a.n. All right guys, chapter 4 of the prince of the hills is coming up after this important notice.
As promised in the first chapter I am willing to answer any questions asked in the review section. There are a few loose ends in the last chapter that people have spotted or questioned in their reviews. Pay attention because if you repeat questions I'll just direct you to the chapter they were answered in.
Psyka asked: who was the blond? (you can find the whole review in the usual place.)
Answer: sorry I forgot part of his description, I meant to add a crown, but to answer your question that was a younger version of the king, going off of my belief that you can't be old in the afterlife. This might be confusing if you remember the first chapter where I mentioned him being a brunette before his hair changed to grow. I have gone back and fixed that now, so that it describes his hair as once being blond.
KyuubiChild717 asked: is harry going to be evil or just dark, maybe grey? (same note as for Psyka)
Answer: good question, but harry won't be any of those, the closest he might end up slightly grey, I'm not certain yet. There are several reason for this. If you read the summary, I state that this will be a slash fanfiction. I am not going to put harry with Sauron or the nazgul, and he has nothing against killing orcs. My second reason is that as much as I like a good fanfiction about dark or evil harry, I have yet to write one myself and do not want to ruin this fanfiction by trying out something new and failing utterly.
If there are any more questions or I've overlooked one let me know.
Chapter 4 ~ a blond prince's obsession and an ebony prince's loathing
day 26, laer ~ the iron hills
Rainion sat down on his throne. His throne. It sounded strange. It had been 2 days since the funeral, though this was the first time he had sat in his fathers- no, his throne. He had yet to be crowned king, so technically he shouldn't be sitting on the throne at all, but their guest was two important to talk to whilst sitting on his- the princes throne. Mithrandir. Otherwise known as Gandalf the grey. He had never visited before but everyone knew of the istari, especially his infamous fireworks. Some of the villagers travelled great distances to see them, always coming back with spectacular tales of dragons made of fire, mushrooms made of sparks and fountains made of silver streaks.
It was concerning that he would chose now to visit the kingdom. It was unlikely he came to see the coronation. Few outside of the hills knew that the original king had died, and even fewer knew that the king had a son to take the throne. The only ones that knew, that Rainion was aware of, was the king of rohan, Theoden and his niece, Éowyn, who had come to visit a couple of years back.
When he had heard the tales of Mithrandir, Rainion had always pictured a man in his 50's. In actuality Mithrandir appeared to be in his 100's. Grey worn robes were an identical shade to his tall pointed hat. Grey curls ran down to his shoulders, blending in with his bushy grey beard. Bushing grey eyebrows looked like caterpillars that had made their home on his wrinkled face. He was leaning heavily on a knotted staff, whilst his stormy grey eyes watched him wearily. It was painstakingly obvious why they called him Gandalf the grey.
"Mithrandir. Nice to meet you at last. I take it your not here for the coronation." he said formally, smiling internally when he felt movement to either side of him, alerting him that Lithuinir and Írdir had relaxed their hold on their knives. Though they were probably still holding them.
"The pleasure is mine, prince Rainion. Though I wish the circumstances were happier ones. I trust you know the tales of the one ring?" Mithrandir paused, waiting for the prince to confirm it before continuing."Good. Then I won't waist time in giving you a history lesson." The old man seemed hesitant to continue. Almost as though he wished that Rainion hadn't known of the ring so that he may stall from delivering the bad news that brought him here.
"What is this about, Mithrandir?" He pushed, impatient to know what had the wizard so worried.
"The one ring has appeared again." There was a chorus of sharp intakes of breath at that statement and those listening unwittingly leaned forward, eager to hear what else the old man had to say. "As we speak it is in the possession of a young hobbit friend of mine, who is headed towards rivendell. There is to be a council to discuss the rings fate in two weeks. Lord Elrond would request your presence at this council." Rainion had heard very little mention of hobbits before. His knowledge of them was limited to one paragraph and not a very long on at that. This annoyed him, though he didn't know why. From what he could find hobbits were short creatures, little more than children in the eyes of men. They were sturdy, resilient types and every single one of them had very large appetites.
"We will attend, the coronation will have to postponed until we get back, but that is nothing to make a fuss over. Will you stay the night?" He asked, more out of courtesy than anything, already rising from his throne.
"As much as I would like to say yes, I have business to attend to that must be dealt with before the council. Plus I am sure you and your servants will have your hands full preparing for your journey." Gandalf replied with a small smile.
The wizard left soon after, his dappled grey horse, who must have been nearly as old as his rider, setting off at a fast gallop. Leaving his servants and the elves to prepare for his trip to rivendell, Rainion let his feet carry him in a random direction. Not bothered about his destination. It appeared he wouldn't have chance to try out those two new spells as he had hoped. Ever since the funeral he had been surrounded by worried people, never getting a moments peace to himself. His dreams had been free of memories since that night, leaving Rainion to wonder if the memories were just a dream and the dead butterfly was just a hallucination created by his grief ridden mind.
A white muzzle was shoved in his face, successfully cutting off his train of thought and making the task of keeping his emotions masked difficult. A task that was made even harder when the snuffling stopped abruptly as a pink tongue flicked out to lick his face. Thinking fast he stuck his hands up, successfully stopping most of his face from getting wet. He appeared to have walked to the stables without realizing it. Horses neighed in the background, chucking their heads and stamping their hooves in an attempt at gaining his attention. He spotted Duin and Mallorn, Lithuinir's and Írdir's horses, standing calmly in the stalls adjacent next to this one. Another lick brought his attention back from his inspections.
