2 | THE DISPOSSESSED

There was no denying the beauty of the elf that had boldly entered behind Alagos. His hair, a warm gold that shined in the light of the council room, hung loose to just beneath his shoulders. If he hadn't known better, he would've assumed Eglanor to be of the Vanyar, whose beauty had been recorded in the illustrated histories the Reunited Kingdom had brought from Imladris. But few even partly of that kindred lived in Middle Earth.

"Aderthon of the House of Feanor, is it?"

"Feanoriel. Our house goes by the name given to my mother," Aderthon corrected. He didn't miss the way Eglanor straightened at his words, and he worried briefly that he may have offended this elf. He did not wish to offend any of that fair kind, least of all one who seemed to have some knowledge of his predicament. "We take Fëanoriel in honor of her, and Maglor, who worked to restore the dignity of the House of Fëanor."

"Indeed. It is a miracle that house has regained any respect," he said. But he gestured a dismissal with his hand and continued on. "Well, Reuniter. News of that ring of yours has traveled quite far."

Sparing a glance at Eldarion, he decided to take a lesson from Nimwing and practice diplomacy. Aderthon turned back to Eglanor. "Indeed, lord? And how far would that be?"

"Far enough. I've come from the East, where I had been visiting lands long forgotten by the elves west of the Orocarni, and never known by the Men of this age, or even the one before."

Eldarion stepped forward. "Forgive me, lord, if I overstep my bounds. But how many ages of this world have you wandered, gathering knowledge?"

A smile spread across Eglanor's face. He moved towards the nearest window, cutting between Eldarion and Aderthon. Sparing a brief glance outside, he merely shrugged. "More than most, perhaps any that remain here in Middle Earth."

Only when the great doors groaned on their hinges did Aderthon realize Alagos had disappeared to retrieve Aragorn. The king strode inside, Arwen beside him, a tight smile forced on his face. Eglanor stopped in his tracks when they joined the group. Aderthon supposed even an elf such as Eglanor could recognize greatness when in its presence.

"Father, this is Lord Eglanor." Eldarion jumped to introductions immediately. "He says he has knowledge related to the Ring of Berúthiel."

"Ring of Berúthiel?" Eglanor's fist clenched. "I must say, for being a descendant of Luthien, you aren't very knowledgeable of the victories won by your forebears, Prince Eldarion. That is Sauron's ring."

"Do not fear, Master Elf, we know that well enough." Aragorn smiled. "To have you in this city is an honor. And to hear you bring knowledge that could save my nephew brings me even greater joy. Truly this is a hope unlooked for."

Eglanor let out a single laugh. "Unlooked for and unexpected, indeed. What good fortune that I would be passing by Minas Anor. But before we get to the information I bring, I do have two simple requests."

Aragorn waved him off. "Name it."

"First, I have made many enemies in my travels. I have been over and across the sea, through mountains and under them, and I fear there may come a day I require a place to stay, protected from those who would see me suffer."

Aderthon couldn't help but flash a small smile at Eldarion. He wondered if his cousin thought as he himself did, that Eglanor knew how to wax poetics and play politics as well as even Nimwing herself. And as he suspected, Aragorn was quick to agree to that request.

"Of course. So long as the Reunited Kingdom stands, I strive to offer protection to any who would request it of us." Aragorn nodded. "And your other request?"

Eglanor smiled. "A trivial one, but one I feel is necessary. I request a pardon for any misdeed I may be charged with that I may or may not have committed."

Aderthon frowned. "What?"

Eldarion echoed him, but Aragorn and Arwen both stayed silent for several moments. "You ask for pardoning of crimes, master elf?"

"Indeed. Simple enough for a king, no?"

Aragorn scoffed under his breath in disbelief. "You must think me either stupid or naive, Master Elf. I cannot pardon you from crimes I am not aware of."

"You can, and you will, or you should, if you will expect my assistance with that ring your nephew has bound himself to." Eglanor pointed at him, and Aderthon shuddered for a moment. "The line of Feanor has always had too much affection for jewelry."

Aragorn straightened up, and a sharp glance at Aderthon shut him up before he could say anything in his own defense. Instead, Aragorn responded. "I could charge you for your crimes instead, Master Elf."

"On what grounds, King Elessar? You do not know of any crime I may have done."

