly, helping him along as they limped up to the palace. There were too many people on the streets even for that time of night, so the going was harder and harder as they worked through the crowds. Eldarion was jostled a bit too much for his liking, his neck hurting more and more. The blood was practically flowing now, coming down in long streams that had soaked and stained his shirt so he could feel it on his chest. Luthiel reached over and ripped off his top brown tunic so that he wore only the elven shirt, one that the blood was miraculously not running through.

They managed to make it the final terrace soon enough, when Eldarion nearly collapsed from blood loss on the stairs. At this point, Luthiel pulled off her entire hair band and wrapped it around his neck as a bandage, clotting the blood up for the time. He nodded thanks and waited until a guard helped him up, then helped him limp up the great marble stairs to the palace, his blood dripping and smearing onto the white stones.

His mind was floating and his whole body felt weak and dizzy as he limped across the courtyard of the white tree, past the guards standing watch by each and every staircase and door, trying to maintain stolid expressions. Their curiosity however was hard to hide, and thier eyes followed he and Luthiel as they entered the main doors, along with two guards.

“Make way for the prince and princess!” They called as the guards and servants in the way snapped back against the wall in tight, almost unnatural bows. Eldarion would have rolled his eyes in any other circumstance, as he normally hated all of the postulating of royal lifestyles. But for now, his weakness did not allow any such sarcasm, and he merely wheezed for breath as the guards supported him to the hall, where he stood now. Luthiel had been taken away by a female servant before they had reached the doors, but he was sure she stood inside there now, in the same situation as his own would soon be.

I’m a dead man...I really am. He rubbed his bandage again, feeling the sore area turning to sore muscles as well. The guards had called for a medical scholar when he’d slumped to the ground once more, who had hurried to him with bandages and quickly covered his wound for what little time they had, re-wrapping it with Luthiel’s hair band again. Had it really been more than an hour since the incident in the street? He wondered how his father had found him, how he arrived just in time to save his life and to defend the people in the brawl. Like a ghost...isn’t that how they described him in battle? Like a ghost in the night , like an eagle in shadow, striking before one can catch thier breaths? Like a man...a man on fire? All were familiar to him, familiar ways that he had heard others describing father in battle. But tonight...tonight he had been like a...well...an angry father.

He wasn’t happy with me then; he must be fuming now. And mother...she’s probably near to angry tears.

Eldarion turned at the sound of footsteps coming fast down the hall to his right. Two figures, one in long flowing red robes and the other in grey were heading in his direction. Familiar as they were, Eldarion turned to look out the window behind him, afraid of whom he might meet, afraid to have to confront his parents sooner than he wished. The window was open onto a courtyard below, the courtyard that all the guest chambers faced with balconies and turreted windows. Eldarion could easily find Eothair’s rooms, the quarters he and his parents used when they were visiting Minas Tirith from thier home in Osgiliath. Torches were burning outside Lady Eowyn and Lord Faramir’s chambers beside the windows, and candles lit the interior of thier rooms, hidden only by a gauzy curtain at the balcony. Eothair’s remained dark and silent...empty, Eldarion knew. Come on Eothair...you’ve got to get home. You’ve just got to.

The figures were exactly who Eldarion had at first thought they were, and a fuming Lady Eowyn and distraught looking Lord Faramir were brushing by him, barely noticing him as they raced past the doors and turned out into the large hall that led to the gates. Lady Eowyn was known to have a fiery temper, and Lord Faramir wasn’t looking that happy either as they pushed by. Eldarion closed his eyes, not wanting to confront them, not wanting to take responsibility for thier son’s absence....a responsibility he knew rested in his own hands.

Everything is my fault tonight...absolutely everything. I never should have let Eothair leave alone, and I never should have fought the thieves. I blew it... Eothair’s missing, and Luth and I almost got killed, and father had to risk his neck just to get us home safe. It’s a complete mess and it’s all because of me.

Eldarion looked up from his folded arms. The doors in front of him had just creaked open, and an unhappy looking face was peeking from between them.

“Luth?’ Eldarion said softly, noting her angry expression. “What...what happened?”

She didn’t say anything, but simply stared him very hard in the eye, rubbing her hands together as if to keep them from hurting something.

“Luth?” He murmured, backing up towards the wall. She looked like she was going to kill someone very soon. “Are you okay?”

She turned to him, her eyes brimmed with tears. Whether they were from anger or sorrow, or perhaps both, Eldarion didn’t know.

“I’m alright...what about you?” She said, facing him. Luthiel was an extremely pretty girl, whose looks were sometimes more like her father’s than her mother’s. She had his crooked smile and his expressions, especially when she was angry or upset. Her personality was sometimes like her father’s as well...laid-back and yet intense, cautious and yet reckless. She was the most gifted fighter Eldarion had ever seen, and she’d won every tourney she’d ever competed in, besting men twice her size and age and championing over the victors of previous days, people who had once doubted her skills. Although she was one year younger than Eldarion, she was almost the same height, and thier eyes and most of thier facial features were so close in looks that some people would have called them twins. Her long black hair blew around her face from the wind coming in through the open window, and she brushed it out of the way with her hand, batting her long eyelashes and staring at the ground anxiously. Eldarion cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’m...I’m fine now.”

“Good.” She said, then raised her hand up and punched him square in the jaw, sending him reeling back against the stone wall behind him. “That’s for getting me in trouble and fighting your damned outlaws.” She raised her hand up and punched him a second time, Eldarion sinking to the ground and now covering himself with his arms. “And that’s for letting Eothair get lost, you bloody idiot. This is all your fault; if you hadn’t gone and tried to be the hero, we never would be in this mess... so screw your damned nobility, I told you honor is bullshit!” And with that, she stamped her foot and ran away down the hall, leaving Eldarion on the floor and seemingly helpless as his hands covered his face and arms.

Damn, this is not my night.

“Eldarion.” He looked up from the floor into his father’s stern face, the lines beside his eyes and mouth looking harder than ever. Eldarion stood up slowly, never leaving his father’s eyes, and followed him through the huge doors and into the throne room.

The throne room was the largest hall in the palace, and the most ornate. Its long marble arches seemed to reach the sky, and the black and white marble tile shone and sparkled when the sunlight (or in this case, moonlight) hit it. Full of statues and sculptures of royalty past and present, their stone eyes stared down at Eldarion as they walked down the long hall to the thrones at the end, their black surfaces gleaming with the moonlight from the open windows on either side of the hall. He could imagine the scowling faces of these age-old role models as they gazed down with shame at thier dreadful pupil, one heir who had neglected thier example and would surely shun the throne’s honor. Torches were lit behind each statue, casting the eerie glow of their shadows down in front of Eldarion’s feet as he walked, his own footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a clod. He thought back to their accusing eyes, cold stone that suddenly seemed lit by fire with the torches near them. You don’t need to rub it in; I’m convinced the throne’s not meant for me either, trust me. One of the thrones at the end was occupied, the one on the right, belonging to his mother. She was still in her after-dinner gowns, the plain grey or blue ones she wore when the family retired to their own personal chambers after supper. Though her expression was unclear at this distance, Eldarion could only imagine her stern face and anger when he approached.

When he reached the thrones, his mother’s face now clear and radiant in the moonlight, he dove into a deep bow and pressed his face to his knee.

“Is that really necessary?” His mother’s clear voice rang out across the hall. “I’ve already heard the story from your sister and father; we don’t expect to give you any less punishment than you deserve because you bowed... for once.” Eldarion had to admit, he hadn’t shown any physical respect in quite a while for either of his parents. During ceremonies, it was sometimes necessary to postulate before them, but it was something that he had as of late forgotten to do for many weeks, perhaps months.

“Stand up.” His father grunted as he sat down in the throne. Eldarion looked up at both of them; first to his father’s dark features, set like stone in a stolid expression of anger, his mother’s white and radiant in the moonlight, shining with almost malice.

“Mother, father, I can explain-”

“There is no need for that, either.” His mother said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I, as well as your father, know what happened, and I understand there is no reason behind your actions. It sounds more like simple selfishness to me.”

“It wasn’t like that...it just...”His mind raced, searching for words. He could find none, none to face up to the eyes of his mother. Grey-blue eyes, the same as his sisters’ all were, only here they were harder and colder, and burned like blue fire in the shadow.

“Just what, Eldarion? Do you really think you can clear this away with a wave of words? Your actions resulted in the disappearance of the Ithilien heir, not to mention the risking of your father and sister’s lives.”

“What? Is Luthiel’s life suddenly my responsibility? She’s nearly my age, and no less responsible than me!” He fumed. How could they frame him for Luthiel’s life? She was 16, for gods’ sakes, and a better fighter than Eldarion himself. If anyone could fend for themselves, it was Luth.

“It was you who chose to fight though, was it not?”

“Well...I...”

“Yes...yes, you did. And because of your actions, many have suffered tonight, including myself and your father. We were in complete shock at your disappearance and even more so at your terrible choice of blindly fighting the criminals.”

“B-blindly? But...I...”

“When your father came to your aid, you were about to get your throat slit. If that was not a blind position, I don’t know what is.” Eldarion glanced over at his father, who still had not spoken since he had sat down on the throne. His father stared back at him, black fire burning in his eyes.

“I never meant to put anyone in danger...” Eldarion started, glancing from one parent to the other.

“Danger? I doubt you were thinking of danger when you ran off this afternoon, disobeying my strict orders to stay within the palace today. Nor were you ever thinking of danger when you allowed Master Eothair to return to the palace alone, which he never did arrive at. Nor were you when you picked a fight with a troupe of armed bandits, resulting in near death for yourself and your father and sister.” His mother tightened her grip on the arms of the throne, her knuckles white. “I am ashamed my own child would make such foolish decisions, and even more ashamed that you would attempt to throw the blame upon someone else.”

“I’m not throwing any blame anywhere!” He cried, stepping forward.

“And yet you insist your sister could have taken perfectly good care of herself, extracting and replacing responsibility for her welfare from yourself to her.”

“Well...” He stumbled for words again. “I only meant that she’s a good fighter, and that she could have handled herself well enough.” He mumbled under his breath, his eyes on the floor.

“So, with her state of martial skills determined, you decided to set forth and get yourself involved in a brawl with over twenty armed men and women, fully grown and twice your age, confident that your sister was strong enough to withstand them and that you, as a skilled fighter yourself, could best them all as well?”

“Um...yes?”

“Then I am more ashamed than I was before.” She sighed. “Eldarion, please tell me you really aren’t as reckless as this incident may seem to have determined.”

“Not nearly as much as Luthiel...” He murmured, smiling a bit when he thought of Luth’s punch to his jaw. Not nearly as reckless at all.

His mother’s face softened a bit, and he saw a small smile touch her lips. The old Queen Arwen returned for but a moment, that radiant beauty shining through in her smile. Just hours ago at dinner she had been laughing at one of his silly stories, her eyes bright with life and her face as beautiful as ever. Now she was just as stunning, but it was a cold beauty he saw here, one that seemed to be able to kill. If looks were poison...

“Perhaps you are right...” She said softly, but her face hardened once more. “Does your neck hurt?”

“A bit,” He said, rubbing the bandage that covered the now sore spot.

“Good. I hope it scars, Eldarion, truly I do. As a lasting reminder of days when you were younger and foolish, a memory of your mortality.”

“I don’t think I’m immortal-” He shot back, though his words were just mumbles beneath her glare.

“But you act like it.” His mother objected. “The wound on your neck was not fatal, and luckily your father was able to cut in before it got much worse, but you should be thankful it was only what it was. Have you visited the healers?”

“No.”

“You’ll have to visit them afterwards. In the meantime however, I have not finished with you yet. Eldarion, you know the honor this family must uphold-”

“I try to uphold it, honest.” He said, “It’s not like I’m not aware we’re royal and everything, okay? I care about my reputation just as much as the next prince, but-”

“Do not interrupt me.” His mother said, her voice like ice. Eldarion was starting to get the feeling that the least amount of punishment for tonight was going to have to start somewhere in the ten to twenty year range. “As I was saying before you so rudely interjected, you are a member of the royal family, and it is your will that guides our honor and will someday guide this kingdom.” Eldarion held his breath. Here comes the long and generally repetitive lecture. “I know that these years are very hard for you; you have gained more responsibilities, your subjects are beginning to find reason to look up to you. Eldarion, you’re a prince, not the common boy you wished to be in your childhood, and during these years, you will have to rise above that common boy, you will have to command the common boy you once were. Your choices mean much more than they ever did before, and choices like the ones you made tonight cannot and will not be tolerated. Not just by myself and your father, but by all your subjects. You are going to be a king, and a king must not make mistakes, nor may he make foolish decisions. Everything he does affects someone else, and every action he makes takes responsibility for yet one more thing.

“I am not saying this to hurt you, dear, I’m saying this to help you. Everyone has choices to make in their life, and everyone has one unerring fate that their choices must lead up to. I know that what you have seen and will see in your life is more than any boy should, but Eldarion, you are a prince, someday to be a king, and this is how your fate must be.” She’s made that point like five times. “It’s not my choice, nor your father’s choice, or even your choice. It’s just what the gods have given you. And what the gods give us, we must do something with, no matter what the consequences. There is only one person who can decide your fate, and that is you. I can no longer repair your mistakes anymore than I can take back time, but it is you who can do with that time whatever you wish.”

With this she sat back in her seat and stared at her son for a long, hard time. Eldarion did not dare look back at her, but instead focused his attention on small particles of dust floating by his head, caught in the rising sunlight. This had been an unusually long lecture for his mother, but like most typical teenage boys, he was finding it hard to recall what she had just said. He was vaguely conscious of his father’s eyes upon him too, not to mention the stone faces of the kings of old, frowning down at thier disobedient descendent. Don’t worry about your unworthy heir not getting any long-winded lectures, boys, He thought back to them upon thier pedestals of truth, nobility, honesty, and thier great pride-worthy deeds. I’ve got an elf for a mother, and she’ll make sure I never get a word in edgewise. But let me tell you all something… My sister has always been the more sensible, and I suppose she was right: honor is a load of bullshit, no matter how you put it. You can do all the great things you want, but it seems like the only deeds people are apt to remember are the bad ones. He felt like laughing to himself at the irony in his thoughts, in his head. Speaking of his head...his head was so light, so very light, that the statues seemed to be laughing in his dizziness. He swayed for a moment, and his hand reached out to grasp for support, finding none there.

“Eldarion?” He looked up at his mother, and was surprised to see a look of concern on her face. “Eldarion, your neck...”

He reached up and felt the bandage. It had soaked completely through and when his hand came away it was stained with black blood. My blood is black. His mother leaned forward.

“The bandage...” He whispered, suddenly feeling all the blood rushing from his head as he shifted his weight to the other foot. He saw his father out of the corner of his eye, shifting in his seat, and then his eyes went black. Black like my blood.

His knees fell beneath him and he tumbled down, down, down, his eyes opening briefly to see his mother springing from her throne, her arm, reaching hand, stretched before her, screaming: “Eldarion!”

Eldarion’s thoughts slowly faded away into darkness, melting into the air with the wicked laughter of the stone kings around him. He thought for a moment he could see his mother’s eyes, and he smiled at the recognition, but then the blackness closed around him and all went silent.


“Eldi?” A little voice was speaking in his ear, and the smallest of hands pushing on his side. He laughed to himself, thinking of how it tickled. He turned over to face his familiar bedroom wall, opening his eyes, still heavy from sleep. What an awful dream, he thought as he rubbed his eyelids. Awful and strange...

“Eldi?” The voice repeated, just as soft and sweet as before. He laughed aloud, and rolled around, turned to face the source of the voice. Perhaps I am still dreaming...

“Eldiii...” The little girl before him whined, gently rocking him back and forth with all the force her arms could manage.

“Gilly?” He whispered, a bit surprised to see her. “What are you doing in my room?”

Little Gilrael let out a squeal of delight at his response, her eyes wider than ever. The youngest of the royal children, Gilrael was 4 and the quietest of her siblings. With large bright blue eyes and thick, black hair that was always half-up and half falling out of her ponytail, she had an angelic look of innocence about her, brought to life by her adorable grins and delighted laughter. She jumped up and hugged her older brother with more cries of delight.

“Awake!’ She squealed, squeezing her brother’s arm. “You’re awake!”

“Um, yes.” He said, surprised at her reaction. “I’m awake, Gilly.”

“You were asleep for so long!” She said, her eyes suddenly looking accusatory, “You made mum worried, Eldi.” She said, her four-year old face suddenly looking more like thier mother’s than ever as she scowled at him.

“What? How long did I sleep?” He asked, sitting up in bed, realizing he had no shirt on. He pulled the blanket up to his chest, grateful he at least wore trousers beneath the sheets.

She held up three fingers.

“Three hours?” He asked, “But my dream was much longer than that...I dreamt I was in a fight, Gilly, a street fight, and-”

But he stopped when he realized Gilrael was shaking her head sadly, and he said softly: “Three... days?”

She nodded, then looked away, sitting on the edge of his bed, her little legs swinging as they could not touch the floor.

“Then it wasn’t a dream, was it Gilrael?’ He whispered, and winced as she shook her head again. He felt his neck with a cautious hand, then drew back in half-shock at the bandage around it.

Gilrael turned back to him with large, sad eyes.

“I was hurt pretty bad, huh?’ He asked, putting his arm around her tiny body. She nodded slowly, and he saw a tear falling down her cheek. He reached down to touch it, but she quickly wiped it away and wiped her nose with her wrist before looking back up at him. “Were mum and ada worried?” He asked softly, and she nodded again. “Did they tell you or Isilme what happened?”