"Aras! Stop it." He let a small laugh escape his lips when the stag replied by blowing a raspberry. Inspecting the stags coat and legs, he tutted when he saw that they were brown with mud. Grabbing a nearby Dandy brush, starting the daunting task of cleaning the stags legs. Maybe he should have asked for a black stag instead.
Whilst he worked he talked. He liked to talk to Aras. It was silly really, but sometimes he felt like the white deer knew what he was saying. Like he said it was silly, but he was aloud to be silly sometimes.
He told the stag of his fathers death. Of the strange visit from the wizard and the long journey, they and their four companions (counting the horses of course) would be setting out on tomorrow. Finally done with cleaning the stag, Rainion moved onto tack, he polished the mithril barding carefully, he wasn't planning on riding into rivendell whilst Aras was wearing it, that would only make him look spoilt, but this was a meeting about a powerful dark object. The only course of action that was really an option was destroying it, but that meant riding all the way to Mordor. There was a clear view of Mordor from the iron hills, the dark black volcano was easy to make out against the white peaks surrounding that one country. Continuous clouds of smoke and ash streamed from the volcano's crater, painting the sky over the black land black and making it impossible for any plants to grow. That wasn't scary by itself however. A giant tower made of the same black stone as its surroundings, stood tall, reaching higher into the sky than even the volcano. The worst part of the tower however was the giant fiery eye hovering above it. It stared down at the world below, changing direction occasionally to focus it's attention on something else, and every so often it would blink. It would blink but it never slept. Never closed for more than a second.
The eye of Sauron. Many a time Rainion had climbed up the stairs of the tallest tower, to stare out at the eye, wondering, pondering, how Sauron could defy death, clinging to this world, without even a proper body. It had been on one such time, before his fathers funeral, that he watched nine black shapes, barely more than dots from this distance, racing out of Mordor and heading north-west.
Now he knew. The one ring. Somehow it had survived the first war. Everyone knew the rhyme. It was history after all.
Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for Dwarf-lords in their hall's of stone,
Nine for mortal men doomed to die,
one for the dark lord on his dark throne,
in the lands of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,
in the lands of Mordor where the shadows lie.
They had all assumed that the ring had been destroyed by Isildur, when he had cut the ring from the dork lords hand. The history books all told of Elrond leading the young king up and into mount doom. Their books contained no information on what happened inside the volcano, skipping a large period of time, before describing in detail how the king had died.
Isildur had been on a hunt with his guards when they had been ambushed by a group of orcs, left over from the war. He had mysteriously disappeared for a minute before an orc spotted him swimming down the river. Three arrows sealed the kings fate. Nothing more was known about the history of the ring. Not to the people of the iron hills anyway.
Patting Aras on the nose, and promising to pack carrots for the journey, Rainion left the stables heading back to the castle, intent on hitting the library before they left.
The library was by far his favourite room in the castle. Once a ball room, it was a large round room with large stained glass windows and a ceiling that was painted with angels and pegasi. A large chequered floor was polished to the point where it reflected everything above it. Chandeliers of diamond and glass lit the room, making small rainbows dance on the walls, when the slightest breeze caused the candles to flicker.
Grand, decorative, marble bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the room in to passages. Each and every shelf was filled with books. Old and new. Thin and thick. There was enough knowledge contained in this room, to rival that of even the largest elven libraries. A grand staircase led down to the room from the entrance to the rest of the castle, split down the middle by an emerald and gold carpet.
Small wooden desks were scattered in front of the bookshelves, and it was at one of these that Rainion now sat at, a tall stack of books placed next to him. Maps of middle-earth were spread out in front of him, as he tried to find the best route to rivendell from the iron hills. He'd already checked the books for suggestions, but it wasn't a journey often made so no one took the time to right anything down. That was definitely something he would have to correct when they got back. He was currently trying to decide whether it would take more time to go down the old forest path that went straight through mirkwood or whether it would be quicker ignoring the path and going directly through the trees. Írdir was originally from mirkwood after all so they had nothing to fear about getting lost. In the end though he decided that it would be easier to take the path, memories couldn't always be counted after all.
They left early the next morning. People crowded at the sides of the street's, desperate to catch a glimpse of their prince, before he left. Glimpses of him had been rare since the funeral, and with the arrival of Mithrandir, followed by the sudden departure for rivendell and thus the delay of the coronation, everyone knew that this was a lot bigger than one of the princes hunts. The rumour mill was working overtime trying to come up with reasons for this sudden departure. Some believed that the wizard had placed a spell on their prince, though very few actually believed that one, others believed that a new elfling had been born in the elven city, and the prince had been invited to see the child.
It was amusing to hear what the people of the iron hills had come up with. Not that anyone could blame them for getting so excited. Occasions such as this were rare. Everyone knew everything about each other in the village, thanks to it's small size. The only mysteries in the kingdom were to do with the castle, and that was only because you had to be invited to get inside.
