Chapter 4: Hithlum; the Land of the Men of Numenor
AN: this chapter is mostly Steve settling in, but I just had to have him meet Arthadan in person and claim his birthright at long last. You're going to see a very different side of Steve in this chapter, more noble and gracious and a lot like Aragorn or Faramir. So think of this as almost OC for him but you still see the Steve Rogers part shining through, just a little more polished than the kid from Brooklyn.
On to the fic
The retreat is rather nice, Steve thinks, but he's a city boy through and through, and so the beautiful country side and wide open forests are nearly lost on him. Oh, he does appreciate the beauty, but he's spent far too much time in European countryside's being shot at with bullets and rained on by shells to truly enjoy the country just yet. It's still too fresh, too near for him to truly relax. At night he finds himself waking at odd hours without knowing why until on his second day into his stay he realized that he was waking up for his shift on night watch. After that he poured himself into reading about the future and what had changed. When he was shown the computer in the room when he first arrived, he couldn't believe how small it was, and he almost found himself wishing he could show Steven this little marvel. Then he would remember: Steven was gone; missing in action, his body never recovered. Just like Bucky. And he found himself holding back tears as a new and wholly different grief took hold. After he kept waking up, Steve would go to the computer and read the documents preloaded onto the thing, but after five nights of waking to do watch, he had run through all the things he wanted to read and then some. That was when he discovered the internet, and a whole new world opened up in front of him, rolling out before his feet like red carpet.
See, the thing is, SHIELD didn't know about Steven's gifts or his ideas that he had shared with Stark and the others, so Steve caught onto how to work the search bar rather quickly. Steve was no idiot, unlike what his test scores from school showed, and he soon found out about Hithlum, and Arthadan. It took a little work but he eventually set up an email account with Google of all things, and sent a message off to a Numenorean who had a website for his art online. It wasn't long, less than a few hours in fact, before Steve heard the trill of his notification bell. Steve opened the email and to his shock it wasn't from the artist but from the King's second, Eäthnur Híraklion; General of the Numenorean Host. Steve was shocked to say the least but cautiously read the letter and was pleased that the ancient half-elf lord was going to spirit him away to Hithlum to recuperate there. The only problem was SHIELD and how they would react to his little escape. But he had little time to ponder this, when suddenly a large plane descended from the sky with all the grace and maneuverability of an eagle.
Steve stared at the plane in awe. SHIELD had nothing on this plane, and though their QuinJets had obviously had a similar base plan, this was far more sophisticated and beautiful than their clunky versions. The skin was painted a black except for the belly, which bore the image of Thorondor, the Great Eagle of Manwë, his wings outstretched and his beak open in a screech. On the side of the plane was a designator in elvish Tangwar and English letters. The back of the plane dropped open and lowered a ramp, out of which a tall dark haired man flanked by six Numenorean Royal guards. Steve saw the insignia on the man's armor and knew that this was the famed Híraklion, the Eagle of Numenor, for his armor bore the badge of a Great Eagle, wings outstretched and talons clutching a sword and a crown. This was the Right hand of the King, his captain of the Guard and personal advisor. Steve bowed low at the waist at such and honor, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
"Captain," the man said. Híraklion had a voice that was rich and deep with an accent that Steve instantly recognized from his father as Numenorean. Steve looked up and saw the six Guards kneeling before him with their heads bowed and touching their swords. "You bow to no one," he said as Steve stood up and looked him in the eye. "My Prince," he said as he bent his knee and bowed as well. Steve blushed, not used to this sort of treatment, despite being famous and knowing about his heritage for about a year now. He shifted nervously and motioned the bowed men to rise.
"Please, get up;" he said uncomfortably, "I don't deserve this." Híraklion stood with a humoring smile, and the others did the same, falling into parade rest; their hands resting on their drawn swords.
"You deserve all of this, my Captain," Híraklion said, his eyes full of warmth; "you saved my life, and the lives of all of my men. I owe you this, and more."
"Where," Steve asked.
"Volgograd," Híraklion replied, and Steve nodded, remembering the reverent faces he saw when he rescued those soldiers.
