Chapter dump of 5 chapters today starting at chap 43. Make sure you dont miss any!
Eldarion
I could swear Estel leads us in circles.
In fact I know he does.
Not that I do not enjoy this time just he and I together but if he wants to delay why does he not just tell me. Surely he knows I am Dúnedain.
In the end I have to tell him.
"Estel, We have been in your woods for hours. I know you lead us the wrong way."
He simply tosses his head.
"The trees confuse you."
"The trees do not confuse me. I am Ranger trained, I was chieftain of the Dúnedain. I know exactly when we have been somewhere before."
"I am silvan," Estel counters. "The trees are on my side. They trick you."
I do not know why he argues the point so hard. Why not just admit he does not want to go home and face whatever awaits us. I do not blame him.
The Elf appears ahead of us, out of nowhere, standing where I am sure no one was a minute ago as if he has been there for hours, leaning against a tree, arms crossed eyes stern. And what an elf. He is tall, taller than even my uncles. He towers over Estel and I His hair is as if it was made of gold itself, and he is beautiful. I know Estel is beautiful also but this beauty takes your breath away. It is startling, overwhelming. and Estel does not even seem to notice. As I stand in wordless astonishment Estel is indignant.
"How long have you been there?" He demands angrily. "How long have you been following us?"
"Long enough to know you have lost all sense of direction."
"I never lose my sense of direction."
I do not know how Estel does it, stand up to this imposing, being. I can barely breathe.
"Well then you run from something little one. What is that exactly?"
He asks his question as if he knows exactly what the answer is anyway.
And then he sees me.
His attention is dazzling. It shines upon me like a golden halo and it blinds me.
"What have we here?" he exclaims.
I rooted to the spot, speechless, bewildered.
Then suddenly, as if a candle has been snuffed out, all that light and power is gone. In the blink of an eye it vanishes and he is just an elf. Tall, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but just an elf.
And I can speak again.
"By looks of your face you must be Elessar's son," he says.
"I am Eldarion, son of Aragorn." Almost too late I remember the Elven name Estel has bestowed me, "Elessarion," I add.
"Eldarion." Hand clasped to his chest he bows his head. "Then I owe you thanks."
What would this magnificent creature need to thank me for?
"I do not think so." I tell him. It is uncomfortable to have him dip his head to me.
"You returned this to me."
He holds out his hand and on it blinks a ring, my fathers ring, the one he wore all the days of my life. I wore it too for a short time after he died but I felt like a fraud. My father needed that ring to prove his heritage when others did not know it. Everyone knew who I was and I was not impressive enough to wear it. So when my uncles left I sent it back to the one who really owned it.
I know who he is. I am a fool. I should have known who he was all along.
Finrod.
A King.
The son of the High King in Valinor.
"It was yours," I tell him. "I do not need thanks for that."
"Oh you do. My heart sang at its return and you did that. I do not think your father would have."
Suddenly I realise I have not given him due reverence and I stumble into a clumsy bow, awkward and inelegant.
"My Lord."
But he waves me off with the smallest of frowns.
"None of that, nephew," he says. "I require it not at all and especially from you. We are family."
It hits me like a flash of lightning across a dark sky. He is my family. One of the Elven family I do not know. I have met my Father's Dúnedain and lived amongst them but besides Elladan and Elrohir, of my mother's family I know nothing at all. It is an exhilarating thought. He claims me. I belong to him.
He approaches me then to stand before me, holding my face in his hands, tilting it towards him, fixing me with a gaze I cannot meet. A bright burst of power flits briefly through my mind.
Then his eyes dance.
"What is this?" he murmurs. "Why has no-one told me this?"
And Estel steps up beside me, all bristling defensiveness.
"This," he says, "is Eldarion who I think I may love. He is not a toy for you Noldor to analyse and experiment on."
I almost miss Finrod's reply for my mind is caught by Estel's proclamation. . . Who I think I may love, does he really mean it?
"Enough!" Finrod holds up a hand and stops Estel with a look. "I am more than Noldor, and you know it. None of that from you, Estel. You are better than that. And this," he turns back towards me one hand still cupping my cheek, "this is precious, to be nurtured. I will keep you from the hands of those in Valinor who would not understand. A mortal elf, an Elven mortal." He tilts his head to the side, golden hair sliding across his face as he considers me. "Which one are you?"