Leaving the village and it's cheering people behind, they picked out the path that they knew would lead out of the iron hills and exit on the west side of the redwater river. Not many took this path, it was one of the most dangerous of the mountain paths and most preferred to take one of the easier paths and then catch a lift on one of the fishing boats from lake town or to chance their luck wading across one of the shallower parts of the river.
As such the path was littered with weeds, which hid holes that could become dangerous to a horse, should it's rider not be keeping an eye out. Loose rocks threatened to fall at the slightest disturbance, capable pulling legs out from beneath you and sending you back down the path you had climbed up. It was not the type of path to get easier once you had reached the top. If anything going downhill was the most dangerous and time consuming part of the path.
Thanks to this mountain trail cutting directly between the two tallest mountains, the top was covered in patches of black ice. If you fell when you reached the top, you didn't get back up again. Thus a journey which would have taken half and hour, had the trail been a lower one, took a whole morning, in considerably good weather, to cross, and, should the weather conditions have been bad, it would have have taken double the time, perhaps even triple the time.
The son was at it's highest point in the sky when the finally reached flat land. Looking back, Rainion could make out the mountains that acted like a natural border to his home. He had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be seeing the familiar towers of home for some time. Shaking the feeling off, he looked back at Lithuinir and Írdir, who were watching him intently.
"We stop here for lunch. Let you horses rest. We'll continue when they're ready." He ordered, dismounting Aras, a move which was echoed by the others. They busied themselves with their packs, easily finding the small supply of lembas bread and fruit that the kitchen staff had packed. Breaking off small pieces they sat down, content to watch their mounts graze as they made small talk. Or at least the elves talked, Rainion was happier listening.
The elves always talked about interesting things. Today they talked of their homes. Írdir talked of his old home with a fond smile and a far away look, of the cold winters, the celebration of prince Legolas' birth that lasted for two years before things finally calmed, and the rush of activity when the dwarves had escaped from their prisons on their journey to reclaim the lonely mountains.
"Pity really." He told them as Lithuinir nodded in agreement. "Middle-earth could do without thirteen dwarves."
"You'd think that they'd take a leaf out of an elven book and learn some manners. It's disgusting. They stopped at rivendell for awhile, on that so called journey of theirs. When they left we had run out of wine, their were food stains on the walls and we all had splitting headaches. They even had the audacity to interrupt our music, daring to sing those revolting drunkard ditties that they dare to call songs." Lithuinir ranted, momentarily losing the calm air that elves always seemed to wear like a veil.
"Surely they weren't that bad." Rainion said exasperatedly, it had taken him awhile to get used to the strong detest elves had for dwarves and he still didn't understand it completely. It seemed that both races were incapable of saying anything nice about the other. He wondered if they would ether come to terms with each other, but the harder he thought about, the more improbable it seemed.
"No. They were worse. I was putting it mildly." The brunette dead panned. The elves put the subject of dwarves behind them, as they mounted again, heading towards mirkwood at a trot. The conversation continued, although the topic was changed to rivendell.
It was Lithuinir's turn to look longingly into the distance, and his voice was laced with excitement as he went into great detail about everything he could think of, from his constant thefts of the cooks supply's, of Estel's arrival at the elven citadel and the numerous pranks pulled off by Elladan and Elrohir.
"Elrond was furious at them naturally. Glorfindel still had flour in his hair weeks later." By the time the elf had finished his latest tale, which was a prank the elf twins had pulled on the balrog slayer. The group were in gales of laughter as they pictured the usually calm and serious elf running his fingers continuously through his golden locks in a futile attempt at getting all the flour out. He wouldn't have been able to wash his hair, or he would risk the flour turning into a paste.
They had reached the first trees of the forest now. Aged bark formed trunks and branches that reached high above them, like giant people trying to embrace the world. Leaves of varying shades grew from wooden fingers and moss coated large roots like a blanket. The fading sunlight filtered through the foliage in fiery ribbons, lighting the cobbled stones of the old forest path. The edge of the forest stretched for forty leagues to either side, making it seem like the forest never ended, although, logically, they had seen maps of the forest and knew that if they rode far enough in one direction they would come to the edge. That would take them several days however, as well as taking them way off course.
The journey through mirkwood would take four days as long as they stuck to the path, then they had another five days ride to get over the misty mountains, after that it was only a days walk to Rivendell.
They set up camp for the night, deciding that it would be better to walk through the forest in daylight, when they could actually see where they were going.
Írdir took the first watch and Rainion fell asleep easily.
He watched the old professor in annoyance. He was the only one. The only teacher that didn't think he was a model student. The only teacher that thought there was something more to the poor orphan, 'tom marvolo riddle'. He supposed he should feel thankful towards the meddling transfiguration professor. After all, if it weren't for Professor Dumbledore he would still be in the dark about his magic. Still living with them 12 months a year, instead of just the 2 months he was forced to endure during the summer holidays. Still thinking he just a more superior form of them. In a way he was. Just not in the way he had first thought.
But instead of the thankfulness he should feel, all he felt for the man was a cold hate. That man, that professor, symbolized everything he wanted. That man had a family. A pure blood family. He was respected, recognized, by every wizard, dark or light, in the wizarding world. He was in a position of power. He was friends with Nicholas flamel. The Nicholas flamel. The most acknowledge alchemist. The inventor of the philosopher's stone. An alchemical master piece. A stone that looked and felt like a ruby, about the size of his fist. An object worth more than all the gold in the slytherin and gaunt vault's combined, capable of turning led into gold, but most importantly, it could produce the elixir of life. An elixir which could give him immortality.