"Technically," Steve countered good naturedly, "that was Bucky." Híraklion smiled wide and chuckled.
"You are just like him," he said and smiled warmly at Steve's confused look, "Arthadan; you are just like him. And you're father," he explained. Steve looked up with hopeful eyes.
"You knew my father," Steve asked.
"I knew all the men of your father's house," Híraklion said, "From Arthadan's firstborn to your father, and his brother. I knew them all." Steve smiled sadly with longing in his eyes before he looked at the man with a bright smile. Híraklion answered it with one of his own before gesturing towards the back of the plane. "Shall we go?"
"Go where," Steve asked with confusion.
"To Hithlum, of course," Híraklion explained with honest devotion, "we came for you, Captain. We came to bring you to the king." Steve's eyes widened on the spot as realization set in.
"The King," Steve asked in shock.
"Yes, the King," Híraklion confirmed. Steve huffed out a breath through his lips as he mulled it over, before he tightened his jaw in determination.
"Alright," he said, "I just need to grab a few things and leave a note, in case they miss me." Híraklion nodded and conceded the point.
"Very well," he said calmly, "take your time. We are not in any hurry." Steve smiled tightly before he turned back into the house and gathered up some things. A change of clothes, his Mithril chainmail shirt as well as his dog tags with his family signet ring looped through the chain, and the Star of Arthadan pendent on its Mithril chain. It was meager as belongings went, but at the moment they were all he had so he packed them up, looping the two chains, one simple steel the other precious Mithril, over his neck before he grabbed a piece of paper and scratched out a simple note.
To Col. Nick Fury, SHIELD,
Sir, I am sorry to leave like this, but I've been invited by the King of Hithlum to meet him in person. He sent his Royal Guard to fetch me, so there is no need to worry about my safety. I am in the best of hands. If you need me for anything, I will be bringing that wireless radio thing you call a phone with me.
Tell my doctors that I will take my medication as directed and I will be under the constant supervision and care of the best physicians in all the living world.
Yours truly,
Steve Rogers, Capt. USA
Steve signed the letter, and grabbed the contraption called a cellphone as well as his medicine before he shouldered his bag and walked out the door. He closed the door and left the Retreat behind him as he entered the Numenorean plane, but not before pinning the note to the front door, where his minder would see it when he came by to check on him later as scheduled. The hatch to the jet closed behind his Guard and as it took off, Steve felt for the first time able to breathe more easily since entering that house. He couldn't figure out why, but it always felt like someone was watching him. Steve shook his head and relaxed into the seat he'd taken, finally able to get some peaceful rest whilst guarded and watched by people he could one day call friends.
Steve was correct in thinking that neither SHIELD nor Fury would be happy with his disappearance. In fact, his minder just about had a panic attack until he saw the note tacked to the door, and then he got indignant. He reported Rogers' escape to Fury and sat and sulked until the tech crew could arrive to look at the security footage. Needless to say they quickly understood Steve's cabin fever, as well as his discomfort at being in the middle of nowhere, when all he wanted was to go home. But the footage of him leaving from the outside cameras was suspiciously snowed and they could see little from the indoor ones, just Steve packing his meager belongings into a suitcase, putting on his dog tags and that pendant of his, writing his note and taking his cellphone and medicine just as he said he would.
The techs tracked the GPS in the phone to somewhere over Europe before the signal was scrambled; suspiciously over Hithlum airspace. Fury had to concede that Steve was gone for the time being, but would be back if the language in the note was anything to go by. So the let the captain go, and dropped the issue. Fury made sure to have a missive sent to the Hithlum embassy to inform them that Steve would still need to come back for a full debrief, but Fury wasn't expecting anything to come of it.
The moment they entered Hithlum airspace, Steve could almost feel the difference in the air. It was peaceful almost, a harmony that Steve had felt when he was at Castle O' Rogers. But this feeling was amplified, like he was standing in a room with all the comfort his soul could ever want and need. It was almost palpable, and it took him a moment to realize it, and what it was: music. In the air there was this quiet humming of music. It was all around, as if from no other source than the air itself. It was full of the voices of harps and violins and violas, bass and drums, flutes and horns of all kinds, all working in deep and beautiful harmony. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before and he couldn't get enough. It soothed his soul and was a balm to his mind. He felt without realizing, his body relaxing and unwinding from the knot that had settled in his shoulders and chest. He looked up when he heard the pilot call into the tower for their final approach, and saw Híraklion smiling at him.