She shook her head, but her eyes were wide and hopeful once more.

“I suppose you want to know, don’t you?” He asked, and she smiled and hugged him. “Well, Luth and I went to see a show. It wasn’t a good show, people were being robbed.” He began, looking out the window and onto the city, brightened with the afternoon sun. How long had he slept? Three days? How could it be possible? He rubbed his neck as he spoke, trying to remember the events of a night three days ago. How is it possible? “Luthiel wanted to go home, but I wanted to fight the robbers. They did fight, trust me, and one of them hurt me, here.’ He said, pointing to his neck. Gilly’s small hand reached up for his bandage, touching it ever so lightly, then pulling away as if in fright. “I guess it was worse than I thought...” He said thoughtfully, turning from her to the window again.

“Eldarion!” Both he and his sister turned as the door to his room flew open and his sisters Isilme and Luthiel burst in. Isilme was the first upon him, embracing him in a huge hug. “You’re awake!” She exclaimed, “We were so worried, Eldi! And mum and ada wouldn’t tell us anything, so I had to make Luthiel tell me, which took forever since she’s afraid of getting in trouble again.” Isilme added with a smile at Luthiel, who playfully mussed her hair.

Isilme was 12, and certainly the most devoted of all her siblings. Devoted to everything- her studies, her family, her friends; Isilme always received the most praise from her tutors and teachers than her brother and sister had. Isilme was shorter than both of her siblings had been at that age, and though she had the same black hair and high elven features as her siblings, Isilme’s eyes were what set her apart. While Eldarion’s were a dark grey-blue, Luthiel’s were bright grey, and Gilly’s a crystalline blue, Isilme’s eyes were grey-green, sometimes steel in the night, while bright hazel green in the daylight. She had a rounder face than Luthiel and Eldarion, and her looks were mentioned most often as looking like her grandmother Celebrian. Her mother had often told her she had her grandmother’s face and her grandmother’s eyes, not to mention her loyal and kind spirit. While Luthiel and Eldarion were taken to neglecting studies or taking off on adventures, Isilme liked nothing better than a good book to curl up with in her bedroom, and would never dare miss a lesson of any kind. “I hope you’re doing well now, though...” She said softly, and he saw her eyes fall to the bandage around his neck.

“How’s the wound?” Luthiel asked, her voice becoming concerned and very un-Luth like.

“Better.” He said, feeling it with his free hand. “I don’t remember much, only that the blood had turned black and was coming out much faster, and that your hair band had fallen off or something, because it wasn’t there when I fell...I think perhaps I’ve lost it.” He said, looking up at her sadly. “Sorry, Luth...”

Luthiel smiled at him and sat down at the end of the bed. “Oh please Eldi, it was a hair band. I doubt I’ll miss it.”

“Yes, I suppose...” He said softly, and smirked at his sister. “I can’t remember much else, but I seem to recall something about a punch in the jaw...”

“Oh, sorry about that.’ She blushed and stared uncomfortably at her hands. “I...uh...I was a bit angry and...er... I think I got a little carried away...”
“It’s okay. It was like a hair band: I doubt I’ll miss it.” They both laughed, uncomfortable as it were, and Luthiel turned away, watching Isilme sitting in the corner with Gilrael, occupying her with a hand game. Eldarion stared at his sister for a moment, watching her brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead and nervously fold her hands on her lap. Three days I’ve been laying here. It must have been hell for Luth... and everybody...I wonder how they took it, me being sick and all. I wonder...wonder why it even happened...Luthiel let out an agitated sigh, and Eldarion smiled sadly to himself. Poor Luth. She’s probably been out of her mind...

“Three days, huh?” He murmured, and she turned to look back at him.

“Yeah...” Luthiel attempted a small smile, but Eldarion knew neither she nor he could smile or laugh... or anything... right now.

“My blood was black.” He said, his hand instinctively running along the bandage. “It was pouring right out of me like...like...wine from a glass. All I did was get cut, too.” He laughed. “Heh...I guess I was in a lot deeper than I thought.” Luthiel looked over at him with sad eyes, then opened her mouth.

“It was pretty scary for a while. We thought you weren’t...weren’t going to... make it.” She finally finished, and with her last word quickly turned to look back at Isilme and Gilrael, playing by the window. Eldarion closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall what he could remember. The details were so vague once they reached the palace...

“What happened to me?” He asked, sitting up straighter in bed. Luthiel remained silent, staring out the window, her eyes cold and her face impassive. “Please Luth, I’ve got the right to at least know what I’ve been doing for three days.”

Luthiel sighed again. “You collapsed in the throne room, do you remember that?” He nodded. “We brought you back here; mum and dad called for the healing houses, but I said you’d want to wake up in your own bed eventually...when you woke up.” Eldarion smiled at her. “I think sometimes I thought maybe you wouldn’t. Sometimes I thought there was nothing anybody could do, but there were healers with you for days. They couldn’t wake you up, but gods know they tried. Your breath was always slowing down, and you wouldn’t drink or eat or anything. Mum and ada were in here every second, and Issy and me, and even Gilly, came up to see you whenever it cleared out. You were horrible. Your skin was as pale as could be, and your breath was so short that it seemed like you were hardly breathing at all. And your eyes...”

“What about my eyes?”

“Well...you’d open them every once and a while and just stare at us. Stare with the most ghostly eyes anyone had ever seen. You didn’t say a thing. We thought you were awake, but you weren’t. You were just dreaming with your eyes open. At least, that’s what the healers said, and even they were scared to death every time you’d open those moon eyes of yours and stare bug-eyed at the ceiling. There was nothing we could do about it, the healers said. But mum would come in and sing, and you’d close your eyes and you’d look like you were sleeping again, only sometimes there was a smile on your face.”

Eldarion tried to smile. Luthiel noticed and smiled back, the first real one since she had arrived.

“ Why did it happen?” He asked.

“You mean the eyes? I don’t know, you were probably in pain or-”

“No, all of that. The sleeping and the eyes... and the black blood.”

“Oh...” She was silent for a moment, and her eyes slowly sank down to stare at her hands. “I don’t know. The healers never said anything to me. But they talked to mum and ada alot, and I think perhaps they know. They know what ever it was, so I’ll ask them...” She looked back over at him, and he saw her wipe a tear from her eye. She sniffed loudly, rubbing her eye with the back of her sleeve and hiding her face. Good old Luth...never lets anyone see her cry.

“Thanks Luth.”

“For what?” She turned back to him.

“For sticking around....and you know, for helping me out for the past three days. And for the fight too;” He paused, smiling mischievously. “That was some brawl we started, huh?”

“Yeah, some brawl.” She laughed, and the old sparkle returned to her eyes. “Did you see me nail the one guy in the horse costume? He jumped on my back and tried to wrestle me to the ground. I flipped him over my head and-”

“Eldarion!” Eldarion and Luthiel turned to see a blur of elven green in the doorway before Eldarion found himself completely enveloped by his mother’s sleeves as she embraced him in a tight hug, planting kisses all over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry Eldi!” She cried into his hair, “I was so strict, and I know I must have put you down so many times that night! I almost lost you and every day I sat and thought of all the awful things I said! You must have felt so awful and I am so sorry-” Over his mother’s shoulder, Eldarion smirked at Luthiel, who was trying not to laugh too loudly, and glanced up at his father beaming at the end of the bed. Aragorn smiled back, and from the look of amusement in his eyes, he too was trying not to laugh at his wife’s overly affectionate reaction. “No matter what anyone says, you will always be my baby boy.” She concluded, pulling back from Eldarion’s shoulder, though her hands were still firmly gripped on both his arms. Luthiel did burst out into chuckles at this point, and Eldarion gave her a sly face before turning back to his mother.

“Thanks mum.” He said with a warm smile. Arwen, who was wiping back tears with each breath, beamed back at her son and turned to her husband.

“We almost lost him, didn’t we Estel?” She said softly, and Eldarion watched as a tear formed in his father’s left eye.

It wasn’t long before Aragorn too had broken his stance at the end of the bed and was now joyously embracing his son, tears in his eyes. Amid all the attention, Eldarion barely had time to breathe before the door to his room burst open for the third time that day and someone cried: “Eldarion!” yet again.

Eothair ran into the room, and Eldarion seriously hoped his friend would not consider giving him as physical a greeting as his mother and father had. Gasping for air, Eldarion managed to squeeze out of his father’s embrace in time to grin at Eothair, now standing at the edge of his bed and beaming at his best friend. He too ran up to Eldarion’s side once Aragorn had kindly stepped out of the way, and shook Eldarion’s hand until it was sore.

“You had us scared to death!” Eothair cried, waving his arms about. “We thought you’d died for sure!”

Eldarion smiled at Eothair’s normally honest and open response. He saw his parents frown momentarily at Eothair, who blushed. “Sorry Your Highnesses, I didn’t mean to be so blunt there...but all the same Eldarion. I was worried sick about you.”

“And I of you!” Eldarion laughed. “Why didn’t you return home, and where did you go? And I think I owe you an apology, Eothair. I’m awfully sorry we didn’t heed your advice. I should have never let you go off on your own. You were right...as usual.”

Eothair blushed again, and this time the red ran all the way up his neck and to his blonde curls. Eothair was a good looking boy like his friends, and his mother’s blonde curly hair and brown eyes melded well with his father’s noble face and warm expressions. Eothair now flashed another one of his signature smiles at Luthiel, who smirked back.

“It’s alright, Eldarion. I’m the one who should have apologized, making everyone worry about silly me when you were passed out and all. I’m afraid I don’t really know the streets of Minas Tirith as well as I’d like to; I ended up down by the river by the time some guards recognized me and took me back to the palace.”

“They recognized you in your common clothes?”

“Well, I was so desperate by the time I met them that I was basically walking up to people going: ‘Hi, I’m Eothair, the steward’s son, and I am really, really lost. Do you have any idea where the palace is?’ I happened to walk up to them and ask the same question, and they hurried me back to the front steps. When I got here, you’d been out cold for hours. I was so worried, I didn’t even mind when mum scolded me for going up and being so blatantly obvious with strangers. She thinks my honesty could have gotten me killed.”

Eldarion laughed.

“Well, it always has been one of your stronger points, hasn’t it?”

“Honesty?”

“No, just accidental trouble.” Eldarion said, and Eothair laughed.

Aragorn, who had stopped embracing his son and was now standing with his arms around Eldarion’s mother by the door, excused himself and the queen from the room.

“But I still stand by my word.” Arwen said as she knelt beside his bed. “You have a lot of apologizing and work to do. And you’re grounded from every tourney this year.” She pointed her finger at Luth. “You too, Luth.”

Eldarion gave them both one final hug, then watched as they slowly closed the door behind them as they left. Eothair, after another hour of talking, noticing the time, rushed off to his fencing lessons. Isilme took Gilrael back upstairs to eat thier lunches in their rooms, and Eldarion found himself alone with Luthiel again.

“I have to go.” She said, standing up from the chair beside his bedside, where she had been telling him all about her current gambling winnings. “I had lunch brought to my room, so I don’t want the maid to get upset and think I’ve gotten lost when I don’t show up to eat it.”

“It’s okay.” Eldarion said, “I think I’m going to call the chamberlain and see if I can’t get some clothes to wear, anyway. Wouldn’t want to go wandering about the palace in my birthday suit, would I?”

Luthiel smiled at her brother. “I’m glad to see you’re back, Eldarion.”

“So am I.” He said, and waved goodbye as she left the room.

Once Luthiel had gone, he sprang up out of his bed, eager to be on his feet once more. With a jolt of surprise, he let out a gasp, his knees seeming to crumble beneath him. He tumbled from his bedside to the floor, and rolled into his wall. Cursing, he attempted to support his weight with his arms, pushing up against a chair with his right side, and finally returned to his bed, almost collapsing with exhaustion on his pillow. Guess I lost a lot more than blood the last three days. He thought, and winced with pain as he twisted his neck and pulled the skin across the wound.

He frowned at his weakness and very slowly stood up again, taking slow, careful steps to the table in the corner of the room. He saw his old velvet tunic there, and pulled it over his head, eventually having to sit down when his legs could no longer support him. Then, slowly but surely, he pulled his leggings on and tied a belt around his waist. Shrugging his long jacket into place, Eldarion frowned. I never thought sleeping would make a person so weak. But it was more than sleeping he had done. Whatever was on that knife had hurt him, and it had hurt him badly. Still frowning, Eldarion slipped silently from his room and into the empty hall.

He slowly made his way down the corridor, the main hallway of the royal children’s chambers. It had long windows on the north side, bright and shining and always open. Though the hall was made of white marble like every other part of the palace, the children’s wing had brightly colored tapestries between the doorways to their rooms, setting it apart as the most cheerful part of the palace. Eldarion had grown up here in this corridor, and his memories of the times he and his siblings had spent romping up and down the hall brought a small smile to his face.

He could remember long games of ‘catch’ with Luth and the servants’ children, and sneaking out of their rooms at night to look for shooting stars in the huge windows near their parents’ rooms. He remembered playing hide-and-herald behind the statues in the throne room, and when his sister dared him to climb the tallest tree in his mother’s private garden. He had been 6, she had been 5, but Luthiel had been feisty enough even then to dare her older brother into such a dangerous endeavor. He had reached the top only to look down and realize how high up he was, and Luth had to run and find father to get him back down, as he strongly refused to move from such a height. Even when he was safe on the ground they had gotten quite a scolding for that, but he could recall grinning at Luthiel before being bustled back to his own room as punishment.

As the children grew older, they spent their summers in the house in Ithilien. Each day began with footraces on the forest paths, then fencing on the shores of the millpond, and when it grew dark, visiting the elves at night to hear long sonnets and songs, and to gaze at the starry sky that seemed so much clearer there than in the city.

As they grew older, they still always made time for adventure, just as they had as little children. Now that Eldarion and Luthiel were teenagers however, and Isilme almost as well, it seemed that the adventures they used to create in their imaginations were becoming more and more real. He remembered his first sword, given to him when he was 9, and he could recall a game he and Luthiel played involving bandits. Luthiel had been the Bandit Queen and he the noble Knight of the Citadel, and she and Eldarion would have long sword fights, wood sword against real steel. Luthiel had been quite a fighter even at 8, and he was sure her wooden sword had beaten his own blade many times during the courses of the game. It seemed odd now that fighting bandits had been such a fun and adventurous idea then, when now it had nearly cost him his life. As children, they both had had such dreams of growing up to be noble fighters, great heroes like their father. Now that he stood wi


Chapter 2 - The Crown Princess of Gondor

sorry if I am going a bit fast with posting these chapters. I’ve finished this book and I’m onto the next so I’m posting as many as I can so we can get to the good (epic) stuff! if you haven’t seen enough fighting, teenage angst, or new characters yet, you are about to have a fanfic orgy.

BTW, I don't know the HTML codes yet, so I'm sorry there are no italics or anything. if it's confusing, PLEASE don't mention it in your review because I already know...I'll take care of it ASAP.




CHAPTER TWO: The Crown Princess of Gondor


The dark haired girl sat at the bottom of the narrow steps, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other absent-mindedly twirling her hair around a finger. The rain fell softly around her, soaking her clothes and hair, but the girl seemed not to mind, or even notice.

Luthiel Storm-Child, the Crown Princess of Gondor, threw back her head and stuck out her tongue, letting the raindrops splash into her mouth.

Whoever saw her and thought she must care very little about her appearance would have been right. Luthiel did not mind at all that she sat at the bottom of the stairs that led from the Courtyard of the White Tree to the lower encircling terrace. Nor did she seem to care anyone could look over and see her in such a manner, whether they were standing in the courtyard or approaching from the terrace. She knew there wouldn’t be anyone on the terrace to begin with, and anyone who entered the courtyard above would have to strain a bit to see her, something people out in the rain would not bother to take the time to do if they were trying to escape inevitable drench. It was just a small terrace, one that stuck out at an odd point from the long platform of the White Tree’s courtyard, and contained a small garden and balcony overhang that allowed one to look out onto the whole city.

Luthiel smiled as she caught the drops in her mouth. Sticking out her tongue to catch the rain or the snow was not something she had done since she was a very little child, but it felt so good, even at sixteen. She had never had time before to go sit outside, and now that her studies were done and her lessons canceled, she was having the first afternoon off in months. Well, the first legal afternoon off in months. It was an afternoon where she wouldn’t be attending lessons or even opening one scroll, and for once mother and father wouldn’t have a reason to scold her for it. She had every right to go enjoy herself, and despite the weather and her sister’s warnings of getting soaked, she headed out to the stairs anyway. A little rain wasn’t going to kill her, and if she got wet, it didn’t mean she couldn’t get dried off again.

Luthiel licked her lips, wet with the raindrops like the rest of her face. The rain reminded her of a song she used to sing in Ithilien, something she remembered hearing on the river crossing at Osgiliath from a ferry driver, and a song she had later asked her father if he knew. He had, and had taught her the song himself on one of their summers in the Ithilien House. She had liked the lyrics and the rolling rhythm when she had first heard it; it reminded her of stormy waters and the sounds they made. So, she opened her mouth again and began to sing in as loud and untamed a voice as she could manage:

“The water’s black and deep they say
Watchman awaken from your post
The sky has turned to night today
And the rumbling’s heard from the thunder- host!

Call out to the ships in harbor resting
“Tie up, ye lads, a storm’s a-tow
Pray for your sailor-god’s good blessing
The wind won’t hold you long, I know!”

O watchman is the storm a-going
Will you bring your sailors home
How fast will your men be rowing
‘Til they reach one shore alone?