He would do anything, give anything, to gain immortality. Most people were content with gaining immortality in the sense that even when they died they would still be remembered, whether it was for a particularly impressive painting, some great act of courage or some other notable act. That wasn't enough for him. He wanted to actually be immortal. To outlive even the oldest man. That was what he wanted.
He was not ashamed in any way to say he was a very prejudiced person. Not in the same way as Malfoy or Zabini of course, that would make him a hypocrite, but he did believe that muggleborns should be banned and contact with muggles cut off. He didn't care about blood, or the light or the dark. All that mattered was magic. Magic and power. He lived his life by one saying, and one saying only: 'there is no good or bad, only power and those to weak to seek it'.
Finding out that his father was a filthy muggle and it was actually his mother who was the witch had angered him. One of his many prejudices was that women were below men. He had been certain that it was his father who was magical, after all, why would his mother have died if she had magic to heal herself with. As such he had been disgusted to find out that the very man his mother had had just enough time to name him after before her demise, was muggle.
He had been somewhat soothed when he discovered that his mothers family, the gaunt's, were the last wizarding family related to Salazar slytherin, as proven by the astounding number of uncles he had that could only talk parselmouth.
Devoting every free second he had to the library, he read boring page after boring page, soaking up every tip bit he could get on his house founder. Their wasn't as much about the head of the house of snakes as their was about, say, the head of the house of lions. Most of what he found was written by pure blood supremacist's and as such was probably biased. What he did find that was repetitive through every account, although it was usually hidden behind useless information such as how he helped to build hogwarts or where he was born, and many flowery words and sugar coated praise. The chamber of secrets. A chamber that Salazar built to house a great beast, that his ancestors could unleash on the muggleborns that dared to come to hogwarts.
In the end it had taken a late-night conversation with the parselmouth portrait of the house founder to discover the chambers location and the type of beast that lay inside. He probably would have figured it out easily had someone else unleashed the beast. A basilisk, the king of snakes, was an obvious choice for a parselmouth to use as a familiar after all. It would be a simple case of listening to the beast talking through the walls, to figure out that he was moving through the plumbing. Then he would have simply had to trace it back to the one bathroom with a faulty and bingo. You have your entrance, your chamber and your beast.
Unleashing it had been a risk. He didn't have complete control over the snake and it could very easily attack a teacher or pure blood by accident. The attack failed anyway. Two students were paralysed but none had died.
The second time he let the monster loose had been more difficult. He had more control but the teachers were wary after the last track and were keeping a closer eye on their students. Paralysis again.
The final time he had been luckier. A young muggleborn first year hufflepuff, named myrtle had died.
That was why he was now in his current position. Pretending to be simply curious he had stood on the stairs and watched as the body was carried out on a stretcher. Wizards were more scared of danger than he first thought however. According to this 'professor' hogwarts would close if the monster was caught. He had to do something. He wouldn't be sent back to that place. Not permanently. Perhaps... yes. That would do. The half giant- Hagrid, that was his name, he'd been keeping an acromantula for a year now, if he got the blame, the ministry and teachers would feel safe again. He might even get an award.
Yes. The half-breeds time was up.
day 26, laer ~ mirkwood
They had been riding for a whole day now in pitch black darkness. It had started out okay. The sun was slightly filtered by the leaves above them but enough still got through that they could see around them. Moss growing on the trunks and branches of the grand tree's had tinted the light a green colour, falling blossoms floated past on a gentle breeze, both effects gave the old, worn track a mysterious feel. It was the type of scene an artist would come for miles to paint and then would sell to royalty for thousands of castar.
Then the tree's got denser, it got to the point where it was hard to tell where one tree ended and another began. They were surrounded on both sides by a wall of brown bark, even the sky was completely blocked from view. The layers of leaves having gotten thicker, as the trunks from which they sprouted grew closer together.
They were now riding without the sun to light there way, depending on the endless wall of trunks on either side to stop them from straying from the path.
This was where they were now, they had dismounted half an hour ago, unwilling to let their mounts struggle along the path whilst they sat safely on their backs.
Roots reached out to trip them. Branches hung low in an attempt to take them out. Thorns snagged on their clothing. And all the while they were unable to give their full attention to the treacherous path, to busy keeping an eye(or rather an ear) out for any potential danger. There were to many opportunities for an animal or a stray orc to ambush them, the dark kept them as good as blind, randomly changing from pitch black to a point where it was just about possible to see, making it impossible for their eyes to adjust.
It seemed like the very forest had turned against them, every thing seemed like it was against them. They sped up when they felt the path beneath them start to head down hill, the darkness was starting to get to them. Seeming to come alive. Trying to envelop them. To eat them alive.
Idle talk was cut down to warning's now. The occasional, 'watch out for that root' or 'There's a low branch just in front of you, Rainion' was about all they could bring themselves to say. Their mood had plummeted and conversation was no longer enough. Every time they tried to say something converting, their voices would echo off of the trees, making it seem as though the wood was mocking them. Taunting them.