"An Elven mortal," I tell him, "who had to hide that from the world."
"No longer!" He drops his hands and takes a step back. "I must think on what is to be done with you." Then there is the faintest brush of fingertip on my cheek. "You remind me of Celebrian," he murmurs, "without her damage. What have those fool twins been doing keeping you secret, and Legolas, for I assume he knows."
"He knows."
"I will have words with them." By the sound of his voice I am pleased I am not in their shoes.
"He has a sister too," Estel says then. "You should meet her, Finrod. She would like you. She wishes to go to Valinor. It is all she talks of."
"A sister?"
"Tinu is not like me." Perhaps I do need to tell him of her. I do not like his words of those who may lie in wait for her in Valinor, for she will surely find her way there in the end. "My mother always said I was the Sindar, like her Grandfather, and Tinu, the Noldo fire of her Grandmother. Her name describes her."
"Bright Spark?" He raises his eyebrows at that. "With the fire of Nerwen? Well, well. I would like to meet that one, and so would my sister, but Valinor . . . Not without a champion I think."
"My sister does not accept champions. She does things by herself." I sigh.
And he laughs.
"Sisters like that can be trying," he smiles, "I know. I have one."
He turns quickly to Estel then, as if he is done with talk of my sister and I, filing us away for later before moving on to the next thing.
"Time to come home, Estel," he says. "There are many waiting for you there."
"Then they can wait. I do not answer to them."
He is so belligerent in the face of such sternness.
"You must face the music." Finrod says, "something which you remain very bad at doing at times."
"Why should I face their music when they do not want to listen to ours?"
"Then make them listen. It is better than skulking in corners. Are you not proud of what you have here?"
Finrod turns to me.
"And what say you, Eldarion? Which do you prefer? Being out in the light or hiding away here amongst the trees?"
"Do not bring Eldarion into this!" Estel is fuming. "Do not insult him on my behalf. These are my woods. I led him here. It is not his fault we tarry."
"Oh you are very chivalrous little one," Finrod replies smoothly, "But Eldarion has been to your settlement before. As King of Gondor and Arnor I am sure he is well capable of finding his way back there. Are you not?"
I can only nod.
"And so he is just as guilty of dodging what lies ahead as you are, for he lets you lead him in these ever-decreasing circles he knows go nowhere. Time to be the King you are, Eldarion," he says to me, "for at the moment you do not act like one."
"If you want a King you should speak to my father," I tell him. "I was never much of one."
His anger hits me like a blast of ice.
"Do not spout such rubbish to me! Different kings for different times, Eldarion, and by all accounts you were a good one." He glares at me. "Would you dare call Finarfin no King at all? He turned back. He heard the Doom of Mandos and returned to Valinor because many of his people wished to. He was despised and called coward by many for that, not least of all me. But was he? Who would lead those people back if not him? Who was it lead the Noldor to triumph over Morgoth? Which of the sons of Finwë had a hand in the birth of this new world? Which brother is the better King? The fire of Feanor? The fury of Fingolfin—where are they now? Or is it the quiet steadfastness of Finarfin? Do you know your history? Brilliance and charisma do not always make a better King. I will hear no more of this from you!"
"I —" It is difficult to gather my thoughts in the face of his ire. "I do know my history." I have spent many hours having to study Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin. I have never before thought of them like this.
"Then be the King you were born to be."
He stands behind Estel resting a hand upon his head.
"Sometimes this sweet silvan wildness needs taming without destroying it. A fine line to walk. Can you do it? You cannot always let him run roughshod over you—sometimes but not always. You have skills in negotiation, use them. You have nerves of steel, use them. Show me some leadership, Eldarion. Enough of hiding. You will hide no more."
Never before have I had someone speak to me like this. Never before have I had someone open the door and say, step into the light, as you ARE.
"He is right." I tell Estel. "We must go and meet them."
"We do not have to." Still he resists.
"Yes we do. I am going. I cannot make you come with me."
And he suddenly caves.
"Well I am not about to let you face them by yourself. But we do not even know what we want yet." He tells Finrod. "How can we argue for us when we do not know what we want."
"Then argue for the time to discover what you want," he answers. "Or perhaps you will find you need not have to argue at all."
Well that is hardly likely.
And I know what I want.
I know it with all my heart.