Pray O watchman for your ships
When they make berth in ivory port
Pray that the sea may spare the good
And leave the wicked and thier sort!

Watchman is the storm a-breaking
Will your ships be home tonight?
O watchman help them back to port
O watchman please bring fire, bring light!

See watchman what good you’ve done
The widows will not have thier sorrow
Here lands the sailor and his son
Home safe will come the ships tomorrow!

Sleep watchman in your warm, dry bed
You will have rest tonight, tonight
Lay down your old and weary head
We thank you for your guiding l-iiiiiiiii-ght!”

The sound of clapping as she ended made her jump with surprise, and she turned to see Eothair standing at the top of the stairs, a wide grin on his face as he applauded.

“Very good, Luthiel! Now, if only you could sing as well as you could fight...” He joked, laughing heartily as he approached.

“Then you see there’s a reason why I’m sitting here, so no one has to hear me, eh? Did you hear all of the song?”

“Only the last few lines.”

“Good, you were lucky. The rest sounded just as awful.” She smiled at him as she stood up. “You must be soaked, Eothair. I thought a steward’s son had more sense than to stand out in the pouring rain.”

“It’s knowing that the king’s daughter doesn’t that brings me out here.” He walked down the steps and took a seat beside where she stood. Luthiel, surprised, sat back down. “I didn’t know your parents would allow you out here, even after...well...” His voice trailed off, but Luthiel nodded slowly.

“As long as I stay on the palace grounds, with guards in sight at all times.” She said softly.

“Oh.” Eothair’s sandy blonde hair was looking frizzy today, perhaps from the humidity, but he had pulled his hood up so that the rain did not soak his head. He gathered the furry cloak around him, covering his tunic and pants, and stared out at the balcony.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” She said softly, looking from his face to the city below. “It makes the city feel so huge.”

“Just makes me feel a lot smaller.” He murmured.

“Well, anything will if you say it that way.” Luthiel replied tartly, “I think it makes you feel like you’re flying.” At this, she stood up and raced to the balcony, where she spread out her arms and leaned as low as she could over the rail. “Like this!” She cried happily, and called back to Eothair. “See? I’m an eagle!”

Eothair shook his head with a smile. “You never learn, do you?”

“Of course not!” She yelled happily, so loud any person passing on the terrace below them could hear. “I’m a wet eagle, granted, but I’m an eagle all the same.”

“You look more like some sort of crazy girl to me, splashing mindlessly in the rain and catching her death in the cold.” He replied from the cover of his hood, making his features dark, so that all Luthiel could see was a small smile on his face.

“It’s not cold.” She protested, and left the balcony to sit beside him once more. “And even if it were, you couldn’t catch a cold from the cold. Or the wet. I come out in the rain all the time, and I never get sick, do I?”

“I suppose not.” He laughed. “But it’s still raining all the same. Not really a day for sight-seeing, Luth.”

Luthiel smiled to herself. “Who says I was sight-seeing? Didn’t you see me catching rain on my tongue?”

“No.” He paused. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“I don’t know...thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Everything.” She said, her voice growing softer and lower, her eyes becoming duller. Eothair detected the sadness in her voice, and realized she was talking about Eldarion. Though he had recently woken up after long days of sleep, the past events were ever weighing heavily on both of thier minds.

“I’ve been thinking about him, too.” He murmured, sinking deeper into his hood. Luthiel turned to look at her friend, her eyes wider. “I don’t know if things will be the same for him after all this, or for us either. I mean, someone tried to kill you two. Kill you, Luth. That’s serious. It’s dangerous. And it frightens me to death. I mean, did you ever think something like this could...could actually happen?”

“Nobody does, Eothair. Even people like us, I think...even royalty and everything don’t think about those sorts of things. That’s why people get killed. Because they pretend things like killing and dying don’t happen, and then when they actually affect them, they just keep on pretending... until their pretending conquers them...” Her voice trailed off, and for a moment all was silent. Luthiel stared out at the grey drizzle falling onto the city, and Eothair did the same, his hand around her shoulder.

“I wish I had been there.” He said, his voice growing louder with each word. “ I would have finished off every last one of them. I wouldn’t have let anyone touch you.” He finished, and Luthiel turned to look at him. Eothair blushed, and pulled the hood higher over his face. Luthiel smiled back at him.

“It’s good to know I have someone like you.” She said softly, reaching over and pulling down his hood so she could look at his face. “We all need someone to look out for them.”

“I’ll look out for you, Luthiel.” He said, standing up in place and grabbing her hand, pulling her to her feet. Luthiel followed, a bit surprised, as he began to recite: “On my honor, Luthiel Storm-Child, Crown Princess of Gondor, I vow to protect you by all means, with my very life if I must.” He bent down to his one knee, and bowed his head.

Luthiel stared at the boy, her eyes wide. Eothair was her closest and most loyal of friends, the boy who as a child had always watched out for her when they played in the forest, a place he had always considered “quite dangerous...perilous for little boys and girls like us”. As they grew older, he never beat Luthiel at swordplay, sometimes to the point of letting her win by a mile at the matches. He never left her side when he was with her, and though Luthiel had always been known for being able to look out for herself, especially with her skill with swords, Eothair seemed always on guard when she was “in his care.” Eothair did not live regularly at the palace. His home was at Osgiliath, but he often spent his autumns and winters in the city to join his friends for tournament season. Luthiel had so many memories of her times with this boy, more like a brother now to her than just a friend, that to have him kneel before her was very uncomfortable.

“Are you serious?”

Eothair said nothing, but remained on one knee. Luthiel bit her lip and tried to think of a response. Finally, she stammered:

“I...urm...accept your pledge, Eothair, son of the Steward of Gondor, heir to the River House. And I pledge to you,” She said, falling to her own knee. “That I will not let anything come between us, for as long as I live.” Eothair took to his feet without so much as a blink, and nodded.

“I accept, Luthiel Storm-Child.” And he helped her to her own feet.

There was a long silence in which Luthiel stared curiously up at Eothair’s eyes, sparkling even in the grey rain. Eothair’s hood had been down, and his hair was soaked now, the raindrops freely dripping down his cheeks and falling off of his chin. Eothair stared back at her, his face almost as surprised as her own looked, and perhaps surprised he had actually said all of that. Noticing a stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes, he reached forward and pushed it back. Luthiel took a step backward at his touch, but found herself backed up against the wall and unable to move. He pushed the lock of hair behind her ear, slightly pointed at the top, and then stepped back himself. He too was trapped against the wall, and he nearly tripped over his own feet. Luthiel covered her mouth to hide her smile. He regained his footing however, and laughed to himself as he stood up as straight as he could. They stared at one another for another minute, and then Luthiel could hold it no more. She broke out into laughter.

Eothair looked a bit hurt. “L-luth, are you...okay?”

“I’m sorry!” She cried, bending over with laughter. “It’s just...that was so...so not like us!”

Eothair smiled. “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t.”

“The staring part, I mean.” She added, gasping for breath. “The vows were...interesting...” At this she broke out into laughter again. Eothair stood staring down at her.

“You, uh, didn’t like them, then?”

“Goodness no, I liked them!” She said, and her laughter stopped. She stood back up, and looked him straight in the eyes. “I meant what I said earlier, Eothair.”

“So did I.”

She laughed again. “It’s just...you know...standing here staring at each other. It was funny; not like us at all. And then you tripped...” Her voice trailed off, and she stared eagerly at the ground. Eothair turned to look at her, his eyes growing wide.

“You’re soaked.” He said bluntly, as if he was only just noticing that fact right now, and took off his own cloak. “Here,” He handed it to her. “Put this on.”

“Gods Eothair! If you didn’t want me wet, you should have thought of that before. I’m drenched already, and without any concern as to what a little more wet will do.” She handed him back the cloak, and began up the stairs. “You, however, should keep that on. You’ll catch your death in this weather.”

Eothair shook his head with a smile and pulled the cloak back around him, throwing the hood back over his hair, now dripping wet. “Have you finally decided to go inside?” He said.

“Yes, but only because I don’t want you to drown in the rain or anything.” She smiled mischievously before hopping over the wall on the side of the stairwell. Eothair climbed up behind her, nearly falling over as he attempted to clear the wall like she had. Luthiel suppressed a giggle, and then began to run all the way across the courtyard.

The guards standing at either end of the courtyard hardly blinked an eye as the princess and her companion raced by them, laughing in the rain. Luthiel’s soaking wet hair flew out behind her as she ran, and Eothair’s own hood had fallen back, letting the rain splash in his face. Past the White Tree of Gondor they sped, Eothair nearly running into it as he tripped clumsily over the small trellis around its basin. Luthiel led her companion down the side stairwell and into the enclosure behind the palace gates.

“Where are we going?” Eothair asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“We’ll go through the kitchens. Mum will have a fit if she says us dripping all over the entryway.”

“But-” Eothair began, but he had no time to finish. Luthiel had grabbed hold of his hand and whisked him away behind the pillars of the entryway. Eothair pulled his hood off, now free from the rain, as they stumbled beneath the grey awnings that’s path wound lower and lower until they reached the door to the kitchens.

The kitchen door was hardly visible behind the piles of crates, barrels, and urns of wine stacked in front of it. The door itself stuck out from the building, creating a small alcove beneath the awning beside it, where crates filled with chickens stood, their occupants clucking merrily to themselves. Also found in the alcove were baskets of vegetables and fruits, which eager young servant boys often ran down to pluck ruby red apples from, or filch a few hard-earned carrots after their errands were run. Luthiel wove in between the crates as if on an unseen path, and she knew it only from her many trips down to the kitchens to join the cooks for a warm piece of bread and a cup of hot cider every few nights or so. She had made her way quite easily in the dark before, and deftly climbed up and over the barrels with ease. Eothair however had more trouble navigating through the piles. Although he had always been fairly clumsy before, this was much, much worse; a bit like an extremely bad accident waiting to happen. He tripped upon a small crate by his right foot, stumbling into the nearest stack of barrels. Luthiel turned around and helped him up, smiling coyly at him.

“Sorry,” he blushed, trying to set the barrels up again, “I don’t like close spaces very much.”

She laughed. “Just watch your step, and you’ll be fine.”

“I like the awning, though.” He remarked, following her to the kitchen door, carved with a blossoming tree, the crest of the palace. “No rain.”

Luthiel took a deep sniff of the air around her. She could smell the pies and breads baking in the room behind the door, and the warm scent of tonight’s dinner wafting through the wood and into their nostrils. She smiled, thinking of the warm welcome she’d receive from the red-cheeked cooks. A big hug from Bartholomus, the head cook and a huge, burly man whose arms always seemed better suited for swinging axes than stirring soup. Phoeba, Bartholomus’ wife, would most likely wrap them in warm blankets and ladle up some stew for them both, sitting them down at the huge table in the center of the kitchens. Phoeba would call for Masaleus, their son, and a deaf and mute boy with the biggest heart Luthiel had ever known, who would bring them both his famous bread, fresh from the oven. Even Eothair would be able to forget his worries for a few moments while he took in the wonderful aromas of cooking all around them, and finish thier treats.

The kitchen was a huge room; after all, it was fit for a palace, and there were great ovens inlaid in the marble on each side, with huge doors leading from the kitchen to the spacious dining hall of the king. There was only one large table in the center that was often crowded with people during the day, busily preparing meals for not only the royal family, but also for the council members, guests at the palace, and the occasional festivals and feasts. Bartholomus and his wife were in charge, but they had a great number of servants working on many dishes at a time to help with the meals. The kitchen was always quite clean, but the occasional clutter of food and utensils added a homey touch to the room, one which had surely become Luthiel’s favorite in the palace. It was always busy during the day, but at night it was like a home away from home, a place where the royal children often frequented to have a sit with thier friends and talk about thier days as they sipped cider and munched upon Masaleus’ bread.

Luthiel reached out for the doorknob in front of her, but just as she was about to pull it open, there was a small groaning noise from somewhere to her right. Turning, she knew Eothair had heard it too, because he immediately backed away from the crates beside him and bumped into Luthiel’s side.

“The chickens!” He stuttered. “The chickens are groaning, Luth!”

“No, they’re not.” She hissed, and pressed by him, slowly creeping around the pile of crates. The noise was coming from the alcove, and she carefully crept behind the barrels and urns, peering around the corner. When she did, she saw...well, whatever it was that had made the noise. A dark pile of something groaned again, and Luthiel watched as a hand with dirty fingernails reached out and grasped at a nearby urn of wine. The pile moved a bit, and the hand reached up and threw back its hood, revealing a scruffy looking but familiar face.

“Lord...Halbarad?!” Eothair stuttered, moving forward to stand beside Luthiel, realizing there was little danger here.

Halbarad gave very little notice to the two. In fact, he acted as if he hadn’t heard Eothair call him at all, and proceeded to empty the contents of the urn into his mouth, as well as dribbling half of it down his chin and all over his black cloak. Dressed as a ranger, he looked hardly appropriate for the person he was, a high place of honor among the Dunedain. He was elected as Lord of the North, and protector of the lands of Eriador. Despite his high office, he had never been unwilling to spend some time with his longtime companion's children, sharing many a trick with Luth and her siblings that mother was sure to disapprove of. Today though, it was hard to tell if the same bright-eyed man who had once taught them how to spit farther than any grown up was the same pile of dirty clothing lying before them. He was unshaven, though he normally was anyhow, and his garb had never looked dustier or more unkempt.

“What’s wrong with him?” Eothair gasped, as Halbarad pulled a small flask from beneath his cloak and downed the whole drink. Looking up, he belched rather loudly and smiled contentedly to himself, before his head dropped onto his chest and he began to snore loudly.

“He’s drunk.” Luthiel said, covering her mouth so as to prevent herself from bursting into a fit of laughter. Eothair stood thunderstruck beside her, his mouth gaping open.

“D-drunk? B-but...h-?”

“How? Well, that’s pretty obvious isn’t it?” Luthiel said, and began laughing as Halbarad’s hand lazily groped for an urn again. “By the gods, he is out of it, isn’t he?”

“Well, is there...uh...anything we can do about it?”

“We might as well get him inside. He’s almost as soaked as we are, and that’s just from all the wine down his front.”

“But what if someone sees?” No question who that someone was. Mum would be murderous if she knew her children and their friends were associating with drunks, these drunks happening to be family friends or not.

“They won’t. We’ll just be careful and mum won’t find out.” Luthiel said, approaching the drunken ranger and bending over to grasp his arm. Eothair approached more warily, and carefully tapped the ranger’s shoulder before Luthiel simply handed him the ranger’s other arm. “Come on,’ She insisted, grunting as she tried to pull the man away from the wall. “There’s no way he’ll wake up at this point, and he’s too heavy for just me to pull him. You’ve got to take the other one and help me drag him out of the crates.”

“And then where?’ Eothair asked as he pulled on the man’s arm and slowly slid him across the stone pavement.

“Well, we can’t get him sober by ourselves. In fact,” she said, setting the arm down and carefully looking the ranger over, “I don’t think anything will get him sober at this point. But we can bring him to his quarters, if that’s possible, and at least put him in his room. I don’t think we should leave him among the chickens, do you?”

Eothair shook his head, shuddering as a chicken in a crate beside his head gave a loud squawk and proceeded to wet her cage with white drippings. “I hate chickens.” He muttered, then lifted up the ranger’s right side and began to drag him along.

It was hard work, especially when trying to navigate an unconscious body past rows of unsteady crates filled with even unrulier chickens, and trying to lift him over the squat barrels of vegetables in their way. Finally, they were able to bring him out of the kitchens area and into the more open space beneath the grey awning.

“Does this mean we’ll be going back into the rain again?” Eothair asked, his voice sounding rather forlorn.

“We might.” She said, dragging Halbarad, now gurgling. “I think that if we go behind the pillars where the guards stand, we can use the council entrance. There shouldn’t be anyone there right now, and there aren’t any soldiers standing around to bow at us.”

“I doubt they’d bow if they watched the princess heaving a drunk in front of them.” Eothair said, his voice wavering for a moment as he shifted his weight to pull the lord over a rather large box marked “eggs.”

“Trust me, they’ve seen us do worse.” Luthiel said with a smirk in Eothair’s direction, and proceeded to walk a little faster up the small hill that would take them to the council entrance.

The palace of Minas Tirith has three main gates: one that is entered from the terrace below it, considered by most to be the main one, and also called the Commons Gate. Another from the courtyard of the White Tree, and the most decorated of the doors. And there is the Council Gate, which is a smaller set of doors built out from the eastern side, accessed by a small platform running along the inner terrace of the palace, and the main doorway into the Council Chambers.

The Council was held once a month, and attended by ambassadors from across the kingdom. Besides Gondorians and Eriadorians, there were ambassadors from Harad, Rhun, and Umbar in attendance. Most members of the council lived within the palace year round, returning to their homes for small periods of times on what were called council holidays. Often when the royal family took such holidays, the entire council would go with them, bringing its members to meet at such places as the Ithilien House in the summers, and the Annuminas Palace during the spring.

The doors of the Council Gate will open up into a long hallway, wide and decorated with more black marble than white, and everything gilded with gold. Only two guards stand watch at the gate, these being at the doors, ahead of the two main pillars on either side of the main gate. Inside, since the meetings are sometimes held in the highest confidentiality, there is room for as many as fifty soldiers to be stationed within the main hall, keeping watch outside of the three main council rooms. The rooms are used as follows: the nearest one when one first enters the hall is called the King’s Council, and it is the chambers in which the King’s immediate council of advisors is held. The next room is on the right side, and its doors are black wood, inlaid with spires of silver. Once called the Steward’s Council, it was now the Eastern Council, and home to more private meetings between individual ambassadors, or the king, queen, and thier subjects. It was also where Luthiel and Eldarion were most frequently brought to receive thier sentences of punishment for their endeavors.