The gurgling of a stream ahead of them brought welcome joy. They knew where they were now. That was the stream Írdir had talked of when he had indulged them with tales of his home. It was the only stream to cross the old forest path. Quite narrow it would be easy to step across and the water it provided wasn't drinkable, but it was close to the west entrance of the forest. That stream meant that it would start getting lighter soon. That was, it would start getting lighter if the sun hadn't already set. It was hard to tell. They had woken up that morning, at least they thought it was morning, they hoped it was morning, it had been hard to tell. It had been just as dark when they got up as it had been when they had gone to sleep so there was no way to tell what time of day it was.
It would be a relief to get out of mirkwood. The path was a far cry from the comfort the city would have offered. Desperate to get out of the dark they had skipped lunch, deciding it would be better to enjoy a meal in the light rather than in the dark.
Light didn't return soon enough for their tastes. It was as though someone had put a filter on the sun so that only it's smallest rays could reach them.
When it got to the point where they could see each other again, they mounted, spurring their stead's into a canter, desperate to put as much distance between them and that hope consuming darkness as possible before nightfall. At the speed they were going, it was no surprise when the trees thinned quicker than they had when they had been walking, light returned faster, eventually coming to a point where they fell that their mounts could see enough to gallop safely.
Cobblestones faded away with the trees, until the companion were racing across open grass land. The misty mountains rose above them in the distance, appearing small from this distance. Rocks jutted out from the grassy plains, forcing them to swerve in a complicated serpentine but none of them slowed. In fact they didn't stop at all until Duin, Mallorn and Aras were at the point of collapsing.
The next few days, in which they rode over the mountains and the short distance between them and rivendell, contained as little resting as they could help. Anxious to return to civilization they pushed themselves to the limit, making it to rivendell two days before they had anticipated.
day 35, laer ~ rivendell
Legolas was excited. If you weren't an elf it would probably be impossible to tell, but he was. It had looked to be the usual boring century of meeting's and balls. He hadn't seen something like this coming but it was a more than welcome escape from his princely duties. He had practically begged his Ada to let him be mirkwoods representative at the council of lord Elrond.
Now he was at rivendell. It had been two hundred summers since he had last seen its comforting walls and his best friend Estel, and if he had to put up with the ill-mannered presence of a couple of dwarves, so be it. Besides, they were easy enough to avoid. He only had to see them during meals and the council, and even then he didn't have to actually talk to them.
The hobbit, frodo, rumoured to carry the ring of power, had only recently woken up from a coma, which as far as Legolas knew, he had been in since one of the nazgul had stabbed him. Lucky he was alive really. Had he arrived any later, it would have been to late.
The clopping of hooves on stone, brought the elven prince's attention to the gates, approaching which were three travellers. He could only assume they were the last representative's invited to the council. They were punctual. Two day's early in fact.
Not much was known about this last party. They were from a kingdom settled in the iron hill's. He knew that much. Until he had asked Elrond about it, Legolas hadn't even known there was a kingdom there. Apparently the kingdoms prince was among the group currently approaching. Legolas knew what his father expected in this type of situation and he prepared himself to put up with a spoilt brat. He sighed. Sometimes politics could be annoying.
A gorgeous rare white stag, with an intelligent look in his eyes, walked slightly in front of two pedigree horses. His expectations for the prince dropped even lower, or at least they did, until he caught sight of the stags rider. Then his opinion did a complete 360. His thought that the prince was probably spoilt was forgotten in favour of a more appealing thought. The prince was gorgeous!
Standing at around 6', he was nearly as tall as Legolas himself. Long ebony locks were held back in a high ponytail by a ruby ribbon. Emerald eyes stared out at the world, from behind long black lashes. His face resembled that of the most finally crafted marble sculpture. His skin tone was a pale but not sickly alabaster, fine dark eyebrows were set onto a crease-less forehead and lips of a pale pink were slightly parted, but not a single emotion was displayed, as though who ever made him had forgotten to give him a personality.
A royal blue cloak, fastened by a beautifully crafted golden rose, rippled down his lithe sides, revealing a crimson jerkin(similar to his own, except for the colour) and white under shirt. Brown leather leggings with intricate designs embroidered in golden thread, disappeared beneath high knee black boots.
His hands, which were currently guiding the stag through the use of golden rope, were the same porcelain shade as his face, unmarred, as though they had never been used. His whole body glowed with immortality. Not the immortality that he and the other elves shared, but true immortality. Immortality that made it impossible for him to die. Via old age or any other cause.
If appearances showed a persons personality, the prince would have the disposition of an angel and would be a fly would be able to do more damage in battle than he could. If the bow on his back and the sword and hunting knives hanging from his belt were anything to go by, however, this angel was more like a poisonous plant. Beautiful but deadly.
His companions were obviously elves. They held themselves with the same natural grace that all elves did, appearing to do so effortlessly. He recognized one of them as Írdir, a son of one of his Ada's adviser's. He hadn't known the elf for long before he had gone with his cousin to offer aid to some city or other. Apart from the occasional letter, they had heard neither head nor heel of him since. Well at least now they knew what had become of him.
The other elf he assumed must be Lithuinir. An elf of rivendell origins if he remembered correctly.
Neither were as interesting as the prince though. Legolas quickly ducked his head when he felt heat rising in his cheeks.
The noise of shuffling feet caught his sensitive ears, causing him to look across sharply. It appeared he wasn't the only one interested in the prince of the iron hills. All the gondorion's were currently admiring their shoe's, and, if his elven eyes didn't deceive him, so was his best friend.