"You hear it, do you not," he stated. Steve nodded with a soft smile gracing his lips wonder as he heard the music change and flow following some great Theme as it worked towards a greater harmony.
"Yeah," Steve said, his voice as soft as a sigh, a smile pulling at his lips full of awe and wonder. "Music," he said. Híraklion smiled his eyes full of joy.
"Not many can hear it," he said, "but those that do; they say it is the Ainulindalë: the Great Music. It has always been in this land," Híraklion explained as he stood up. "It is how we knew this land was for us. A part of Arda on this strange world we can call home. Arthadan and those that had the gift of Music bent Songs of Power to rise up the land and change it to our will, to make it recall the shape of Arda. Mountains rose," Híraklion smiled and looked out the windows nodding towards them, "and Ondolindë was reborn." Steve turned towards the windows and found himself standing, his eyes wide with awe and his mouth open and wide.
Mountains rose before them, out of a cloud of mist, shaping what Steve could only describe as the lost Valley of Tumladen. A great river flowed out from the mountains towards the sea, and where the river branched, Steve saw a great city built upon the banks; built on the river and around it. It was almost entirely built with white stone, with silver and sometimes gold capping the domed roofs of some of the buildings. On others it was the distinctive color of tarnished copper green, still beautiful and nearly glowing in the evening light. With all the wonder of a child he knew in his heart that this was Osgiliath; the Citadel of the Stars, just as Arthadan had described and designed it in his youth, his dream come to life. Steve gazed at it in wonder and watched as they slowly flew over the city, picking up an escort on the way.
"We're not landing there," Steve asked, as he looked back at Híraklion, and the ancient warrior shook his head.
"No," he answered, "we are going to the Seat of the King: Ondolindë." Steve felt his eyes widen as he turned back to the view screen and saw them pass over the mouth of the valley, seeing the seven gates, all thrown wide with great masses of people passing through them, before they passed the last and entered the Valley of Tumladen.
"Ai, Eru," Steve gasped as he set eyes on their destination.
Before them lie an open valley, wide and flat with high mountain walls protecting three of its sides, but it was the center of the valley which drew all the breath from his body. There, shining like a pearl atop a hill at the very center of the green valley was Ondolindë of old. It looked just like how it was described in all the old tales, its sparkling white walls high and smooth, its towers soaring towards heaven capped with silver and gold, and its buildings breathtaking in their elegant beauty. It looked so fragile, but Steve knew it was strong just from the distance he was at, he knew it was strong. As they drew closer Steve saw smaller villages dotted around the great city, as well as training grounds and short runways for planes. Barracks sat outside the city walls, but they were just as beautiful as the city they surrounded. Steve saw stables and horses being trained on tracks, men in shining mail and armor that looked so light and unassuming but he knew could deflect any bullet. It was magnificent. A city fit for any king, let alone the king of the Men of Numenor.
The plane slowly descended and touched down just outside the main gate. Steve turned around and saw with a start all the men were lined up at the door, their commander at the front and the rest behind; in rows of three. Steve stood behind them, and waited for the ramp to lower. As it did the men in front disembarked in formation following Híraklion out before he turned and ordered his company.
"Company," he commanded in a booming voice, "Divide!" the group split into two groups, facing opposite directions, before they waited for orders. "Three paces!" each group took three steps, before halting. "About face," Híraklion ordered, and the group turned on their heels to face one another, "Present Arms!" Swords were drawn and held out blade point down. Steve realized that this was more than just an escort, this was his honor Guard, and with a crimson blush, Steve walked down the ramp and through the rows; the Guard saluting him as he passed. When Steve finally came to the end of the row he let out a sigh. "At ease," Híraklion commanded and the Guards sheathed their swords.