The final room was the largest and grandest, and the Main Council hall. It seemed that more often the council seemed to meet within the throne room, but it was officially supposed to take place in the Main Council. This room was silver inlaid in white marble, with huge windows all along its walls that brought most of the room’s light source in from morning to night. This room could be seen from outside the palace, a large, round roof and windowed quarter of the back palace, that stuck out from beneath Ecthelion’s Point and had views all across the fields and to the river.

It was this gate that Luthiel hoped would be the most discreet place for two teenagers and a drunken Lord of Eriador to enter the palace, and thus make thier way to the guest chambers. There would be only the two soldiers to get past, and Luthiel had snuck past them loads of times to join Eldarion for eavesdropping on the council. Today, if they were quick and quiet about it, they should have no problem getting Lord Halbarad to his room, and hurrying back to their own unseen to dry off.

Making thier slow way up the platform, Luthiel smirked at Eothair, who was warily glancing from the man in his hands to the door looming ahead. They weren’t directly on the platform, but had instead kept beneath the cover of the small pathway beneath a long awning running up beside the Council entrance. It was up this ramp that Luthiel wanted to sneak behind, and to keep away from the guards long enough to get herself and her companions inside.

They carefully edged along the ramp until they were beside the council doors. In front of the two pillars, two guards dressed in silver arms stood, one hand supporting a banner marked with the white tree, and the other resting carelessly on the hilt of thier swords. There were content but bored smirks on their faces, most likely from the knowledge that only they of all the guards were beneath a small roof that jutted out from the door, and would not have to stand in the rain like thier comrades today. There had never been trouble here before, and Luthiel doubted that thier suspicions would raise today to be cautious enough to notice the two teenagers and the man held up between them. Though both their arms were exhausted, Eothair and Luthiel managed to hang on just a bit longer to silently slip behind the pillars, holding thier breaths, and ducking without noise behind a statue of Anorien in time for their presence to go unnoticed.

“Good.” Eothair whispered, dropping the drunk with a thud. “My arms are-” But Luthiel covered his mouth with a hand and pulled him further behind the statue. She put a finger to her lips and flashed her eyes at him, which was enough to make anyone freeze mid-sentence.

“Enough.” She hissed, and pointed to the guards a few yards away from them. One of them must have heard the thud, because he was turned and looking curiously into the shadows behind the statue, fingering his sword. Tapping on the shoulder of his companion, the two began taking quiet steps, drawing thier swords as they approached the statue. Luthiel thanked the goddess that Elendil’s marble likeness was quite tall and his boots bulky enough to conceal herself and Eothair behind them. Halbarad tossed and turned a bit on the ground, groggling unpleasantly, but Luthiel gave him a small kick in the stomach, silencing the lord with a groan from beneath his hood.

“Luth!” Eothair whispered, turning towards her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You just kicked the Lord of the North!”

She rolled her eyes. “He’ll thank me later.” She whispered, then turned back towards where the guards stood, staring blankly at the statue. Damn. She thought, Why aren’t they going? We’ll never get through if they just stay here gaping at us. The nearest guard took another step forward, and reached out for the statue, supporting himself with a hand as he began to peer around the corner, sure to see the two and the drunken Lord. Luthiel suppressed a gasp and pulled the sleeping Halbarad closer to them. Eothair grabbed hold of her shoulder, sinking back into the wall with fright. Goddess help us!

CHEEEEEEEPPPPPPP! Just as the plea to the Valar had run through her head, a small bird flew out from behind Anorien’s left hand, cupped gently in front of him, and threw itself at the guards.

Surprised, both of them cried out and whacked at the small grey flying blur with their hands, stepping back towards thier posts as it chirruped shrilly and flapped wildly about their heads. Luthiel smirked at the brave little thing, a distraction right on time, and grabbing Eothair’s arm, motioned to him to pick up Halbarad and quickly drag him along the other side.

By now, both guards were in a frenzy over their little intruder, and whacking aimlessly at the air around them, finally consented to opening the doors and trying to lock it inside. They pulled on the ropes on either side of the doors, and swung them open, the bird still not flying away but instead now pecking and scratching at their faces. Luthiel began to drag Halbarad silently behind the door just as the bird drove the men back to the pillars, screeching and scratching. Eothair stood staring in disbelief for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open as the bird courageously dove in between the flailing arms of the soldiers. Luthiel however, unable to drag the body of the Lord Halbarad by herself, quickly pulled on his shoulder, hissing to come along, and Eothair looked back down at her, trying to discreetly slip behind the other side of the door, and ran over to help. Just as they had successfully entered the hall and were beginning to close the doors behind them, the little bird stopped chirping and making chaos, and hovered for a moment in midair to look directly at Luthiel and Eothair.

“Many thanks, courageous friend.” Luthiel murmured to the bird, who gave a chirrup in response. The guards however had gained thier courage and quickly swung the sword through midair, thonking the bird with the flat side and knocking it to the ground, where it lay silent. Luthiel gave a gasp and would have probably returned for the little creature had Eothair not pulled her out of the way before closing the doors behind them.

Once the doors had closed shut behind her, Luthiel slid to the floor, and hung her head. “Poor thing,’ She said softly, “That little bird gave its life for us to get through safely.”

“Well then, let’s not have all that be in vain.” Eothair said, helping her to her feet. “I’m dripping all over the tiles, and I’ll be damned if the Lord Halbarad’s groans don’t bring all the council out to see what the fuss is.”

“You’re right.” Luthiel said, sighing with one last look at the closed door in front of her face. “Let’s get him back to his room and get dried up.” She said, and began tugging on the Lord’s arm. The sound of footsteps behind her made her stop in her tracks however, and the shrill gasp of an all too familiar voice made her turn in place, her eyes cast downward so as not to look at the face she hoped would not be there.

“Luthiel Elderel Telcontar!” Her mother cried in her usual no-nonsense tone. Luthiel could already tell she was going to be in trouble, especially considering mother had used her full name. “What by the Goddess is going on?” The queen asked in Quenya, her voice becoming icy as ever.

“Erm...” Luthiel stuttered, her eyes keeping low to the tiles at her feet.

“Who is this?” Her mother asked, striding forward to the pile of dark clothes beneath Luthiel and Eothair’s feet, half the council peering curiously behind her. Luthiel rolled her eyes. Wonderful. Public humiliation from my mother in front of the council. Just wonderful.

Eothair remained silent and had turned a bright red. He was absent-mindedly twisting the pull string of cloak around his finger, staring blankly at the Lord Halbarad. Arwen knelt down before the lord and slowly turned him onto his back, pulling back his hood.

“Halbarad?” Arwen leaned back, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of his clothes. “He smells like he’s been sleeping in a bird cage.”

“Close enough.” Eothair murmured, then quickly shut his mouth as Arwen’s cold eyes darted up to meet his own.

“Lord Halbarad?” Arwen said softly, gently shaking the Lord’s shoulder. Halbarad opened his eyes for a moment, staring vacantly at the queen, then giving a loud belch and turning back over, snored once more. Arwen pulled back in disgust, covering her nose with her hand.

“By the goddess...” Her eyes flashed steel grey for a moment, and she let out an angry hiss.

“Yes...” Luthiel said, in as soft a voice that she could manage. “He’s drunk.”

“Well, I can see that!” Arwen cried, standing up and backing away from the ranger. “And look at you two! Your hair is soaking, and your clothes-” She reached out and grabbed hold of Luthiel sleeve. Giving a squeeze of the fabric, a huge amount of water splashed from her hand to the floor. “In the gods’ names, what were you doing? Just standing outside in this weather?”

“Um...well...”

“Arwen?” Luthiel rolled her eyes as another familiar voice sounded from behind where the council members stood, nervously tittering and muttering to themselves. The king pressed through the crowd, making his way to the front. Arwen turned to him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing angrily. Luthiel suddenly no longer felt sorry for herself, but for her father, who would probably be receiving more grief from her mother than she would. “What’s this?” He asked, peering over his wife’s shoulder and from Eothair’s downcast eyes to Luthiel’s, half closed in fear, and to the body lying between them.

“Your Protector of the Northern Kingdom is intoxicated, Estel.”

“What?’ Aragorn’s strode past his wife to look down at the Lord lying before him. ‘Halbarad?” He knelt down, tapping the man on the shoulder. Halbarad groaned, and muttered some cuss words. Aragorn laughed loudly, standing up as he chuckled. ‘Ha! The old fool’s got himself drunk again! That rascal’s gone and-” But he quickly stopped when he saw the look in his wife’s eyes, a cold, burning anger that was enough to make even a cave troll silent and shamed. “ I mean, um...’ He added, his eyes dropping to the ground like Luthiel’s had earlier, “That was...um...not good. How...urm...disrespectful.”

Arwen glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, very disrespectful. But I plan to discuss such details with him once he is sober again, if that is even remotely possible at this point in time.”

As if in response to her remark, Lord Halbarad opened his eyes momentarily and requested for a tavern wench and another round of ale. He belched once more, his head teetering lightly, then closed his eyes and let it drop back with a thud onto the marble floor. “Ugh,’ Arwen said, her lip curling in distaste. “There is nothing worse than a drunk ranger.” She glanced back up at her husband, covering his mouth so as to hide a grin. “And don’t you dare smirk. Trust me, my experience with you is what’s taught me that lesson.”

Aragorn clenched his teeth together, turning red at his wife’s accusing eyes. He nodded briefly, then turned to call for servants. “Bring a stretcher, and some very strong tea.” He said with a gesture to the nearest guard, and sent the fellow running back in the opposite direction, into the inner palace.

“Tea?’ Eothair murmured to Luthiel, momentarily forgetting the elven hearing possessed by the queen and her husband.

“The tea will get him sober. The stronger, the better.’ Arwen explained, turning to her daughter’s close companion. Eothair nodded meekly, but Luthiel looked up at her mother, daring to stare straight into her grey eyes and clear her throat importantly.

“Yes?’ Arwen said, straightening up to look at her daughter.

“May we...er...go back to our rooms, mum?”

“If you hurry.” Arwen said, words which sent both Eothair and Luthiel at an eager run down the hall. “But wait!” Arwen called after them, her tone so commanding that half the council froze in place along with Luthiel and Eothair. “When you get to your rooms, dry off and change into a nicer frock for dinner. We’re having guests from Dol Amroth, Luthiel, so try to pick out something appropriate. Leave the wet ones next to the fire so they’ll be dry when the maid comes to gather them tonight. That goes for you as well Eothair,” She added, looking at the boy now, who nodded enthusiastically. “Make sure your clothes are by the fire drying, or your mother will probably have a fit when she sees them soaked. Now, hurry along you two; you’re dripping on the tiles.”

“Yes mum.” Luthiel said, and quickly turned and sped off in the opposite direction. Eothair managed a slight bow and thanked her highness with a gracious wave of his hand before Luthiel pulled him off and to their rooms.

Once she had reached her own quarters, Luthiel waved goodbye to Eothair, who had another few halls to go before he had entered the steward’s bedrooms, and quickly entered her room. A fire was in the fireplace, and her bed was still unmade, her nightgown strewn across the pillow. Mother and father always insisted that Luthiel and her siblings take care of their own quarters as much as possible, so simple tasks like making the bed or tidying the room were chores Luthiel was expected to complete. Normally, these were things Luthiel never seemed to get around to, but since mother and father only inspected thier rooms once a week, Luthiel most often held off all cleaning until the night before a visit from her parents.

Luthiel crossed the room and unbuckled her sword on its belt, laying it across the table in the corner. Sitting in the window seat, she reached around her and pulled up all the drapes, letting what little sun there was today into the room. The soft patter of rain was almost comforting as she quickly undressed, hanging the wet clothes from two chairs beside the fireplace. Instead of changing into her dinner dress, she shrugged on her nightgown and padded barefoot to the table, where she sat down and pulled her sword from its plain leather scabbard. Wiping it with the sleeve of her nightgown, she removed the small water droplets that had fallen on the top during the rain. Lightly tracing the line from the tang to the ricasso, she wiped off the small marks along its edges, gently rubbing at specks of dirt here or there.

This sword was Luthiel’s life. Her blood, sweat, and whole being had gone into its work, and it had brought her many a victory at both tourneys and duels. A gift from her father for her eighth birthday, her training with wooden sword had finished and her time with a real blade had begun the day he placed the scabbard into her hands with a kiss on her head. The little girl had drawn the sword wide-eyed and speechless, her skinny arms barely able to keep the sword, almost taller than herself, from scraping the ground. Though she had had to wait a year until father had thought she’d grown into it (well, slightly) Luthiel had spent everyday that spring and summer trying to get used to the feel of the blade in her hands. Mother had insisted that Luthiel would not be touching a sharpened blade, so it remained blunt until her tenth birthday, when mother finally consented to allowing father to enter her in a duel. The first day she had held the sword sharpened was also the first day she had spent in a ring, and the first day she had beaten someone besides her brother or Eothair. It had been Mattelend Delegoren, the son of a Gondorian lord, and a boy four years older than herself. Mattelend had put up a fairly good fight....for the first few seconds. Luthiel had seen him duel before; he was all about power, but knew nothing about technique. She drove the power against him, using agility to play him until she had won after but a minute. Father had been very pleased, and the most enthusiastic clapper in her audience. Though mother had held her breath the entire duel, she had been the first to reach her victorious daughter in the crowd and sweep her up into a hug. Luthiel had thought she had never seen her parents look prouder than that first match. From that day, every tourney was a victory, every duel an impressive win, and on it had went for four whole years.

And then she had turned 16. What was wrong with 16, anyway? She still won every tourney, and she was still just as good a fighter as before, probably even better. Now that she was 16 though, there was something different. Everyone could feel it and everyone was being affected by it, whether it was Eldi or father. Maybe it’s not the age, it’s the year. She kept telling herself, but really was it true? This week alone she had been in trouble three times, nearly killed by street thieves, watched as her brother succumbed to agony, and she had been banned from her next two tournaments. Everyday, if father wasn’t too busy off trying to negotiate with some other warring state it was mother being moody as all hell, and if Eldarion wasn’t on his deathbed, then Eothair was lost and wandering alone. She’d sat by her brother’s bed for three days, coming up with all the things she’d do if she could have one more meeting with those thieves, and thinking about all the things she’d do if her life could just come back. Life as it used to be, when everyone was young and careless and always enjoying themselves. Back when dragons lived in the forest, dragons that only Luthiel and Eldarion could see, and when the biggest adventures she and her friends ever went on were in the garden behind her mother’s quarters. The simplicity of those days almost made Luthiel want to cry when compared to all the awful things that seemed to be everywhere in this new and frightening world she had discovered she lived in.

Just the other day she and Eldarion had gone down to the markets with mother to buy some fruits from a street vendor, and saw three starving children working behind the table, food all around them but not a drop in their bloated bellies. To keep attention from themselves, the siblings and their mother were dressed as commoners, but there was nothing Luthiel had wanted to do more than to hand over all the fruits at the stands to them, or to invite them to supper with them that night. Mother had bought four apples for each child before Luthiel could do so though, and dragged her two children back to the palace so they would still have time to help their mother fix the supper. Mother did cook every once in a while, a rare and sometimes rather unenjoyable experience, considering mother’s skills in the culinary field. Still, she insisted on doing it, a task she had never been expected to fulfill in Rivendell and something she had seemed to take on along with the role of motherhood: the preparation of an occasional meal. As they had helped her peel the apples, Luthiel had asked her mother about the market.

“I saw you buy the apples for the children.” Luthiel said quietly as she gathered scraps and peels and threw them into a wastebasket.

“Mm-hmm.” Her mother murmured, not looking up from the juice she was mixing.

“Well, it was...it was odd to see someone like that. I didn’t think those things were allowed in Minas Tirith. Starving, I mean.”

“Starvation? Starvation isn’t something you can just outlaw, Luthiel.” Her mother had said as she poured the juice into another bowl. “It’s something everyone everywhere must see eventually, whether thier people have outlawed it or not.”

“The elves don’t have starvation.”

“They may starve in a different way.” She said, her voice growing softer and a thoughtful look on her face as she stirred the contents of her bowl. “In Minas Tirith, your father has tried very hard to stop the horrors this land was reduced to with the stewards, but some of those things still remain. All you can do is try to make a difference, whether you give one man a meal for the rest of his life or fill the bellies of millions for just a day. That’s what’s important.”

“You mean, the importance to make the choice then?”

“I suppose, if it’s possible to choose. And not just for starvation. For every issue that exists here in our city, and in Middle Earth, from the most complicated to simple matters of life or death, which can sometimes be far from simple. Would you save an old man close to death, or a newborn baby, about to die?”

“The baby, I suppose. Just because it has more life ahead of it, more promise.”

“And what if I told you the baby would grow up to be an evil man, a murderer?”

“If he took lives, more than what would have been taken then through the death of one old man, then I would choose the old man instead.”

“Then you’ve learned justice, as well as a sense of morals.” Arwen smiled at her daughter. “You get that from my side of the family.” She said with a wink at her daughter. Luthiel smirked back.

“Just like the good looks and the super-intelligence, right?”