Elrond stepped out of his study at the rider's approach, nodding his head in greeting to the dark wonder riding up front.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Prince Rainion. Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo." 'A star shines on the hour of our meeting' The lord greeted formally, bowing his head in respect.
"Aiya, heru Elrond." Hail, lord Elrond. Prince Rainion replied, dismounting gracefully. His feet barely making a sound as they came into contact with the ground. Seconds later his elven companions had copied his actions.
Reluctantly they handed the reigns of their proud mounts over to the stable hands before following the lord of rivendell to their rooms, much to the disappointment of the prince's admirers.
day 39, laer ~ rivendell
It was useless he decided, ducking through another door in a useless attempt to escape his stalkers. It didn't matter what he did or where he went, someone was always staring. Watching. That wasn't quite true. He appeared to have lost them for now. Although he noticed that he had also lost himself. He wandered down a dusty corridor, turning the occasional corner, trying to recognize where he was so that he might navigate his way back to the more populated rooms. Stares be damned.
Tapestry's, faded and age worn hung on the walls, half obscured by cobwebs and statues of elven maidens. Empty candelabras stood on sheet covered tables. It was obvious that no one used this corridor much. Besides his, there were only three sets of footprints on the dust covered carpet. One set were fainter as though they were old or their maker had a light step, from their size he assumed they were female. The other two sets were clearer and larger, made by boots by the looks of it, and obviously males. Probably two of the representatives the other cities had sent.
All three sets led to a door at the end of the, surprisingly, long corridor.
Curiosity took over and Rainion found himself pushing the door open. The door gave way silently which surprised him. He had been expecting it to be in a state of disrepair, just as most of the objects in the corridor had been. Walking into the room was like walking into a house of healing when compared to the dusty passage leading to it. Either time had forgotten this room or someone had taken great care to make sure it didn't end up in ruins.
Large, laborious paintings, framed with silver made up the walls. Each depicted an image of an elf and human army fighting against legions of orcs. Some showed victory, for example one showed a young looking elf, probably no older than 2000 summers and baring an extraordinary resemblance to a certain elf lord he could think of, talking to a man with neatly trimmed, long brown hair, similar to Estel in appearance without the grey colours of old age. Others showed defeat, one in particular stood out. An enemy kitted out in so much polished black armour that it was impossible to see beneath. He held onto a wicked, sharp mace like weapon in one metal encased hand, whilst the other was stretched out towards a man. An old man, in his late 60's. A golden crown adorned his head but he had no other features that particularly stood out, his appearance was similar to the appearance of the brown haired youth presumably his father. He was sprawled out on cold black stone, staining it red with his blood. Mordor. This took place in the land of shadows.
The part of the drawing that drew the his attention the most however, was a circle of gold on the middle finger of the outstretched hand. A ring. The one ring. He let his eyes linger on it for a couple of seconds before flicking them down to the golden plaque beneath the painting. 'The fall of Elendil' was engraved in looping letter's. He shivered. The painting was one of those things that horrified you and yet you couldn't bring yourself to look away from.
Something glittered in the corner of his eye, and Rainion finally brought his eyes away from the gory picture on the wall to fix his gaze on the only statue in the room.
It was, as was every statue in Rivendell, a carving of an elvish maiden, but this one was... different somehow. A cloak covered the figures hair and most of her dress. It was her position that was the most different however. They were held out in front of her as though she had been receiving something when someone had decided to carve her. Someone had draped her cold stone arms with blue velvet, upon which was the item that had drawn his attention. Glittering, silver shards of a sword which must have once been finely forged and about 4 feet in length. By the looks of it it was still sharp. A crusted red spot on one of the shards made it clear that someone had already found that out by accident. This was presumably Isildur's sword. Interesting.
day 40, laer ~ rivendell
Rainion took his place in the council room. He would be glad when this ring business was over and he could return home. Ever since his arrival at rivendell he had been followed everywhere he went by a group of men and elves. It was obvious that they thought they were being discreet. They would loiter in the hallways he was walking down, hoping he would start a conversation with them. Or occasionally they would walk calmly past the open doorway to a room he happened to be in, before circling around so that they passed the door several hundred times. Even more embarrassing was the fact that not all of them were female.
He was glad the dwarves and hobbits seemed to have heads on their shoulders. Heads that thought the world revolved around food and mining, not letting things like testosterone cloud their judgement. It didn't matter what Lithuinir and Írdir had to say about them, the dwarves were currently looking better than elves, especially considering that the mirkwood prince himself was one of the larger offenders for gawking, although thankfully the blond elf had yet to start stalking him in the halls. Or at least as far as he or his bodyguards knew.
He hadn't had much conversation with the dwarves, as no matter how much he tried to change their minds, his elven friends simply refused to sit with those 'rude, bloodthirsty, melt head's', not that they were welcome anyway, so most of his conversations had been with the halfling's. Not that he was complaining.
He really should write a book when he got back. There were just so many things that hadn't been considered important enough to put in text, that would be seriously useful in situations like these. Besides their journey through mirkwood and the true history of the one ring would make for really good reading for future generation's.