Steve saw then that there was a man standing a few steps away behind Híraklion with a woman on his arm. Steve felt all the blood drain away from his face as he took the man in, and if not for a little more age on his face and his slightly more slender build, he man could have been his own twin. Steve swallowed hard as he realized that he was just presented before the King of the Men of Numenor: Arthadan.
The King slipped away from his wife and approached Steve, his blue eyes shining like twin stars, full of joy and life. His hair, the same golden brown which crowned Steve's head, hung long about his face resting on his shoulders and pulled back in elvish fashion at the temples. He wore a rich blue tunic, embroidered with a silver star on his breast. His under shirt hung below his knees, and was hemmed with silver and red bands, and his cloak was dark blue velvet that was nearly black, embossed with the Star of Arthadan in red and silver thread, and it too was edged with silver and red bands. The underside of the cloak was lined with sliver silk and hemmed with red bands of embroidered ribbon. The clasps of his cloak were the Mithril and gold clasps shaped into a crest of feathers like wings. His vambraces were the typical Numenorean eagle wings, and upon his brow was the Crown he had crafted with Celebrimbor in Eregion all those thousands of years before. He wore no armor but for the bracers on his arms, but every inch of him exuded the image of a King.
Steve stood frozen as Arthadan stopped before him and took him in; his eyes roving over Steve's form with awe and joy. Suddenly Arthadan met Steve's eyes and all pretense of a distant king was gone. In its place was a man seeing his descendant with the eyes of a father upon a lost son. Arthadan reached out a tentative hand and touched Steve's cheek. He gasped softly and his mouth pulled into an astonished smile. Tears pooled in his eyes as he cupped Steve's cheek with his palm.
"Steve," Arthadan said with a wide smile. Suddenly the man lurched forward and pulled Steve into a bruising hug. "My son," he whispered into Steve's ear, and Steve could feel the smile in it. "Welcome home!" suddenly Steve felt tears of his own springing to his eyes as he slowly brought his arms up and returned the enveloping embrace with vigor. For the first time since he woke up in this mad world, he felt at peace, and he realized: he was home.
After a few days of sequestration and pampering, Steve was presented to the Royal Court as Heir apparent of the King. They approved his claim after a few hours of deliberations; a record for them. Once the Houses of Lords and Commons accepted his claim, it was sent to the senate for further approval. This all in total took a further three days, before the Council as a whole confirmed his claim. Then there was three more days of preparations and planning before on the tenth day after Steve's arrival to Hithlum and Ondolindë the great gates to the city were thrown wide and the people, who had been pouring into the valley, were let into the streets of the city.
Steve spent this time in private with the King and Queen, asking questions about his house and things about his duties as the Heir apparent of the King. Arthadan answered them as best as he could, and the Queen gave him all the mothering and love he could ever want, while she fretted and primped, and prepped him for the big day. The Rangers were sent to retrieve the Armor of Arthadan from the Rogers' estate, and a diplomat was sent to invite members of the other Houses of Old Numenor, who lived outside Hithlum, to come to the capital. As he waited, Steve learned about what had happened after he had crashed the plane into the ice. The announcement of his disappearance and status as missing in action had finally shocked the last remnants of the Numenoreans into action. They threw down their weapons and turned on the Nazis with a vengeance. It is said that the Russians had only just beaten the Army of the Men of Numenor to Berlin, and that the knowledge that the great and unstoppable wrath of the Numenoreans was bearing down upon them was what pushed Hitler over the edge and into suicide.
In a way, Steve was glad that his actions had done something other than create despair in his friends. It united the Numenoreans as a people for the first time in almost a thousand years. Their desire for justice and to honor his memory, and avenge his death had driven the Allied forces in a spear front towards victory. It was something that hadn't been done since the last War against Rome when Arthadan had lived, and Rome was at the height of its power and hubris.
Finally the day arrived. Steve could honestly say he had never expected to be crowned the Prince of Hithlum, but here he was, standing before a mirror wearing Arthadan's Armor, the Star of Arthadan pendent openly displayed about his neck with the signet ring on his dog tags. Steve huffed out a calming breath before he pulled on the ceremonial helm and strapped it in place.