"Watch your tongue, Master Elf," Aderthon snapped. "I may need your assistance, but that does not mean I will sit by as you use this to your advantage against my uncle and king."

"Aderthon," Arwen warned.

Silence reigned in the council room. Elboron, Akilina, and Alagos had left them at the beginning of the audience, but the rage building up in his chest, pounding in his ears, distracted Aderthon enough that it didn't matter only five of them stood there together. He had to bite his cheek to keep from speaking out again, but he would never speak against his queen.

Aragorn broke the silence. "I will have someone escort you to a guest house in the upper circle, Master Elf. You will have my answer by tomorrow morning."

"I await it, eagerly, King Elessar."

With two quick but firm knocks on the door to the rest of the citadel, Aragorn summoned a guard. He entrusted Eglanor with him, and soon Aderthon stood alone with the three other members of the royal family. Before he could speak, Aragorn cut him off.

"Aderthon-"

"I will not deny that he is rude-"

"Aderthon."

"-but we cannot think of denying him this simple request!"

Aderthon had finally tasted hope. It was within his grasp, answers to desperation that he thought mere hours ago would forever go unaided. But in this hour of need, this elf, by seemingly the grace of the Valar, had appeared to lend him a hand.

"Aderthon, you know that is no simple request," Arwen said, voice soft. She frowned. "What he asks is unprecedented. Dangerous, even."

Aragorn agreed with her. "I cannot pardon a man whose crimes I do not know."

"Father," Eldarion said, with a sigh. "I know it seems foolish. But what choice do we have? Aderthon is bound to that ring, he straddles mortality and immortality, and risks life as a shade forever if he is not severed from it."

"I fear no shadow world, but I would do anything in my power to ensure that does not happen," Aderthon agreed. "If this elf can help me, please. Let him."

Aragorn looked between Aderthon and Eldarion, silent. Under the weight of the gaze of his king and his uncle, Aderthon felt like a child again, dependant on his mother, father, and uncles. But he wasn't a child. Not anymore. He'd been through too much, done too much with his blade and his battle cries.

Aragorn's gaze lingered on him for a moment. Then he sighed. "I cannot fool myself into believing you would not go even if I forbid you. There is too much of your mother in you, no matter how dedicated to this kingdom you are."

He didn't even try to correct his uncle. Aragorn was right. Aderthon had gone through too much and done too much to get where he was to not see the rest through. Especially not since the arrival of a man with answers.

"I will let you know of my decision tomorrow morning." Aragorn spared a glance at his wife. Then he turned back. "Do not do anything foolish, Aderthon."

"You have my word."

Aragorn nodded. "Then rest. The night is not far off. Eldarion, come with us."

Aderthon spared a glance at his cousin. Eldarion patted him on the shoulder before moving past to join his parents, and with reds and golds blending in the sky, Aderthon moved to look out the window. Craftsmen, scholars, and peasants moved about below him. Not far, he watched as two children, a boy and a girl, played tag with a small, white dog.

The girl couldn't have been older than seven, her fair hair glistening pale in the dying light. Tinneth's hair had often sparkled like that, though her silver, nearly white, hair had been unmistakable. No one missed when she flew past, jumping on boxes to reach heights far above her head.

Aderthon clenched his hand. The ring pinched his skin and he focused on the cold metal. Closing his eyes, he tried to rid his mind of the sight of her blood on his sword. The anger he'd levied towards her had faded years ago, replaced only with regret. As he ran his thumb over the serpents on the ring, Aderthon watched the girl in the street.

She stumbled. With a piercing cry, she shouted angrily at her brother who had pushed her. The boy grabbed her, trying to calm her down. Aderthon wondered where their parents were. Probably nearby, as the boy continued to shush the girl.

A woman moved towards them. She was young, but no child, with hair whiter than even Tinneth's had been and skin like porcelain. He couldn't see her face as she picked the girl up off the ground and settled her, slipping a few gold coins into her hand before moving off.

The girl stopped crying. Aderthon could see blood on her knees. As the sun began to set, leaving the streets in darkness lit only by lanterns, he turned away. Maybe this was his fate. Had the Valar seen fit to give him a doom like unto his forebears, to roam in Middle Earth, never to go to the Undying Lands?

He opened the wooden doors and his boot echoed through the halls of the citadel. Perhaps this was his doom. But he had been through too much and done too much not to see it through. So see it through, he would.