The halfling's had told him a lot. Apparently all four of them originated hobbiton in the shire. Hobbiton was a village in the central regions of the Shire, within the borders of the West-farthing. Hobbiton was located on both sides of the Water, approximately a mile north-west of the neighbouring village of Bywater. The Bywater Road passed through both villages and connected them to the Great East Road to the south. Frodo had originally been an underhill before one of his relations, Bilbo Baggins had adopted him. Now he made his home in the baggin's family ancestral home, bag end.
Rainion had listened in amusement as the excitable hobbits recounted the quest for the lonely mountain, he laughed when they talked of the trick's Bilbo had pulled on the dwarves and the strange creature named Gollum. It was interesting to hear the tales from the halfling's point of view. He had heard the tale before of course. Lithuinir and Írdir often used parts of the dwarves quest to prove their own point about their uncouth ways. The villagers would return from various visits to family outside of the iron hills telling anyone willing to listen of the most recent adventures and it didn't take long for it to reach a guard or servants and consequently, his ears.
Thankfully the five days to the council had come and gone quickly so with any luck he wouldn't be in gawking distance any more. Only the representatives had been invited to the council, meaning that there were only three sets of eyes on him. If he had their names correct, the owners of the eyes were; Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, Estel, the last of the Dúnedain and Legolas, prince of mirkwood, son of Thranduil.
Legolas. For some reason, though he didn't no why, just thinking of the blond elf sent a spark of anger through his whole being. He didn't know why but he had pinned higher standards to the elf, none of which the blond would ever be capable of meeting, he was sure. He felt like the princess from the book he had been reading in one of his dream memories. Something along the lines of 'taming of the Shakespeare' by 'William shrew', although he hoped his ending wasn't the same as hers. He'd hate to be forced into marriage.
He wanted the elf to change in several ways before he would even consider the other prince as an option for courting. First and foremost the immortal would have to stop staring, such a thing was unbecoming for a prince after all. The prince of mirkwood would have to do something very impressive to gain his attention. For example he would have to survive an encounter with a balrog, defeat an oliphaunt or journey through the valley of Harrowdale. If the prince completed even one of these, Rainion would at least pay him some of the attention the poor elf seemed to desperately crave. It was blatantly obvious, no matter how hard Legolas tried to hide it. His body gave him away every time.
His cheeks might be flushed red, the rosy colour standing out against his pale skin tone, he might suddenly decide he didn't like his hairstyle or, and Rainion had caught this on more than one occasion though no one else seemed to notice, there was a rather large lump at the top of his leggings, which, when he noticed, would cause the rather embarrassed prince to disappear for the rest of the afternoon, presumably to take a long cold bath.
The other two had his interest, either would make a good partner, not that he cared. He wasn't really interested in either of them in that way. However both could be great fun to toy with.
Estel was obviously ashamed of his feeling for him, perhaps because the man was already in a relationship with a female elf named Arwen, perhaps because he had never had feelings for another man before. Either way he didn't particularly care, people like that were fun to flirt with. He'd done it often enough on his hunts.
Boromir appeared to be the type that thought himself superior. As far as Boromir was concerned he probably thought he would have Rainion begging to be in his bed by the end of the week. No doubt he also thought he would be the one on the dominant side. Hmph. Fat chance of that ever happening. However people like that could usually be goaded into doing the stupidest of things to prove themselves.
Rainion supposed he should feel guilty about planning to mess with not one but two boys, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.
Someone cleared their throat at the front of the room and twelve pairs of eyes looked up at the elven lord.
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate–this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." Elrond declared dramatically, gesturing towards a pedestal in the centre of the room once he had finished speak.
Frodo stood up from his chair nervously, stepping forwards and placing the ring from the chain around his neck on the white stone. There was a slight murmur around the room as it's occupants caught sight of the plain gold jewellery.
A whisper started in the back of Rainion's mind.
'Take me,' The ring said, 'For one such as yourself it would be no trouble to kill everyone in rivendell. I could make you powerful. You could reclaim your mother and father from the skeletal hands of death. No one would ever fuss over you or stare after you again. You could have it all. All you have to do is reach out and take me. I'm just a ring after all. What harm could a circle of cold possibly do?' it whispered rhetorically and seductively. Rainion ignored it. What kind of 'ordinary ring' could talk?
A chair scraped on the floor as someone stood. Lazily glancing to side he recognized the person to be Boromir. Figures.
"So it is true..." he breathed as though in a trance. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him!" He paced around the room. How idiotic could you get? He let himself rise, gaining the attention of everyone listening to the conversation.
"I hate to rain on your parade, Boromir, but you are speaking nonsense." He started sympathetically, pretending to actually care what the steward thought was important. He ignored the splutters he received from the red head, continuing before anyone could stop him. Not that anyone want. He now had everyone's complete interest, even those who had been ignoring the debate in favour of staring at the ring. "That ring is the source of Sauron's power, the only thing keeping him alive. Are you suggesting we use Sauron... against himself?" He gave a face of confusion. The next move the Gondorian made was the wrong one.
"Why don't you leave thinking to your betters and concentrate on looking pretty?" He asked in a voice that made it obvious he considered himself one of those so called betters. Two more chairs scraped on the tiles of the council room and the Gondorian found himself with three arrows pointed in his direction.