“Exactly. Hand me the orange fruit, if you please.” And it had ended at that. But Luthiel hadn’t stopped thinking about the children. She had spent that whole night lying awake in her bed, staring at her ceiling and trying to remember the hardest things in life when she had been those children’s age. She could recall being afraid of losing anything, especially fights, and also sometimes of small spaces, a fear she had carried with her to teenage years. What did those little children have to be afraid of? Much, much more than she had ever had to think about at thier age. Where did they sleep at night? Outside, on cold, stone streets where they could be robbed, or kidnapped, or killed as they lay asleep? Or perhaps their greatest fear was death itself, something that seemed so close in their starving, sickly eyes. Those eyes stayed with Luthiel all night, and when morning came she found her own eyes still open, and her mind filled with many questions.

But everyday in a teenage life was filled with questions anyway, questions about who you were, or who you were going to be, or why the hell the gods put you where they did. Why was she a princess when she could be a common girl, with fewer responsibilities and more time to fight or to talk like a real person or just be herself? Why was she faced with wearing a crown when gods knew she’d be better off wearing a knight’s armor, sword in hand, or in common clothes, living off the land? Could it ever be? No, of course not. She couldn’t take any steps backward in this life, not even to do the right thing. What happened had already happened, and the things that had the most effect on now and what was to come were the things that had happened before her lifetime. Her father had fought the enemy, he had defeated him, mother had waited and stayed loyal to both parts of the family: the men and the elves. Father ascended the throne, mother gave him an heir: Eldarion, the child whose destiny was to take up the throne and rule someday, the great weight of all men. Then, she too came into the world a year after her brother, and thus became what she was today: Crown Princess of Gondor, the highest honor any girl could ask for in the society of men. All without any concern for her eventual welfare, or what such an honor could really mean.

Life was a struggle between fulfilling her said “destiny”, and trying to be normal. Sure, she could find many positive assets to being royalty, but along with all those wonderful things were some awful ones too. These awful factors had truly started to show the night she and Eldarion were attacked, and the night Eldarion was poisoned. Something suspicious had happened; there was no doubt in her mind ever since she had seen the black blood on Eldarion’s bandages. Whoever had struck her older brother down had struck him for a purpose, and that purpose they had fulfilled...almost. Whatever thier motive: hatred, political and religious ties, or some other reason, these people had targeted she and her brother because of thier namesake and thier bloodline. If she and Eldarion hadn’t been different, what would have happened? If they had been normal...none of that night and none of the things that she’d have to face eventually as a princess would ever come true.

“But I’m not normal.” Luthiel said aloud, setting down her sword on the table and standing up. She pushed back her chair with a clatter and went to stand before the mirror beside her bed. She gazed intently at the glass, only to find the same frustrated girl staring back at her as always. Her long black hair hung on either side of her face, framing the pale skin with raven-black locks. Her grey eyes stood out, stubbornly glaring back at herself in the mirror. Her father’s seductive frown became visible, and she almost felt like growling back at her face, at her own existence. “If only this were someone else’s face.” She said aloud, and frowned menacingly at the girl whose silent answer stared back at her with her own eyes.

The eyes flickered momentarily at a shadow on the wall behind her, and Luthiel watched through the mirror as a dark figure silently crept from behind the curtain of her bed to sit on the ruffled covers, the head turning in her direction. She suppressed a gasp, reaching instinctively for the sword laying idly nearby on the table. Jumping toward the bed, she grasped the curtain and with a flash, pulled back the covering and swung her sword at...nothing. There was nothing there. Luthiel’s mouth hung open as she stared in wonder at the vacant bed. Had she been....dreaming? Had it only been her imagination?

But how? She raced about the room, drawing back all her curtains, opening her doors, and crying out in anguish to find there was no one there but herself. Turning back to the mirror, she stared intently at her reflection once more, half-hoping to see the shadow, but saw nothing but her own face, staring angrily back at her.

Luthiel sat down on her bed, the sword dropping from her hands and clattering to the ground. “I am not going mad.” She whispered, repeating the words over and over again until she felt satisfied. Luthiel stood up, slipping silently into her dinner gown, every once and a while whirling where she stood to stare at her bed, always empty. Not like it was a minute ago. She would think, then shake her head and try to clear herself of such childish thoughts. You’re acting like a baby. She told herself, trying to smile confidently at her reflection as she straightened her hair and pulled it back with a leather clasp. There was nothing there. It was your imagination. After that thief attack...your mind just hasn’t steadied yet. She thought as she left her room, taking one last cautious peek at her bed before closing her door behind her. Luthiel sighed, shaking her head at her own silliness, then turned only to bump into someone’s chest. She gave a shriek, and jumped in place.

“P-princess L-luthiel?” A thin boy of about her own age, with long, straight, white-blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes stared down at her, his mouth hanging open. “Did I frighten you?” He asked, rubbing his small, upturned nose nervously.

“No...I’m fine.” She said, supporting herself against the wall and letting out a deep sigh. Turning back to the boy, still standing there with the same surprised expression on his face, she frowned. “And who are you?”

“Greatest apologies, my lady. I must introduce myself.” He took her hand in his and bent to kiss it. “I am Gareth, son of Garamond, Lord of Dol Amroth. I am to be your escort for dinner tonight.”

“You are?” She said, stepping forward. “I...uh...never heard about that.”

“Your brother, the Crown Prince, instructed me to do so.”

“Did he?” Luthiel said, raising an eyebrow. Another one of Eldarion’s attempts to bother his sister, no doubt. Eldarion enjoyed asking especially rude or disgusting boys visiting the palace, whether they be dignitary’s sons or ambassador’s nephews, to escort his sister. Generally they gave her horrid times, much to the amusement of Eldarion and the giggling presence of her sisters, but Luthiel found it extremely unpleasant, though she always treated the experiences with good-natured humor. She wondered what nasty attribute this fellow had that had encouraged Eldarion to pick him for the task of annoying his sister as her doting escort that night.

“Yes, my lady. But if you do not think I am able or worthy to be your guest, I will gladly step down and allow someone of higher birth to-”

“No, no. That’s fine.” She looked the boy over. He was, surprisingly, (considering most of Eldarion’s picks for her companions fit along the lines of rude, crude, or generally foul), extremely good looking, though her experience was that most men from Dol Amroth were. Mixed Dunedain and elven blood gave them exquisite features, and made them the most popular with the ladies at the festivals and feasts. Not as if it mattered to her; Luthiel had never taken any interest in men, except for thier fighting skills. To her, the only good thing about good-looking males was that normally they were easier to beat in a tournament, and it was common that the shinier the armor and sweeter the face, the faster they fell before her sword. Still, this Gareth boy seemed strong enough to be able to handle a sword well, and by this age, he should have been in at least a few tournaments. Gareth smiled eagerly, holding out his arm for her to take. She carefully placed her hand over his and sighed sadly as they began the long walk down the hall.

She dreaded formal dinners; between the long, dragging dresses and the boring conversation that the ambassadors and such only seemed capable of, what wasn’t to loathe? If politics came up, it was normally something uninteresting that she could find little to contribute to, and if tournaments were mentioned, it was only to schedule a council around them. Dinners such as this were common, once a week at the least, and something Luthiel and her siblings were required to attend. Eldarion, as Crown Prince and a future ruler of Gondor, normally tried to look professional, attempting to look interested and attentive when the guest began talking about the loss in trade of mussels. By the end of the discussion though, his head too hung over his plate, and he occupied himself pushing bits of vegetables back and forth with his fork. Isilme was always suppressing yawns and trying to act polite, every once and a while reaching over and warning Gilrael not to blow her nose into her napkin, a fruitless labor considering Gilrael always seemed to have some sort of feigned ailment when a guest came. Gilrael often smiled and tried to sympathize with Luthiel, the only one of her siblings who wasn’t even attempting to be interested or paying much attention to the dinner itself. Head down and staring unfocused at her plate, she went through her food in almost silence, only glancing up every once and a while to grin at a sibling during an especially awkward moment between the guest and her parents. This seemed to happen quite often when the discussion began circling around politics, or religions, or even once when the head of trade became too liberal after one too many champagnes, and began talking about all the awful attributes of elves. Once he was down to his physical problems with the race, Arwen simply stood up and left without so much as a word or glance to the head of trade, turning only once to glare over her shoulder at her snickering children before exiting the room entirely. Other times, the food itself was enough to make them laugh. The children had seen everything from stuffed bladders to pig’s heads on plates before them, and they soon learned to finish quickly and never ask for seconds. Luthiel ate her meal as fast as was polite, feeding the leftover scraps and the more exotic looking foods brought by the far-off and eager- to- impress dignitaries to the dogs under the table.

Haleth and Huan were the family’s wolfhounds, two fine dogs that followed the children wherever they went, especially at mealtime. They knew that by lying beneath the table at the children’s end they were sure to receive a scrap or two from giggling Gilrael, or Eldarion, who saved his vegetables for them, and always Luthiel, who scratched behind their ears under the tablecloth and slipped them pieces of her meat. The other family pets included Varne, Isilme’s black cat, a creature Luthiel had considered a general nuisance ever since Isilme had brought it home as a gift from her Uncle Elrohir. Varne, whose name meant guardian, was feisty and fierce as ever, and she normally scratched and spit at whoever came close to Isilme when Varne was in her presence. Eldarion joked that the cat was better than a guard dog; Luthiel joked that if the cat and guard dog were ever to meet, Varne could probably tear the dog’s eyes out anyway. Varne was the type of animal that Luthiel made a point of stepping on as often as possible, and frequently “accidentally” dropped her books upon its tail when it lay curled up on her table she shared with Isilme in the library. Isilme knew that Luthiel hated the cat and tried her best to keep the two separated; Isilme was not one for conflict. Varne however somehow always managed to find a way to annoy Luthiel, whether it was stubbornly placing itself upon her chair and refusing to move, or tripping her in the hall, hissing and clawing at her leg when she fell to the floor and cursed at the angry feline. Luthiel hated that cat, and was glad it never attended the feasts as often as the dogs.

Gilrael had owned at one time a pet rabbit she had named Anor, since it was a golden-brown and had reminded her of the sun, but the rabbit had been lost during a summer in Ithilien when she had left the cage door unclasped and discovered it missing by morning. Gilrael had only been three and didn’t relate well with the experience, but in about a week Gilrael had soon found a frog in the pond behind the manor and adopted it as Anor the Second, though he looked very little like the sun. The rabbit had been seen once more a day after in thier mother’s garden, chewing contentedly on some lettuce, but was never seen again after it hopped into the azalea bushes. Luthiel’s memory of the rabbit was that it was a very picky eater and had red, glowing eyes that made it look like its father had been a demon of sorts.

Eldarion had his own pet as well, since Haleth was essentially his dog. Haleth enjoyed the company of any member of the family, but ever since he was a puppy, he had lain on Eldarion’s bed at night and sat by his feet at every meal. Haleth went hunting with Eldarion and on most of their adventures in the forests, Haleth keeping an eye out for Eldarion at all times.

Huan was thier mother’s dog, except for during meals, where its chances of being fed were equal at the children’s end of the table with at its lady’s feet. Huan never parted from Arwen, and guarded his mistress in the same way that his namesake had guarded Luthien Tinuviel. Huan was a sweet dog, but if any stranger approached Arwen in his presence, his fur bristled and his teeth began to show.

Essentially, every member of the family had some sort of personal pet but Luthiel. She didn’t know why; she couldn’t even think of a time before now when she’d wanted one. But suddenly she had a great longing for a companion such as those, one who would silently follow no matter the destination and ask for no more than her love and the occasional bit of food. Seeing her siblings with their animals only made it worse. How long had she seen the joy in Eldi’s face as he raced down the front steps, Haleth barking at his heels? Or Isilme’s content smile as she rubbed purring Varne’s ears while she read in her favorite chair in the library, or Gilrael’s squeals of delight at the slimy frog slipping between her fingers, or the furry bunny in her arms? Perhaps it was time Luthiel found a source of happiness of her own, something to come everywhere with and share her time with...speaking of which-

Luthiel stared uncomfortably at her escort, who was beaming as he led her down the hallway. Gareth flashed another pearly white smile and held his head as high in the air as he could manage without looking like an ostrich. Luthiel gave him a weak smile back, and turned to the floor, biting her lip and thinking: Well, at least someone’s enjoying this.

“My lady?” Gareth turned to her. “I was wondering if you could…um…”

“Yes?” She looked back at him, frowning. His blue eyes widened at her expression, and realizing she may have upset him, she quickly smiled back. He wiped the frown off and the look of pride returned to his features.

“I wondered if perhaps I could be your escort again tomorrow night, if you wish.”

“There’s another one of these tomorrow, too?”

He nodded fervently. Luthiel hid a grimace.

“Oh…” She attempted to coat her sarcasm with another smile. “It sounds alright with me.”

“Wonderful!” He nearly jumped in the air, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had clicked his heels. “Long have I dreamed of meeting you, my lady. And now to be your escort to a dinner...’tis my dream.”

“Oh, good.” Luthiel said, suppressing a yawn and looking up at the rafters as they walked. She tried not to think about the dinner to come, sure to be just as boring as all the rest.

The rest of the walk was spent with Gareth giddily chattering away about his home and his family and almost every minute of his life that had added up to this moment he was spending with his beloved princess. Luthiel tried to let her mind drift and see if she couldn’t block him out altogether, but he often pulled on her arm during his more rapturous parts of the speech, bringing her back to her surroundings. When they finally reached the front doors to the dining room, Luthiel was ready to fall asleep.

The two guards outside gave thier normal bows and pulled back on both doors, swinging them open with a slight bang. Luthiel winced as the door hit the wall with a deafening crash, calling the attention of everyone already seated to the two people in the doorway. Luthiel stared around her at her mother and father, giving her expectant looks from thier chairs at the end of the long, black-wood table. She gave them a weary smile back; she could see they too were surprised she had an escort. As usual, Eldarion was far from it. He grinned widely at the two from his seat towards the other end, winking at Luthiel as she sat down across from him, a servant rushing forward to pull out her chair before she sat. Luthiel kicked him hard in the shins once she was seated; take that for grinning at her expense. Gareth seemed amazed by all of this; Luthiel rolled her eyes as the lord-ling wiggled his fingers eagerly and tried to suppress reaching out to touch everything laid out before them. He was already examining one of his silver forks when Luthiel reached over and took it from him, gently placing it back beside its gold-plated partner. Gareth looked over and blushed, frowning and avoiding eye contact. “Sorry...” He mumbled, but she attempted to smile back and come up with something about an urge to feel forks happening to guests all the time, but all that came out was “feel my forks.” Gareth grinned and touched her arm; Luthiel sighed and placed her head in her hands.

Isilme was staring wide eyed about her, her mouth hanging open like some sort of dying fish as Luthiel seated herself at a diagonal to her sister. Gareth was attractive, it was true, and Isilme had obviously noticed this. Her eyes had grown to the size of saucers and her lowered jaw practically to her chest by the time Eldarion elbowed her in the side and hissed something at her. Mos


Chapter 3 - The Prince and the Lordling

OMGWTF! Original character squee! Yes, that’s right! I’m adding in depth OCs to the mix. Gareth is not a Gary Stu, lucky for you. He does have a strange attachment to Luthiel and follows Eldarion around like a puppy, but he is NOT a Gary Stu. I refuse to put anyone through that.

Still no HTML, I know. Bear with me, people. I'm a slow learner.

Congratulations to anyone who got this far and is not dead after my long chapters and ongoing blahness. Eight more chapters and it’s all downhill from here! ^_^




CHAPTER THREE: The Prince and the Lordling

Eldarion lay propped up with two pillows on his bed, his hand running absent-mindedly through his hair as he read the volume before him. Seregon...S...S-e...S-e-r...oh, come on! He thought, frustrated as he searched through the volumes before him for seregon. He had title after title piled next to him, but none so far had proven to hold any information on such a plant. “Herbs of the North”. “Herbs of the South”. Nope. “Plants of the Elves”. No. “Elven Medicine”. Definitely not medicine. “Deadly Herbs and How To Find Them”. Maybe. He turned the yellowing, crinkled pages of the book, running his finger along the edge where the names were listed. He laughed to himself. They have a book called “Deadly Herbs and How to Find Them” in the palace library? Just my luck.

And then he saw it, written in a blood red scrawl: SEREGON. In ancient Beleriand, there once was a stony hill called Amon Rudh, the “bald hill”, wherein the last of the Petty-dwarves cut thier caverns. Upon that hill, nothing would grow but hardy seregon, called “blood root” by the elves. In the summer, its blossoms of dark red flowered the stony summit, making it appear to be rock covered with blood. This vision proved prophetic, for the outlaws of Turin were slaughtered upon the summit, and the last of the Petty-dwarves put to death in the caverns below. Seregon was cut and kept by many a dark mage or master, and large quantities of it can still be found on black markets today, if not growing in the fabled wild-lands of the dwarven doors. The seregon was kept and valued by dark mages for dark purposes, pain and torture that always ended with death. If seregon’s roots and petals are crushed, the juice that drains from them becomes a fatal nectar when mixed with one of three other herbs. These are galenas, the nicotania leaf and most common of the three, snagasmoke, the grey thistle of Mordor, or deathweed, the powerful drug of Umbar and hardest to acquire. The juice must be left to ferment in the sun, and when the nectar has turned black, it is ready to be applied to any weapon as a useful dart poison. Infecting the wound left by such a weapon, it slowly eats away at the blood, drying it over a long and painful process, until the only thing flowing through the victim’s veins is the mixture itself. A poison most rare but most valued by assassins, the mixture of seregon and deathweed are the most potent ad painful, and as the victim suffers, the damage is far more devastating to their body.