"You look so handsome," the Queen said. Steve turned and saw her standing in full elvish regalia, dressed from head to toe in royal blue velvet. She looked every inch the Queen she was, with her dark hair braided simply and a beautiful circlet wrapped around her head. She smiled and approached, reaching out a hand to rearrange the hem of the outer robe to lay flat against his chest. He felt so out of place, but her calm hands comforted him. She looked up and gave him a watery smile. "You look every bit his son," she said and Steve returned her smile. The Queen, Sarah Míriel, she had asked him to call her, looked back down and continued tugging and brushing the thick Mithril cloth into lying properly until it met her high standards.
Until that morning, Steve didn't even know that the thick satin-like cloth that came with the armor was really Mithril Cloth, a rare and expensive cloth woven from spider silk wound around Mithril wires that were woven together in a thick tight cloth. It was so very rare, usually only made in Eregion and the secret of making the cloth so thin and pliable was known only to the best smiths of the region: chief among them Celebrimbor. So when Eregion fell they took the secret of Mithril cloth with them to their graves. What little cloth that had survived with them was treasured and the Numenoreans valued their heirlooms more than anything. This cloth was made by Celebrimbor for Arthadan to go with his armor and thus it was one of the few sets that actually saw battle. Steve learned though that the smiths and weavers of the region had slowly uncovered the secret to making the thread to weave the cloth again, and it was no longer so rare. In fact, it was part of the standard kit for a Numenorean Ranger and infantryman. Steve smiled and ran his hands down the smooth and soft fabric, wondering how something that felt so delicate could be strong enough to stop a bullet as good as any Kevlar vest.
Steve looked up suddenly when the door opened and he saw Híraklion standing in the doorway.
"It is time," the man said, his face stern and calm. Steve nodded before he reached down and picked up the scabbard and sword setting on the sofa. He carefully strapped the belt on around his waist along with the quiver, and sheathed the sword. He picked up his shield, one which a diplomat had spent hours in argument with SHIELD for him to get back, and slipped it onto his arm; the straps new and lined with Mithril cloth for added strength. Steve secured the Shield with one final tug before he gave Híraklion a firm nod.
"I'm ready," Steve said with his head held tall. The Captain of the Guard nodded and bowed his head respectfully placing a hand over his heart, before he lead Steve out of the room and into the long hall.
The pair walked down the hall, flanked by six Royal Guards and two banner men. They walked down the hall towards the door, and as they approached the two guards at the doors opened them and swung them out wide, revealing the Great Hall of the King in all its grandeur filled with courtiers. Lords and Ladies, diplomats and nobility from different countries, as well as common folk, and members of the Royal Council, Houses of Commons and Lords and the full Senate, all packed into the hall and its upper levels, clamoring for a glimpse at the Famed Captain America, the Prince and Heir apparent of Arthadan.
When the doors swung open they groaned slightly on their massive hinges, but were otherwise silent. It was silent for a moment before a group of trumpeters raised their silver horns to their lips and announced his presence with a Royal march. Suddenly the whole of the room stood and turned as one to face him. Steve swallowed down his apprehension, and set his jaw with determination. Steve saw out of the corner of his eye, as he began to march slowly down the aisle, television cameras and crews at the edge of the room, and on platforms surrounding the Great Hall. Steve had no doubt that this was being televised outside the hall and in the Great Square where most of the people, who had come, were standing.
He approached the throne and watched as the Guards turned in opposite directions and formed and Honor Guard as he passed between them. As he passed them they all bowed their heads and placed a closed fist to their hearts, a variant of the elvish salute. Steve stepped up towards the representatives of the Council and stopped. The two men were decked in Numenorean regalia, dressed to the nines in their finest robes and tunics, and in the case of the Lord, his ancient Numenorean family armor. Steve removed his helm and unsheathed his sword before he bent knee and bowed before the two heads of State.
"As representatives of the Council and the Senate," the Lord announced in a loud clear voice, "we ask: who are you?" Steve took a deep breath and looked up, remembering this from practicing with Arthadan and the Queen. Sword held before his bent knee, Steve gripped the hilt tightly and mustered every bit of the stubborn courage he had from the war.