"Do not think, Gondorian, that I wear these weapons for decoration, for I can wield these weapons just as well as any elf, and the only thing you currently have over me is experience, and I can assure you that you won't even have that much longer." Rainion spoke in a deadly quiet voice, barely more than a slight hiss but everyone heard it. For a second the sun seemed to turn black as a sudden invisible breeze blew through the room making his hair fly around his face.
"I suggest you sit down and keep your mouth shut, man of Gondor, lest you find yourself breathing through the shafts of three arrows." Lithuinir threatened before he and Írdir took their seats again with Rainion not far behind. Once everyone was seated again, Mithrandir spoke up.
"Prince Rainion is right. We cannot use it." He said gravely. Elrond quickly spoke up before anyone could disagree.
"You have only one choice. The ring must be destroyed." Gimli, representative of the dwarves, took over, axe raised.
"Then what are we waiting for?" He asked and before anyone could stop him, he had brought his axe down in a sweeping arc. The blade of his axe exploded on impact, the shards flying in multiple directions. It was a miracle really that no one was hit. Rainion noted absently that Frodo's hand had flown to his forehead upon the axe's contact with the cursed ring, as though he had been struck with a sudden headache. It seemed the ring already had a tight grip on the young Halfling.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond reprimanded the dwarf. "One of you must do this."
"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!" By this time Boromir had gotten over having three arrows pointed at him and had to object to the ring being taken to Mordor.
"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!" It was Estel's turn to get a word in, munch to the stewards annoyance.
"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" He asked. Legolas stood up next, quick to the defence of his friend.
"This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." The Gondorian blinked in shock before turning to Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.
"Aragorn? This… is Isildur's heir?"
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas responded. More shocked expressions were sent in the rangers direction before the topic was brought back to the matter at hand with a rather sharp cough from the lord of rivendell.
"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" Gimli exclaimed as Legolas opened his mouth, to, presumably, volunteer. What followed next could only be described as chaos. Only six figures, Frodo, Mithrandir, Elrond, Rainion, Írdir and Lithuinir, remained seated, the rest of the rooms arguments rose to their feet, arguing amongst themselves, their voices growing in volume with each declaration. Frodo seemed to take a deep breath, rising to his feet. He said something quietly but over the noise it was impossible to hear what had been said.
Mithrandir, obviously fed up of the noise, spoke out, his voice echoing around the room in deep tones.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,
ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul. Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." The black speech of Mordor shut everyone up. Rainion had only been able to find a few book's on the dark language but he knew enough to translate what had just been said. One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. Silence rained for several minutes as everyone regained their composure before a timid voice caught everyone's attention. "I will take it. I will take the ring to Mordor." Frodo seemed to gain confidence after the first sentence before he became embarrassed by the incredulous stares pointed at him, and his voice quietened as his cheeks flushed pink. "Though I do not know the way..." He trailed off. Mithrandir rose to stand next to the Hobbit. He gave the small creature a pitying smile, leaning heavily on his staff as though age had suddenly caught up on him. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear." he let a hand come to rest on the halfling's shoulder before turning his attention to Aragorn who had also approached the ring bearer upon his declaration. The Ranger knelt on one knee drawing his sword. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword." He rose moving aside for Legolas who had come to stand behind him. "And you have my bow." Not one to be out done by an elf, Gimli soon joined in the oath. "And my axe!" Sighing Rainion stood gracefully, going to stand next to the others of the growing group. "Naturally we will be coming as well," He gestured to his Bodyguards who had followed him and now stood next to the prince of mirkwood. "Who knows what would happen if we let an elf and a dwarf travel together without supervision? You wouldn't get anywhere. Besides nobody knows Mordor as well as we do. We have lived across from the black lands for at least six years after all." Rainion said, although his actual reasons for going were more along the lines of avoiding the coronation. He didn't have anything against being king. It was more along the lines of not wanting to get tied down to the castle before he had seen Middle earth for his own eyes. Not to mention that this sounded like the most exciting thing that was going to come around in his life time. "You bare the fates of us all little one." Finished Boromir although he seemed more interested in Rainion. The bushes at the edge of the council room rustled before the other three hobbits pushed their way through. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" yelled the red headed Hobbit, Sam. "Indeed," Agreed Elrond. "it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Elrond spoke in an amused tone.
"Wait! We are coming too!" Peregrin and Meriadoc said in unison.
"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" Meriadoc crossed his arms stubbornly.
"Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing." Peregrin floundered slightly.
"Well that rules you out Pip." Meriadoc finished with a grin.
"Twelve companions… So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" Elrond declared obviously wanting the last word, which he lost to Peregrin anyway.
"Great! Where are we going?"
With that amusing sentence the council was finished. It was going to be an interesting journey indeed.
In the corner of Elrond's council room, invisible to mortal eyes, stood a fair haired woman. Soft white linen was draped around her, floating slightly on a non-existent breeze. A golden ribbon was secured around her waist, matching nicely with her sky blue dress. She watched with a sad smile as the young prince, whom she had found herself watching on more than one occasion, dismissed the one who could bring him true happiness, just as he did for the others. She wished she could interfere like her sister could but alas, she couldn't. All she could do was watch and decide, but even then, her decisions weren't mandatory. The mortals term 'Defying destiny' wasn't just a figure of speech. It was her sister who had the real power when choosing what would happen to the earth dwellers. She could only hope that her sister would agree with her on her decisions, just as she currently was now. Rainion would not spend his life alone if she had anything to say about it.