Eldarion let the book drop from his hands and slide down the blanket around his legs. It shut as it hit the bed, and Eldarion did not bother to reach down for it. He stared at the wall across from him for a very long time, trying hard not to think at all. Someone had done that to him. Someone had put that into him. Someone had tried to kill him with a poison that always killed....yet he wasn’t dead.

There was a knock at the door. Eldarion turned at the sound, blinking and yawning, realizing only then how late it was. He had been up for hours reading, and by now it must be after midnight. The knock persisted, sounding more urgent this time, so Eldarion called out for whoever stood there to come in, quickly putting his books beneath a blanket beside him.

The door slowly opened, and Luthiel poked her head in between the wood and the wall.

“You’re not asleep.” He said, more of a statement than the question he had wanted to come out.

“Neither are you.” She said, walking towards him and settling at the foot of his bed. “I wanted to talk.”

“Good, so did I.” Do I? What am I saying? I can’t tell her about the poison...about the book. He positioned himself between her and the books hidden beneath the blanket. “But since I was kind of preparing it for morning, you go first.”

“Alright.” She let out a long sigh, then began to ramble nervously. “I want to know what you think of this. And I don’t want you to laugh, okay? Promise you won’t laugh. I know how ridiculous it sounds right now and you’re probably going to think I’m going mad when you hear this, but I want to know if I’m going mad, so don’t laugh, just tell me.” Eldarion snorted.

“Luth. It’s past midnight and you came to my room to ask me if you’re mad. I think we’re well beyond the point of madness, don’t you?” He said with a wink. Luthiel rolled her eyes.

“But I’m serious. You won’t laugh?”

Eldarion put his hand over his heart. “I promise on my life’s honor I will not laugh when my sister asks me if she’s mad, even if she has proved in the past she is pretty close to it.”

“Eldi!” Luthiel grimaced. “Really...”

“Okay, okay. I’m just a bit tired, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little loopy, alright?” He pushed his hair back again. “But I promise. Really.”

“Good... I...I need to tell you what happened today.”

“I heard about Lord Halbarad.” He said, “You and Eothair had to drag him to the council or something. Wish I had been there...”

“Not that. It’s about something that happened in my room, before I came to dinner.” She looked her brother straight in the eye, and Eldarion realized she was not joking. “I was getting changed...well, actually I was looking in the mirror, and I saw...saw this person, or something sit down on my bed, and look at me...and they disappeared.”

“Before or after you were looking in the mirror?” He asked, and she was surprised to see he was serious.

“During. I never actually saw anything without looking through the mirror. That’s not really clear, sorry. What I mean is, I saw more of a shadow sit down on my bed and turn and look at me in my reflection.”

“Did it have a face?”

“It was a shadow. Just blank, like an outline of a person, colored in with grey or black.”

“And did you turn away from the mirror, and do anything?”

“Of course I did. I grabbed my sword and jumped it. The curtains were closed, so I pulled the gauze back and swung at it.”

“And...?”

“There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I searched the whole room and there was nothing there.” She sighed again, staring at him intensely. “Do you think I’m going mad?”

“No, I don’t at all.” Eldarion reached out and took her hand. She looked up at him, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Right now I don’t think anything like this could be called madness. Lately, all sorts of impossible things are happening, so we can’t doubt our senses once. Maybe you saw someone, maybe you didn’t. Maybe this someone wasn’t a someone at all.”

“Like a ghost?”

“Well, not really.’ He thought for a moment. “No, like a shadow. It could happen. Souls in Valinor, they have shadow-souls here, remember? Like a spirit-presence. Maybe you saw one of those.”

“Well, what was an elf’s shadow-soul doing in my bedroom then?”

“I don’t know, ask the shadow-soul.”

“If that’s what it was.” She said, rolling her eyes and throwing up her hands angrily. “I’m probably imagining all of it, and you probably think I sound like an idiot, asking you to tell me if I’m going mad when I just saw some sort of gunk in the mirror...”

“Look Luth, I don’t think you’re mad, and I don’t think we should just let this slip by like it’s some sort of random imagining. If that night with the thieves taught me anything, it was that things you don’t expect to happen to yourself can and will happen. And they’ll happen when you don’t expect them or want them to. The impossible is possible. Impossibilities are only things we haven’t found a way to do yet, or deal with yet. I thought it was impossible for anyone to hurt me or my family. You thought it was impossible for shadows to walk around by themselves and sit on your bed. Maybe I’m not the only one who got proved wrong.”

Luthiel smiled at her brother. “You make it all sound so simple.”

“I don’t try to, honest. When you think things are simple, you often overlook them. When I said it earlier, I meant it: we cannot overlook this. Say there wasn’t just a shadow there, say it was a person in your room. Who knows, maybe it was. Don’t you think that by not telling mum and dad a strange man was in your room, only days after your brother was attacked, you’d be doing something...stupid?”

Luthiel scratched her nose anxiously. “So I should tell them?”

“I would.” He said.

“Of course you would,” Luthiel pulled her knees to her chest. “But I just don’t know what to say to them. ‘Oh and by the way mum and dad, I saw a shadow in my room and it may have tried to kill me. Just thought you’d like to know.’ They’d think I was paranoid.”

“Did I think you were paranoid? No. So why would you think they’d mistrust you more than me?”

“I don’t know...just a feeling.”

Eldarion laughed, rolling his eyes. “Females and thier feelings.”

“Well, as long as it’s not mother and her ‘maternal instincts,’ I don’t really think my worrying is going to hurt very much.” Luthiel laughed this time. Eldarion smiled back at her. Mother was notorious for getting all sorts of crazy feelings about things. They canceled outings, councils, and dinners if mother had the least bit of a negative twinge about it. The funny part was that father relied quite heavily on her ‘urges’, and never once questioned her. Something about elven instinct, Eldarion supposed.

When they had stopped laughing and the room had grown quiet, Eldarion’s hand instinctively reached for the book lying hidden beside him. He drew back his arm for a moment, surprised at himself for doing such a thing. How can I show her? Mother and father wouldn’t even tell me...but as he looked up into his sister’s large, penetrating eyes, Eldarion found no other choice. He sighed and reached beneath the blanket, pulling out the tattered book.

“What’s that?” Luthiel asked, edging closer to her brother.

“Something I need to show you.” He said softly, opening the book to the page he had read earlier. “Something strange happened to me a few days ago, and it...well... I didn’t know whether or not to show you this before, and I didn’t mention it earlier, but...I think you need to see it.” He handed her the book, his finger resting almost protectively over the passage on seregon, as if by covering it the truth may go away. Luthiel carefully took it from his hands, running her own fingers over the page. When she was finished reading, she looked back up at her brother.

“What does that mean?” She asked, but something in her eyes told him she had already guessed, and she had guessed right.

“When you all came to see me, when I woke up, I got up when you left and went for a walk. Stupid, I know. I was so weak I could barely make it up the hall...but I did, and I ended up outside mother and father’s door. They were talking to a healer; I could hear what they were saying, and I heard almost all of the conversation through the door. They talked about me, about...about what happened. The healer talked about my blood too, how it was black...” He swallowed carefully, taking a deep breath. “It was from a poison.”

“The one in the book.” Luthiel said, without question. “They put this,” She pointed to the passage on the page, “On a dagger, didn’t they? And cut you with it so you’d infect? So you’d...die?”

He nodded slowly.

“What did mum and ada say?”

“Father thinks it was assassin’s work.”

“And mum?”

“She agreed. I guess I do too...I agree now, but it wasn’t exactly easy to accept it.”

“No, it’s not.” She shivered, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “I’m really sorry Eldi. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t known.”

“I think I was supposed to know. Something brought me to that hallway, right to that doorway, and it sure wasn’t me. I wasn’t paying any attention when I was walking; in fact, I don’t remember entering the hallway at all. But somehow I was at the right place at the right time, and I heard what I heard. There’s no taking it back. Not what I heard…or taking back the night or that poison that took me.

He waited for his sister’s response, but to such words she gave none. Luthiel stared at her brother, her eyes wide with a mixture of pity and admiration. Eldarion stared back, feeling tears begin to well up in his eyes. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. Why does everything that happens to me affect everyone else?

“You know what mum always says…” Luthiel said softly, turning to look up at her brother. “The Valar look out for all the children.” She began, and her own voice seem to mix with every memory Eldarion had of his mother, reciting the lines to her children when they complained of balrogs and demons beneath beds, or shadow-wights in the shadows behind their doors. “Even when you can’t see through the darkness,” Mother used to say, her voice going soft and gentle as she rocked her whimpering child back and forth. “The Valar can see whatever may be there. And before anything can leave the shadow, they bring the light that makes the shadow go away.” And then, as the child grew silent and their grip upon her sleeve relaxed, she’d place them back in their beds and sing them to sleep, running her fingers over their tiny curls and caressing their hands until they would finally let her go back to her own bed.

“Maybe the Valar are looking over us now.” Luthiel murmured, gripping Eldarion’s hand in the same way he would grip his mother’s as a frightened child. “And even if they aren’t, maybe we can just pretend someone’s looking over us, to make it seem better.”

“We don’t need to pretend,” He touched his sister’s hand, “Mum and ada are looking after you, okay? And so am I. And you can look after Isilme, and she to Gilrael, and eventually all this looking after will be taken care of. And then we’ll be safe.” He gave her a hug before she headed off to bed. “Sleep tightly. You’re safe tonight, okay?” He whispered into her hair.

She nodded as she stood up, smiling at him. “You should sleep tightly too, and get as much rest as possible. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, what with Gareth and all.”

“Yeah,” He said, scratching the back of his neck and scowling, “I sure do, huh?”

“Goodnight.” Luthiel, with silent steps, left his room, only to slam the door behind her. Eldarion laughed to himself before scattering the books beneath the blanket to the floor, and pulled the blankets up to his eyes, just like he used to do when he was little and afraid the ice-faeries that mother read about were going to come and nip his nose if he didn’t stay warm.

Like every child, the world of fantasy had governed his own little world, and Eldarion smiled as he remembered all the rules he and Luthiel had had to live by, if the books in mother’s library were true. If any child didn’t go to bed before the moon came up, the moon-men would come down and steal away their family, and when a little boy tarried too late at play, the shadow-wights carried them back to their holes in the graveyards, and made them into bone stew. The spirit who lived in the bath would suck at your toes if you played in the water instead of washing up on time, and worst of all, it was forbidden to go near any fire. The balrog who had left it there always returned if he thought you were going to touch his hidden treasure, which he had made black to keep away from human eyes, but which could be seen glowing red and gold at the bottom of every fire. The balrog was what had always scared Eldarion the most, as they were the creatures who haunted his father’s stories and Eldarion’s dreams. Luthiel had cowered the most at the mention of the flying Nazgul, and always bit her lip when father began talking of them in his stories. Eldarion would laugh at her fright until the story came around to Glorfindel the Gold and his wrestle with the Balrog, and then it was Eldarion who was biting his fingernails and staring anxiously at the ground.

Eldarion stared around his room, half-expecting the resident Balrog of his childhood would come leaping from the feared place behind the dresser, just like he had always imagined it to be lurking when he lay there as a youth. But nothing emerged from the dresser, nor did any ghostly apparitions or icy hands slide out from under the closet doors, so Eldarion closed his eyes, glad to know that in his older age, such demons were not going to haunt him like before. But that story Luthiel had told made him shiver, and the blankets were pulled all the way over his head as he shut his eyes for the last time that night.


The next morning was damp and dark, the clouds a deep grey tinged with orange as the sun rose unseen behind them. Eldarion shuffled out of bed, tripping over the books piled beside his dresser, and landing flat on his face on the cold wood floor. He groaned, kicking them out of his way before standing up again, only to find his chamberlain staring prudely up at him. Master Ludin was an unpleasant, shriveled man who spent more time gawking at Eldarion’s poor fashion sense then helping do his chores like he was paid to do. Eldarion was taller and stronger than the chamberlain, fully capable of knocking him to the ground as well, but Master Ludin had a tongue that spread word quicker than any old woman’s could, and anything Eldarion did was sure to soon be the talk of the servants anyhow. Eldarion would have scowled at the man had it not been for his more regal upbringing, but Master Ludin handed him his clothes and scurried out of the way before Eldarion could so much as glance at him.

“Had a fall, Your Highness?” Ludin intoned casually from where he folded Eldarion’s clothing from yesterday.

“Yeah,” Eldarion said gruffly, pulling the black cotton tunic over his head, leaving the laces at his collar undone.

“Very sorry about that, Your Highness. I will be glad to pick up whatever it is you tripped over.”

“Sure-” Eldarion began, then jumped to the bedside when he realized what it was Ludin would be looking at. “I mean, no. Never mind.” He said quickly, gathering up the books and shoving them beneath his bed. “I just tripped on my feet, that’s all. Nothing to clean up.”

“Really?’ Ludin picked up the blanket on the other side of the bed, glancing beneath the bed. The man sensed suspicion like a dog sensed game. “You seem to have a slew of books here, Your Highness.”

“Yeah, I’m reading them.” Eldarion snapped, lowering the cover back down in front of Ludin. Ludin glared momentarily at the prince’s bed, trying to take another peek before Eldarion slid back to the other side and bending down, piled them into his arms. “I have to return them to the shelves today, anyway. Mum will be wondering what happened to all her books, or something.”

“Don’t forget your pants.’ Ludin said, rolling his eyes and handing the prince his brown cotton pants. “Black and brown.” He said, hiding a snicker at the obviously off setting colors. “Did you pick these out yourself, Your Highness?”

“No, that’s what they hired you for.” Eldarion snapped, tying the pants at his waist and stomping out before Ludin could reply.

Once in the hall, Eldarion made a straightaway for his parents’ library, hoping to return the books to their places before anyone else noticed. Just as he had rounded the corner to enter their quarters, someone crashed into him. He was knocked to the ground and the books went scattering to the floor.

“Your Highness!” A worried looking Gareth cried, grabbing Eldarion’s hand and pulling him to his feet. Eldarion immediately bent back down, hurrying to pick up the books before Gareth could look at their titles and figure out why he had them. “I am so sorry,” Gareth whispered, trying to help clean up the mess but being shoved aside by an angry Eldarion. “I should have been looking more carefully, but its just that the archways right here are very beautiful and I was staring at them and I saw the-” He paused just as Eldarion counted the books in his hands, realizing he was missing only one. He scanned around for it quickly, only to realize Gareth was holding it in his hands. The boy stared at the title on the side, opening the book carefully and looking at the first page.

“Give me that, please.’ Eldarion said in slow breaths, trying to remain calm. Gareth glanced at the prince for a moment, then back down at the pages. “Gareth,” Eldarion said, his eyes fixed on the book in the boy’s hands. “Now.” Gareth closed the book and handed it to the prince. Eldarion snatched it back, closing the book with a snap, and shoving it in the pile in his hands. “Thank you.” He stood up, breathing through his teeth.

“Is that yours?” Gareth asked, his eyes now on the books. “Are you reading about-”

“No, they’re my friend’s.” Eldarion said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “He’s just looking up some information about a recent attack. He wanted to find out about the poisons used, so he looked in the books, and he needed someone to return them to the library for him. I said I would.”

“Oh.” Gareth said, his hands in his pockets now. The boy was very well-dressed, and unlike Eldarion, the colors of his shirt and pants went together. He wore a deep burgundy tunic, embroidered with what looked like pure gold threading. His deep brown pants were velvet and well-fitting, cut on the low sides for riding. If anyone were to look at the two, they probably would have thought Eldarion to be the servant and Gareth the prince.

“I’m sorry,’ Eldarion said softly, “I didn’t mean to snap at you Gareth. I’m just a little tired today...”

“It’s alright, Your Highness, I should have paid more attention.” Gareth apologized, “Would you like for me to carry those for you-”

“No!” Eldarion cried, then shook his head, almost in anger at himself, “I mean, no. It’s okay Gareth, I think I can hold them for now.” He sighed, heaving the pile around to shift their heavy weight. “Let’s go to the library.” He said, and began walking down the hall. Gareth followed eagerly along like a puppy at his heels.

“Ah yes! The first stop on my tour!”

“Your tour?” Eldarion raised his eyebrow, then remembered the deal from last night’s dinner. He smiled to himself, then back at Gareth. “That’s right, I’m showing you around today.”

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Gareth asked, his eyes growing large and his voice sounding hurt.

“No, no.” Eldarion shook his head, lying through his teeth. “I was just trying to think of where we’d go next after the library. Have you ever seen the guest quarters?”

“Well, uh…I’m staying in the guest quarters, sir.”

“Oh, right…maybe we can stop there anyway. On the way over to, um…well….where do you want to go?”

“It does not matter to me, Your Highness. A humble mortal like myself is not capable of making such choices.” My gods, he is worse than I thought. No wonder Luth was so eager to lose him.

“I doubt that, Gareth. I’m serious; what do you want to see?”

Gareth paused, blushing and staring at his feet.

“What is it?” Eldarion laughed, as they entered the king and queen’s personal library and he slid the books back into their places. Gareth silently followed, helping him to find where the books went. “Really, Gareth. You can tell me.” He clapped the boy on his back as they left the room, Eldarion careful to close the door behind him. Gareth turned to Eldarion and took a deep breath.

“Well, I was hoping I could see the gardens.”

“The gardens?” Eldarion smiled. “Well, that’s no big deal. There’s a hundred of those around here. Which one would you like to see?”