"I am Steven Grant Rogers," Steve proclaimed in a loud clear voice, mindful of his annunciation, and very aware that he had slipped into a Numenorean accent, "Son of Joseph Arathan Rogers and Sarah Tinuviel Rogers, formerly of the House of Beor; son of the House of Arthadan by the decent of his first born son: Aaron Laurion. I am come to claim my inheritance as rightful heir of the House of Arthadan." The two Councilors smiled before the Lord spoke again.
"We recognize your claim, Steven son of Joseph of the House of Arthadan," the man said and bowed his head, "and humbly present it to you." With that the two Councilors parted and a priest of the church came before him.
Steve looked up with eyes closed as the man began to pray and anoint blessings upon him before dipping his fingers into some oil and anointing his head with it; making a cross upon Steve's brow. This was a tradition that started with Christianity but it was similar to the older one that it was easily accepted as part of the ceremony. The priest moved away with a bowed head, and behind him was Arthadan himself, resplendent as a king should be, dressed in fine silk velvet in dark blue and silver and red. The Crown of his line sat upon his head as well as the mantle of state. He looked stern and distant, nothing like the man Steve had come to know in the past week, but Steve saw it in his eyes when he finally smiled.
The king turned and at his side was Híraklion holding a blue and silver velvet pillow, and upon the cushion sat a crown. It was nowhere near as fancy or ornate as Arthadan's, but it was still a circlet fit for any prince. Steve bowed his head and felt Arthadan slowly lower the crown to rest upon his brow. He looked up and was met with a beaming smile from the king, to which he returned.
"Lords and Ladies of the Court," Arthadan announced in a booming voice, "I present to you Steven Grant Rogers, Son of the House of Arthadan by decent of my blood." Steve stood and turned, Arthadan placing a hand on his shoulder before he called out in a great voice, "From this day henceforth, he is my heir, and shall be known as Rínion Arthadanion, Son of the King; Captain-General of the Numenorean Army of Hithlum, Captain of the Rangers, Grand Duke of Mithrim, and Crowned Prince of the House of Arthadan! Long live Prince Rínion in peace and prosperity!"
"Long live Prince Rínion," the assembled crowd cried back, "Long live the King!" and from the crowd came a great roar of cheers, as Steve and Arthadan bowed their heads as one and stood together, Steve on a lower step and Arthadan before the very throne. The cameras flashed and Steve held his head high, only wishing his father was here to see this, before Arthadan pulled him away and towards the great stairs that lead to the balcony. Once Steve reached the doors, Arthadan threw them open and walked out, letting Steve stand in the shadow of the door as the King announced his presence to the assembled crowd.
"My people," Arthadan called out, his booming voice echoing off the stone of the valley and being heard for miles. "It is my honor to present to you, Steve Rogers Rínion Arthadanion, Crowned Prince of Hithlum!" and the people in the Great Square let out a thunderous cry as Steve stepped into the light, and the Star of Arthadan upon his breast blazed into light, bathing the courtyard and city in the Light of the Two Trees. From afar, people said it looked as if a star had descended from heaven to shine its light upon the valley and bless it and their new prince. Those closer saw the Star of Arthadan, the shards of the Silmaril resting upon Steve's breast and began calling down praises and blessings for their prince and king. Those closest said that Steve looked like one of the Ainur come down in living flesh, for his skin glowed with elven light, and his eyes blazed like twin stars in the light of the Silmaril shards, small though it was.
"Utúlie'n aurë," (the day has come) a man in the assembled crowd cried, and soon the whole of the assembly began to chant, "Utúlie'n aurë," over and over, until the whole of the valley was overflowing with the echoes of their cries. Steve grinned and over the din of their many voices he called back, his voice over powering them all and echoing throughout the vale.
"Auta i lómë!" (The night is passing.) And from this call came a thunderous roar, for the crowd knew his words echoed those of High King Fingon of old, recalling the joy of hope and confidence that the darkness was truly past. For them it had another meaning: they had security in their King's rule, an heir to take on after he stepped down, and a Man of legend returned beyond the hope of many to bring with him the light of dawn.
The SHIELD diplomats had to hand it to the Numenoreans, when they had a coronation, they went all out. The courtyard and Great Square just in front of the Royal palace were packed full of people, young and old, Numenorean and Hithlum citizens alike. Being sent as the diplomatic envoy for SHIELD and the US meant that he had a front row seat for the actual coronation ceremony, and it did not disappoint. While it didn't have the pomp and circumstance of Queen Elizabeth's coronation, it was every bit as grand. When he saw Captain Rogers walking down the aisle slowly and with sure steps, he hardly recognized the man, and it wasn't just the Numenorean armor and clothing that he wore either; which he learned were actually Arthadan's and were and heirlooms of Steve's family for two thousand years. It was the way the Captain carried himself that had changed. Gone was the timid and unsure man they had brought out of the ice and in his place was the confident and powerful lord Prince of his people. Steve's very core exuded strength and surety, and the diplomats couldn't grasp why. Until they saw the way he smiled at Arthadan when the crown was placed on the Captain's head, then they got it: Steve had security and assistance in his family. Who knew just how much that had meant to the man until it was gone, but it showed just how much it meant now.
After the ceremony and the presentation to the people, there was a party, and it was grand! The whole of the Great Hall was turned into a ballroom floor where the courtiers danced to Numenorean waltzes and Elvish dances. There were tables of food assembled for the guest to pick at and eat, and they had heard that the celebrations going on out in the city were akin to VE Day in London or VJ Day in New York when the War ended. There was dancing and singing and drinking, and partying like nothing any of them had ever seen outside of newsreels, and word was that this was happening all throughout the country, not just the capital. It was shocking but understandable: these people just got back their beloved prince; of course they were going to celebrate. And the celebration was slated to continue for a full week. But Steve had no desire to party non-stop for that long. After the initial celebrations had ended, Steve would be going back to New York to rest.
And after celebrating for a full day, shaking hands with diplomats and courtiers, learning to dance with the Queen to a traditional waltz, drinking and eating, Steve boarded the Numenorean jet that had brought him to Hithlum to go back to SHIELD and New York. Steve arrived at sunset on the 28th of April to his SHIELD set up apartment with all his things hoping for a little rest until his babies were born. Alas, this was not to be. The minute he got back he found a stack of files on his table as well as a laptop with preloaded videos. Steve went through the files and videos with detached grief, before turning in for the night.
His sleep was too brief to be called rest and before dawn he had looked through the files again, glancing over at the phone, thinking about calling Peggy, before he put it out of his mind. He went into the city, enjoyed some coffee, and a bit of sketching time, but his heart just wasn't in it, especially after his lack of understanding about technology came back to bite him. When he returned to his apartment Yasha was waiting for him, and Steve greeted his son with a wide and warm smile, pulling the younger man into a fierce hug. The two talk until Yasha has to go home, but they both promise to meet again. The next day is more of the same, but after Yasha and his adopted brother Jonathan had left, Steve went back out to wander the streets of Brooklyn. It was in this wandering that he found an old piece of the past, his past, still preserved for him to see. Goldie's was a little rougher than he remembered but it still had some of the old charm left in it that it felt familiar. Almost on the spot Steve rented a locker and time to work at the gym to let off steam before he slept.
He found that it was his little hideaway. His little sacred piece of the past that he wanted to keep away from the scary world that he had been thrust into. And he just hated it when SHIELD had to go and ruin his sacred places.
TBC…
End Note: and to think I had marked this for a possible deleted scene. I think this was one of my best chapters yet! Well, you've all seen Endgame, and you all are a) still crying, or b) ranting about how some of it is all unfair. But I haven't seen it, I haven't seen Infinity War, and frankly I don't want to. I'm not going to have those films influence this series any more than it has to. But have no fear; Steve's end will be just as sweet when it comes. You just have to wait for it. (Evil cackle)
So next chapter will start the ball rolling for the very first Avengers film, hard to believe it's been almost eight years since it came out. I saw it twice; once with my family and then when I went back to college they played it on the lawn. I think I still have my ticket stub in my purse! I know I still have the first Iron Man. Wow I feel old!
Next chapter will be very long, so please bear with me.