It wasn’t long before it seemed like Eldarion and Gareth had passed through every single garden located in the palace, including the miniature ones outside the council doors, the flowerbeds by the fountains, and the boxes of geraniums hanging from his mother’s windows. Eldarion kept giving Gareth weary glances as to hint at his obvious tiring of the subject, but Gareth seemed to grow more enthused with each plant. He hopped gaily from blossom to blossom, sniffing, sampling, and even tasting some of the fruits from the trees. As they sat beneath one of the apple trees in the sunny fruit garden, Gareth munching happily on an apple and Eldarion peeling at his with a pocketknife, Gareth gave a cry of excitement as a servant passed by with a jar full of potting soil.

“Oh! Is he going to plant something?” Gareth asked, dropping the apple and springing to his feet. The servant noticed the two boys and gave them a bow, then hid surprise when Gareth nearly knocked him to the ground and asked to help with whatever it was he was doing. The servant, a portly, red cheeked man with light orange wisps of hair poking out from beneath his straw hat, smiled gently and showed Gareth where he was potting a group of seedling trees. Gareth nearly squealed with delight and helped himself to a spade and a pair of green leather gloves.

Eldarion smiled from where he sat in the sun and stood up, finishing his apple with one bite. He too picked up a pair of gloves and squatted beside Gareth, who was carefully removing a tiny seedling from its spot in the ground.

“May I help?” He asked, and both Gareth and the servant nodded at the same time. Gareth motioned to the tree he was slowly pulling from its hole.

“We’re going to repot these little trees so they can grow on an upper terrace!” He exclaimed with delight, as if repotting trees was the most exciting thing going. Eldarion nodded and attempted to use his spade to remove the seedling from the soil. His spade dug around the tree, then nearly cut it in half before Gareth intervened.

“You have to be more careful, Your Highness.” Gareth said, and took the spade from Eldarion’s hands. “Its just like holding a baby, you see; they’re so young and fragile, its easy to hurt them. You have to dig around them, but not touch them with your metal.” He took over the job Eldarion had begun and removed the plant from the ground, setting it in one of the pots the servant handed him. “You can put it in the pot, if you like.” Gareth said, and the servant showed Eldarion how to do it. Eldarion glanced over at Gareth, who was busy potting another seedling. He was surprised at the command the boy had automatically asserted when they began the task. He had seemed so timid before, like a young child in new and frightening surroundings, but here in the garden, working in the soil... it was almost like he belonged here.

“That’s a good job. You balanced out the soil just right.” The servant said to Eldarion as he scooped fresh soil all around the little plant. “My name is Teren, Your Highness. I’m happy to be working with you.”

“Thanks Teren.” Eldarion grinned at the man. “I’m not very good when it comes to plants or gardening, but my friend with the green thumb over there is Gareth, son of Garamond. He’s from Dol Amroth, visiting with his father.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gareth.” Teren said, nodding at Gareth. Gareth nodded back, but remained absorbed in his work. “You must have had a garden back in Dol Amroth, eh?”

Gareth nodded from over his plants. “Yes, but none of our gardens are nearly as beautiful as the ones you have here. I’ve never seen some of the plants you have in the elven gardens, and the one of your mother’s, Eldarion...the, uh, whatever its name was...”

“The Twilight Terrace?’ Eldarion said.

“Yes, that one. It was marvelous. I did not think such beautiful plants existed. When I return to Dol Amroth, I mean to acquire some of those for my own gardens. Granted, I’ve only ever grown vegetables and trees, but flowers would be nice. My mother used to have a flower garden, but it died when she died. I was too young to care for it and father did not want anything to do with it...” He frowned sadly, his eyes suddenly far away. “When I get back, I’ll replant everything. I think she’d like that.”

Eldarion didn’t say anything, but Teren smiled at the blonde boy. “Of course she would. Ah! I see we’re all done with the trees. Would you two like to help me water some of these smaller gardens?”

“Would we ever!” Gareth smiled widely. Eldarion nodded slowly, grabbing another apple and chewing it thoughtfully as he followed the boy and the servant to the lower gardens.

As he shuffled out of the garden behind them, something reached out from behind a statue and grabbed his arm, pulling him back from the two ahead of him. He would have cried out had a hand not covered his mouth and slammed him against a wall. Eldarion bit down hard on the fingers that were over his lips, his eyes scanning the hall for Teren or Gareth, but they had gone on farther ahead, obviously not knowing he was gone. He bit down harder, and whatever held him cried out and let go, a familiar voice cursing and releasing their grip on his arm.

“What’d you do that for?” Luthiel said, scowling over at him and cradling her wounded fingers in her other hand. “I only wanted to get your attention.”

“Well, you got it.” Eldarion said, rubbing his neck. “What was that about anyway? Teren and Gareth will wonder where I’ve gone to and everyone will get worried and-”

“Oh, shut up. We need your help, Eldi.”

“We? Who else did you drag into your plot?”

“Me.” Isilme slid out from behind a statue of Grebhold the Great on the other side of the hall. “And the plot was mine; I asked Luthiel if she’d help me find you.”

“Good choice- she did.” Eldarion scowled.

“I can see that.” Isilme said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s not just me and Luth. Gilrael’s helping too, and we knew we were going to need you, too-”

“Wait. You got a four year old to do this?”

“She’s the one with the distraction, and-”

“Distraction? What the hells are you planning to do, Isilme?”

Isilme’s eyes burned for a moment, and she said in a raised voice: “I’d tell you if you’d just stop bloody interrupting!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Eldarion lowered his eyes, a bit ashamed he had just been scolded by his little sister.

“We don’t trust our guests, and we wanted to find out more about them.” Isilme said, folding her arms across her chest and looking expectantly at Eldarion.

“Who? The people from Dol Amroth?”

Isilme nodded.

“You mean Gareth? You’re kidding! He’s a bloody gardener, for the gods’ sakes! What’s untrustworthy about that?”

“Its not really Gareth we don’t trust, its just those two lords who were at dinner. They were talking by themselves earlier, and we heard what they said-”

“You were eavesdropping on the guests.” Eldarion stared at his sisters, shaking his head disapprovingly. “They’re our guests, and they’re diplomats of Dol Amroth, and the princesses were eavesdropping on-”

“Oh, enough.” Luthiel rolled her eyes. “As if we’ve never done worse. And besides, for once our sneaking came in handy. Tell him, Isilme.”

Isilme’s eyes lit up again; Eldarion could tell she was obviously enjoying being a part of her brother and sister’s mischief for once. She gave him a smile almost identical to his mother’s when she was especially proud of something. “We heard them talking about the rebels in Dol Amroth; you know, the ones who were in the black trade. The way they were talking, they were in with the pirates!”

“As in...” He raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised someone who was as timid around trouble as Isilme was could have stirred this bit of information up.

“Exactly! They said something about paying the pirates or whatnot, and a plan.”

“A plan?”

“A plan!” Isilme grinned, obviously pleased with her work. “We heard that...” She grinned even more. “They’re planning something...illegal!”

“I’ve never seen you this excited about something that broke a law, Isilme.” Eldarion said, leaning up against the pillar behind him, his hands folded across his chest. “Are you sure Luthiel didn’t drag you into this or something?”

“No, I was the one who heard them. I grabbed Luthiel and dragged her over; she heard alot too. They weren’t being specific and plus there was a water fountain nearby, so it was hard to hear, but...we know this for sure: they’re planning something. Something strange, and definitely worth checking out.”

Eldarion raised an eyebrow. “And I come into this where?”

“We’re going to go back and find out more. And we need you to talk with people...like, um...” She hesitated, her eyes trailing down to her feet, and Eldarion understood who she was talking about.

“You want me to talk to Gareth?” Eldarion shook his head. “No, absolutely not. I’ve just earned the guy’s trust and made him my friend, and now you want me to quiz him on his illegal activities like he’s some sort of criminal? No way.”

“Its not him that we think did it! Its his companions, and he’s the closest one to them.” Isilme’s eyes grew large and her familiar begging expression turned on. “Please Eldarion. Somebody could be in danger, and you’re the only one who could really talk to Gareth and find out more.” Eldarion stared at his sister, recognizing her to be genuine. If Luth had been the one talking, it would have been a different story, but Isilme was always true to her word...

Eldarion frowned. “Look, I’ll-...I’ll do it.” He sighed as his sisters exploded into smiles. “But I’m not going to ask much, you understand? Just what I have to.”

“That’s perfect! All you need to do is talk to him about the two lords; what he knows about them, where they’re from, who they serve, etc. That’s generic enough, and he shouldn’t suspect anything.”

“And what are you two going to do?”

“We’re going to talk to the ladies the lords were with. Just ask them really stupid sounding questions and whatever. Enough to figure out some basic facts about their escorts.” Isilme twirled a length of hair on her finger. “We understand that technically that might not work. We don’t really know how well the ladies actually know the lords, but we’re going to ask them things anyway.”

“Yeah,” Luthiel nodded at her sister. “For all we know, they could just be for sex.”

Isilme rolled her eyes; Luthiel suppressed a grin. “Did you have to say that word?” Isilme asked, staring at her sister angrily.

“What, you mean...sex?” Luth asked, smiling mischievously. Isilme shuddered, but Luthiel grinned and continued. “Hmmm, like sex? Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex!” She repeated into Isilme’s ear. Isilme shoved her older sibling away and pushed past Eldarion.

“Okay, okay.” She covered her ears. “I’m going to go see if Gilly’s ready, and then we’ll start asking, okay?” Eldarion nodded, but Luthiel snickered into her hands. Isilme growled at her before slipping off in the other direction.

“Sex!” Luthiel smirked at her brother. “Sex, sex, sex, se-” Eldarion covered her mouth before she could continue.

“Enough.” He breathed, rolling his eyes as she struggled against his hand. “Now, what is Gilrael supposed to do?”

Luthiel shrugged and bit down hard on her brother’s fingers. Eldarion swore loudly and let go, grabbing at his left hand. Before he could swat her though, she had run off in the other direction.

“Girls...” He said under his breath and shook his head as he headed down the hall Teren and Gareth had taken.


Chapter 4 - Laughter and Lamentation

Hopefully no one hates Isilme yet (I don’t why, but everyone who has read this before seems to) because this next chapter is pretty much about her. I know she may come across as a slight Mary Sue, but she is a “work-in-progress” character. She needs to show some significant change in the series or else this will all be for nothing. Thus she starts out kind of rule-following-perfect-student-goody-good, but she gets really likeable once she learns how to use a weapon, trust me.

-spoiler, goddamn it!-



CHAPTER FOUR: Laughter and Lamentation

Isilme sat in the bushes, watching her four-year old sister carefully make her barefoot way along the garden path to where her father and mother sat. The twelve-year old girl sighed, sitting back and into the soil. She didn’t really care if her dress was going to look a mess when she crawled out of this bush later, or that her hair was full of twigs and leaves from the plant all around her. All that mattered now was that she had a plan, a good plan, and one that sounded even better than Luthiel or Eldarion’s were.

It was foolproof, this she knew, because Gilrael did whatever you told her, no matter what, and Luthiel enjoyed mischief too much to pass up a chance to go stir up trouble, and Eldarion, well...he was loyal, she supposed, and she didn’t think he’d betray her now. Or at least, he probably wouldn’t betray Gareth...

Isilme bit her lip, seeing the loophole in the once-invincible plan. Eldarion would be loyal to only one side, but which would it be? If he stuck with her, he might accidentally lose his friend’s trust and insult his pride, which she knew was pretty fragile by the looks of it. But if he remained loyal to Gareth, she’d never figure out what she needed to know, and the plan would certainly fall apart. So both ways, it was a loss for her brother. Isilme knew her role in the matter and planned to take responsibility for his grief, but somehow, a part of her wasn’t too upset. In normal situations, she’d be in tears, knowing she’d hurt her brother’s feelings, but today seemed so different. There was a recklessness to her she’d never felt before, a deep longing fulfilled, a longing to...well...to break rules.

Isilme the Loyal, the Pious, the Chaste, the Charitable, the Never-Do-Anything-Exciting-Whatsoever. All of those were titles given to her, whether by her subjects or by her playfully nagging sister...and also by herself. How many times a day did she curse herself for not taking the more daring way out, for instead following the straight and short path instead of going with Luth or Eldi and the long and uncharted way home? When they went off on adventures, Isilme stayed home. When they did something wild, Isilme avoided the trouble. When mother or father caught them being reckless, Isilme never caught any punishment. Why? Because she never did anything to receive it.

But now she was stopping that. Now she was going to change. And this plan was the key to that.

Every wild idea that she’d ever had that had simply stayed in her head, never being known to the outside world, was being released today in a flurry of thoughts and actions, and best of all, this plan. Luthiel had been surprised when Isilme had run to her with news of the plotting Dol Amroth lords, but even more surprised when she had burst out with a complex and well-thought-out plan for finding out more. Who knew? Maybe in later days, she’d become more involved with Luth and Eldi’s mischief, offering to plan some of their dirty deeds and even helping to accomplice some of their daring missions. And maybe they’d ask for her help instead of her offering it.

She smiled to herself, thinking of days to come.

Then her mind came back to the present and she realized the task at hand, and poked her head between the bush’s branches, peering over at where Gilrael was now approaching her parents’ bench. Arwen and Aragorn were talking here in private as they usually did, beside the miniature fishpond in her mother’s private garden. Here there was never interruption, and thier words could go unheard. Or so they thought. The bush Isilme was currently sitting in was one Luthiel had told her about, and the spot Luth and Eldi often came to listen in on their parents conversations. There was a well-used place that seemed almost cut out behind the tall and wide shrub, a place that a teenage sized individual could easily slip in and out of and comfortably sit with their legs crossed beneath them. It was especially useful, as it had a nice vantage-point where the leaves were a bit thinner in the shrub, forming a leafy hole that one could look out through and have a perfect view of the bench.

Isilme looked over at the sundial on her right. It was just about time for mother to get up and attend the weekly council, and father would go off to get lunch for he and his wife to eat back in the garden. Isilme watched as Gilrael climbed up between her parents, and then Arwen headed off to council. Isilme leaned forward into the bushes as she passed, grateful her dress was a dark green today and would blend in well with the plants around her.

Aragorn remained at a the bench, talking quietly with Gilrael, who was making up some mumbo-jumbo about her tummy aching. Isilme rolled her eyes, hoping the girl would get on with it and keep him occupied. The whole purpose of Gilrael was to distract father long enough to not go meet back up with mother, and to keep him from meeting up with the lords of Dol Amroth, who she knew were trying to arrange a meeting with him. If she could keep him here just long enough, the meeting would never be scheduled.

“Ada,” Gilrael said softly, her legs kicking back and forth over the side of the bench. “I have a question.” Isilme held her breath, hoping Gilrael could remember what to ask.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Her father asked, picking Gilrael up and setting her in his lap.

“Where do babies come from?” Gilrael asked, her sweet voice not wavering for a second. Even from the bushes, Isilme could see the expression of shock on her father’s face. He said nothing for a second, and simply stared at his daughter’s innocent smile.

“Well, I...uh...” He stumbled with his words, rubbing his chin nervously. Isilme suppressed chuckles from her hiding place in the bush. Gilrael’s legs continued swinging happily, and she stared up at her father with expectant eyes.

“Where, ada?” Gilrael asked again.

“Um, babies come from...uh...” This was a sight that would make even her grandfather smile. The great king of Gondor, the fabled warrior, courageous leader, and virtuous king Elessar was at a loss for words when asked a simple question. He stared at his daughter, his mouth opening and closing like some sort of beached fish, but no words coming out. Oh yes, we’ll be here for a while...no meeting today.

“Don’t you know, father?”

“Do you?” Aragorn asked desperately.

Gilrael shook her head, still smiling innocently at her father.

“Babies come from...their mothers.” Aragorn finally said, attempting a small smile at his daughter. Gilrael sat up higher in his lap, looking him straight in the eye.

“But how do they get there?” She whispered, her nose pressing against his and her eyes burning a bit like her mother’s did when she was not getting her way.

“Well, uh...the daddy and the mommy love each other very much, right? And they uh....they, uh...” Isilme was wheezing with laughter, grabbing her sides, and trying to contain herself as she rolled on the ground. Father had never looked as confused or uncomfortable as he did now. “The mommy and daddy decide they want a baby.”

“Yes...” Gilrael nodded as if she completely understood, her eyes wide and eager for more.

“And so then...then...” Aragorn’s eyes were racing as fast as his mind was. Isilme thought she could even see him sweating. “Then the mommy says to the daddy....well, never mind that. Then the mommy gets a baby.”

“How does she get it in her?”

“It comes from there.”

“So it’s been there all along?”

“No, it grows after they decide they want one.”

“So they think and it comes.”

“Uh...well...close enough...”

“Well, why does the mommy get bigger?”

“Because the baby gets bigger.”

“So how big is the baby when it gets in the mommy?”

“Little. Really little.” He pinched his finger and thumb together. “Even littler than this.”

“That’s little.” Gilrael said, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Yes, it’s very little. So little the mommy doesn’t notice sometimes.”

“But if she thinks and the baby comes because she thinks, why wouldn’t she notice?”

“You’re very bright for a four year old, you know that?” Aragorn said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking nervous. “The mommy doesn’t notice because she doesn’t always know that she’s thinking about wanting a baby.”

“But the mommy loves a daddy and-”

“Well, sometimes it’s a little different.”

“How?” Gilrael pushed her nose against her father’s again.

“Well, not everything’s the same.”

“You don’t make sense, daddy.”

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s just not a subject I’m very good at explaining.”

“Some parts don’t make sense, though. How can a baby come out of just thinking? And how come babies look like daddies and mommies when the baby only comes from the mommy?”

“Well, it doesn’t, remember? The mommy and the daddy both decide because they both love each other. So the daddy’s...well...”

“Yes?” Gilrael stared at her father indifferently as he struggled momentarily with words.

“The daddy has little fishies. The little fishies look like him. So the daddy’s fishy swims into where the mommy has the babies in her. He has to swim up the stream in the mommy, so it takes a little time.” Isilme snorted into her hand. “The fishies go inside the mommy’s eggs-”

“I thought they were babies.” Gilrael interjected.

“Well, they are. But they look like little eggs.”

“With a shell? And you scramble them?”

“No, there’s no shell. The fishies can go inside the eggs and put what they look like into it.”

“Then what? Do the fishies die?”

“I suppose.”

“Awww.” Gilrael sniffed, “That’s sad.”

“Yes, but the fishy who put the looks in the egg gets a prize.”

“Really?”

“Yes, because he swam the fastest. And he had the best aim for putting the looks on the target on the egg.”

“How many fishies are there?”

“Alot.”

“Are they little, too?”

“Very little.”

“So can I have one as a pet?”

“Maybe.” Aragorn said, smiling to himself. Isilme collapsed on the ground, trying her hardest not to scream with laughter.

“Can I name it Mr. Tickle?”

“If you want.”

“Will he try to get away and throw his looks in an egg?”

“No, not if you keep him in a jar.”

“Can I put him in my room?”

“If you like.”

“But daddy, one more thing...how do the daddy’s fishies get inside the mommy?”

Aragorn rolled his eyes with a smile. “That’s for another day when you’re older, dear-”

Something had grabbed hold of Isilme’s shoulder, and she covered her mouth to suppress a gasp. She spun around in place, only to see Luthiel’s head and arm sticking out of an azalea plant.

“Are you done yet?” Luthiel hissed, “We have to get going soon.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Isilme nodded, brushing the dirt off of her dress. Keeping a careful eye on her father who was still trying to explain reproduction to her sister, she carefully backed up into the bush behind her and crept out behind the azaleas, the flowers catching a bit in her hair and leaving petals in her locks. When she and Luthiel were finally out of the garden, which they had left on thier knees, they looked horrid. Luthiel’s grey green dress was smeared with mud all over the knees and the chest, and Isilme’s hands and entire outfit was covered with dust and dirt. Her face had smudges of dust all over, and her hair had fallen from its comb on the back of her head and long locks of hair hung unorderly around her face.

“You look terrible.” Luthiel said, giving her younger sister a good look over once they were standing.

“So do you.” Isilme said, grinning. She tried brushing off the dirt on her dress, but even with most of it gone, she still looked a mess.

“Will Gilly keep dad at bay long enough? We don’t have much time now, and we may have to change. I don’t know if we want to go talk to the ladies in these clothes.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’ll have any trouble keeping him talking.” Isilme said with another smile, “And besides, the clothes are fine. We’ve wasted too much time already...”

“You mean you’ve wasted too much time. I looked all over for you for quite a while before I saw you still in the bushes. I thought we were planning to meet at the fountain ages ago.”

“Sorry. I was a bit distracted...” Isilme said quietly, thinking with a laugh about her father and Gilly’s conversation in the garden.

“Well, no time for apologies. I’d say ‘lets get going’, but seeing as this is your plan...” Luthiel said warily, perhaps finding it a bit odd to think of a plan as coming from Isilme. Isilme smiled to herself, nodding enthusiastically. I’m giving the orders? That’s unbelievable. For once, this is my idea. My plan. My rules?

Awesome.

“Okay, lets go then.”

They hurried down the hall and off towards the guest quarters where the female companions were staying, Isilme, for the first time in her life, leading the way.


“No, for the thousandth time, I will absolutely not.” Luthiel crossed her arms stubbornly, standing outside the guest quarters’ hallway and looking down at her sister with disapproval.

“Look, Luth, you don’t have a choice. You’ve come this far through with the plan, so you have to keep going with it.”

“You never told me I’d have to do...THIS!”

“What? You have a problem with it?”

“Yes, I do. I hate doing it, you know it, and now to ask me to specifically do exactly what I cannot do...”

“So you’re physically unable to act female.” Isilme rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this. My own sister is refusing to act girly.”

“Its just really stupid, okay? Why do I have to be girly to ask them questions?”

“Because, we need to make them think we’re princess airheads, and acting girly is a good way to do that. I need you to ask stupid questions about where they got clothes and jewelry and stuff, and make lots of happy comments about their dresses and hair, and never ever openly mention politics. You don’t want them to think we’re on to something do you, and then not have them tell us anything? Or trust us enough to talk about that stuff around us?”

“They don’t trust! They’re from Dol Amroth! And everyone there’s half-elven practically, and you know what mum’s like! Elves don’t trust!”

“Stop making invalid arguments, Luth. This is my plan, and my idea, so I’m calling the shots.” Isilme said, and Luthiel nodded. Isilme felt a little extra boost of stamina from finally coming out and claiming authority, something she had never done before. “Whether they trust us or not, we’re going through with this. And we’re going to do it like girly-girls, understood?”

“Yeah, fine.” Luth said, rolling her eyes angrily and looking pouty.

“See? You’re already looking great! Just keep up the sulky teenage girl look and talk about cute boys and you’ll have this down in no time!” Isilme shoved her sister down the hall. “Now, lets go ask some questions.”

Luthiel shuffled along behind Isilme as they entered the quarters, approaching the maid at one of the doors and requesting an audience with the two ladies of the Court.

“This had better work.” Luthiel muttered to Isilme as the maid went off to fetch the two ladies.

“It will.” Isilme said, trying to sound confident as another maid escorted them into a small, brightly decorated tearoom. “Now remember: girly faces, alright?” She gave Luth a fake looking and blank smile.

Luthiel cracked up. Isilme groaned and laid her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry, its just...just...you look so stupid!” Luth snickered, “How the hell am I ever going to keep this up without laughing?”

“I don’t know, but if you laugh, I’ll kill you, I swear.” Isilme gave her another blank, stupid expression. Luthiel didn’t laugh this time, but grinned widely and quickly averted her eyes. “Think happy, blank thoughts.” Isilme murmured as footsteps came from down the hall and the ladies entered the room.

“Your Highnesses.” A bright and clear voice sounded at the door, and the brunette stepped in, her hair shining and her smile dazzling. She dropped into a low curtsy and sat beside them in a low-seated tea chair. The blonde followed, her curtsy even lower and one that swept her magnificent gown, filled with jade colored ruffles and lace, along with her. She moved with a careful posture, and her walk was maintained in such a way that her perfect hips moved back and forth with a rhythmic precision as she sashayed over to her seat. Isilme gave her a blank smile, one that she meant to convey both happiness and stupidity at the same time. The woman smiled back, and spoke with a sultry, smoky voice that filled the room.

“You called us for an audience, Princess Isilme?” She said, and the fact that she made her sentence a casual question brought out the power she was obviously not trying to hide. She wanted the princesses to know they were in her quarters, and also in her territory. Anything they asked her to do here would be done as royal duty, but not without questioning the woman’s power and prowess.

“Yes, my lady...um...I don’t think we were ever introduced, my lady.”

“I am Lady Ilyce of Dol Amroth, and my companion is Lady Greyda.” The woman said, sitting up straighter in her seat and adjusting her sleeve. “We are honored to finally meet the princesses of Gondor.”

“The honor is ours, my ladies.” Isilme nodded happily, turning to Luth to make sure she was nodding as well. Luthiel only nodded when she saw her sister was doing it, then stared at her hands anxiously when Isilme had finished moving her head. “You see, we saw that lovely gown you wore to the dinner last night, and wanted to ask you-”

“Oh, that old frock?” The woman waved her hand casually, as if it were no more than a sleeping gown. “I hope you don’t judge my taste on trifles like that; I have many nicer ones in my collection.”

“The one you have today is very...um...pretty.” Luthiel said, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

“Thank you.” The woman’s eyes flashed onto Luthiel, and momentarily scanned her over. Isilme thought she almost saw a flicker of understanding in the woman’s eyes as she watched, but it passed away as she looked back onto Isilme.

“That’s a foreign style.” Isilme said matter-of-factly, perhaps too matter-of-factly. “I think I saw it on an ambassador’s wife or something...” She added with a blank stare, hoping to cover her original manner.

“Yes.” The woman raised an eyebrow. Looking over at Lady Greyda, Isilme saw her face was impassive, a small smile the only clue to her inner emotions. “It was a present from my mother.”

“Is it from Dol Amroth?” Luthiel asked.

“No,” The woman’s gaze fell onto Isilme’s sister now, and it turned hard and cold immediately. Isilme frowned, hoping Luthiel wasn’t staring just as cruelly back as she was prone to doing. Turning, she saw Luthiel out of the corner of her eye, smiling at the woman, but her face was hard and mask-like as if the smile was only covering a stronger emotion. “This dress is from Umbar. I am from the sea-farer’s lands originally, and only settled in Dol Amroth after meeting Lord Telemark.”

“Is he your husband?” Luthiel asked, crossing her legs casually as she did so.

“My, my, Your Highness...such an interesting question.” The woman’s eyes flashed at Luthiel again, and Isilme was not surprised to see her stubborn sister’s eyes flash menacingly back. A small, almost knowing smile crept into the corners of the woman’s mouth as she spoke. “We’re married by Umbarian standards, but here in your realm, we are only what can be called ‘companions’. I’m sure you want to know the difference?” She raised an eyebrow at Isilme, ignoring Luth this time. Isilme nodded slowly, smiling blankly again. “Well,” The woman continued, “In Gondor, a ceremony is necessary for marriage, am I correct? And in Umbar, all that is needed for marriage is...well...” The woman blushed momentarily, then looked up and straight into Isilme’s face. “All that is needed is a binding. Which is why Umbarian sailors-” Pirates you mean. Isilme thought to herself. “Have so many foreign wives. All they need to do when they come ashore is...” Another blush and a girlish smile. “Bind with her, and she’s his property. Your people may consider it a bit...barbaric by your standards-” Only a bit? By the gods, its rape. “But my kind feel it is most honorable for men to bring home women in such a way. Boys enter manhood when they’ve brought the first trophy home from a voyage. They’re allowed to move out of thier parents’ home, work and support their wives, and sire many children from her. And in time, when she is no longer able to do what he wishes of her, he will find another on his next voyage.”

“Is that how you met Lord Telemark?” Luthiel asked, her voice lower and bordering on sarcasm. The woman turned to Luthiel now, and her smile only grew wider and seemingly more frightening.

“No, Your Highness.” She said, with a definite drop of poisonous emphasis on ‘your highness.’ “I met Lord Telemark in my father’s house. My father is the Lord of Umbar at this time, and Lord Telemark was in his hall on business. We met at a state dinner, and I returned to Dol Amroth with him in the spring. And though we are not ‘married’ like your parents may be,” There was more than a hint of spite in the words ‘your parents.’ “We consider ourselves husband and wife by the standards of my homeland.”

“Oh.” Luthiel’s eyes dropped to her hands as Isilme’s angry gaze fell on her. Isilme bit her lip, trying not to openly yell at her sister for utter stupidity and lack of common sense in that last matter.

“So,” Isilme turned to Lady Greyda, who had been sitting silently before now, her dark eyes disappearing every once and a while behind thick and long lashes. “And you Lady Greyda, your dress is also lovely today. Where did you ever find it?”

“Not in Umbar, I’m sure.” Greyda smiled softly, her full lips parting slightly as she did so, revealing sparkling white teeth. Her eyelashes batted again, suddenly a very distracting action. Gods, I’ll bet Luth was right when she said the men only wanted them for sex. The one’s already confessed that she slept with the man to be his wife, and the other lady’s got both the eyes and the mouth going here. What next? “I’m not from Umbar, I’m from Dol Amroth, and this gown was made there. Are you two interested in fashion?”

Isilme had to elbow Luth to get her to stop shaking her head and instead nod happily. Luth finally consented, but not without rolling her eyes noticeably. Too noticeably.

“Well, if you love these dresses and jewels such as I did when I was your age, then you would absolutely love Dol Amroth. All the ladies wear thier finest to not only the festivals, but everywhere they go. The streets blossom with color when we go out, and the halls of the lords shimmer with the pearls and diamonds around our necks. I’m sure you would love it. Perhaps you could go back with us on our return home.”

“I’ve been before.” Luthiel said shortly. “There was a tournament there last spring; Isilme and I were in attendance.”

“Oh, then we must have seen you, surely! My husband is one of the guests of honor every year.” Lady Greyda leaned forward anxiously, but there was something in her smile that was playing irritatingly in Isilme’s mind. Something there that was under the surface no doubt, but something she couldn’t quite put her finger on...”What were you wearing, dear?”

“Armor.” Luthiel said, leaning back in her chair. “Mine was the sigal of the blue and silver eagle. Perhaps you saw it waving at the end? I was champion at that tournament again this year.”

“Oh my.” Lady Greyda’s face had gone pale, but her smile remained. “I did not know you were as gifted with a sword as that, Your Highness. I didn’t even know women competed in tournaments anymore...”

“Well, we do. And I’ve won them all so far.” Luthiel’s jaw was set exactly as her father’s was when he was both angry and determined. Isilme saw her sister’s eyes flash momentarily, and she sighed angrily. Count on Luth’s ego to spoil the plan...

“You are a force not to be reckoned with, then.” Lady Ilyce concluded, her voice filling the room once more. “I don’t suppose anyone has dared try to openly battle you outside a tournament, have they?” The woman raised her eyebrow again; that last emphasis on ‘outside’ seemed a little too knowing for Isilme’s liking. Was it possible these women knew about the attack on Eldarion and Luthiel? And if so, whose side were they on in the matter?

“Only fools.” Luth said, her knuckles white as her fingers gripped the chair’s arm.

“And none of them succeeded?”

“No...” Luthiel’s eyes were menacing. “Never.”

“And what about your brother?” Lady Ilyce’s smile suddenly looked as threatening as Luthiel’s eyes. “Has he ever been challenged outside of tournament? And did he succeed as well? Perhaps against street thieves?” She paused before adding: “Or did they victor over him? I believe he almost lost his neck...”

Luthiel’s eyes grew wide, and she turned to Isilme, her mouth falling open. Isilme stared back, trying to show Luthiel with a glance that this was not the time to look shocked, but she too was blown away by the lady’s question.

“You see, Your Highnesses,” Lady Ilyce leaned forward until her face was but inches from Isilme’s. “What you think others don’t know...can very well hurt you. Don’t think your secret is safe yet. There are others who will try to succeed where the last ones did not. You may not walk away as lucky this time, and your brother may lose more than blood if he steps in our path again. Do not underestimate the power that grows at your doorstep; it is only a matter of time before the blow is struck again, and this time it will be fatal. More fatal than even your father or mother has perceived. Don’t think they don’t know. They have already seen what haunts your footsteps, and they know what price you will all have to pay. It is only thier mistake in not stopping it that will finally bring them down. And you along with them.”

Isilme sat silent, her mouth hanging open. What the woman said was not being comprehended somehow. Was this possible? Was this even remotely possible? How could she have done something so stupid? I INVITED MYSELF TO TEA WITH THE ENEMY!

“Y-you...you won’t succeed...” Luthiel mumbled, her eyes still wide with shock. Isilme thanked the gods at least someone was getting back her feet; she could hardly manage to breathe. “Our parents....they can...”

“What? Stop us? Not likely, Your Highness. They know who we are, and they know what it is we seek. They have practically given it to us before. What makes you think they’ll refuse it to us now? As far as we are concerned, the only price to pay for it is blood, but it is your blood that matters, your blood that will spill. Denied twice we rise again, in fulfillment of what was once said.”

“Of course, neither one of you will remember any of this.” Lady Ilyce pulled a small, clear bottle from her bodice and set it on the floor. She pulled her foot out from under the ruffles of her dress and held it over the bottle before looking up at the princesses. “It was a very good act, girls, but it wasn’t good enough. I’m afraid you can’t fool us that easily, and for your flaw you will pay. Goodbye.” And with that she stomped down on the bottle, shattering it beneath her heel. Lady Greyda stood up and followed her out the door with one last sugar-sweet smile to the princesses, sitting there in shock. Luthiel sprang to her feet in pursuit, but the door slammed shut in her face, locking immediately as she tried to shake the doorknob. Luthiel spun angrily on her heel to face Isilme, then a strange look came over her. She sniffed the air deeply, then groaned and fell face first onto the ground.

“Luth?!” Isilme’s mind raced; she panicked and immediately forgot what she was doing. Her hands fumbled clumsily for the bottle’s shards; something had just given her the urge to throw it out a window. She tripped on her own feet and fell to her knees, her hand coming down on top of the glass shards. They cut directly into her palm, lodging themselves in her skin. She let out a scream of pain, pulling her hand up, now bleeding. The plan. Her mind was racing; it was like her brain was choking and desperately spitting back whatever she had been thinking of earlier. What about the plan? She couldn’t even think straight, suddenly she was thinking about the plan. What did the plan matter at a time like this? The bloody plan....her bloody hand...it was all going wrong. This is not working. She thought. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And then, she smelled something. Something sweet, like perfume. It made her light-headed, and the sudden sensation of floating had entered her. It was an addictive scent, almost like something a lady might wear. It was making her so dizzy...so very dizzy, and so very, very confused. What had happened? She couldn’t remember. She looked for the source, and found the stained spot on the rug where the smell originated. She took another deep sniff, and suddenly the smell was no longer sweet but acrid, and burning the insides of her nostrils. It was reaching her throat her lungs, burning horribly, filling her tongue with an acid taste. She moaned in pain before falling to the ground, her world going black around her.
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