Heart of a Radiant Star
By Ereinion and Paladin
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offense intended by the use of them. No profit made.
Special thanks go to Meri, who beta-read, and Harle, who tried to convert this to HTML so I could post it with special formatting. Apparently FFN doesn't like the HTML that comes out of whatever version of Word Harle has. Also, thanks to my brother Brad, who found the lost product key for my version of Word, so I could convert this without having to actually write the HTML. Thanks all!
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Prologue:
It was very late at night. The stars twinkled brightly in the clear sky, and the sea crashed rhythmically over the cliffs and beaches that lay past the Sea-garden. The city was sleeping, the palace likewise at rest. All was quiet.
In the master suite, in a bed obviously designed for other things than sleep, a single elf tossed and turned in dreams. His eyes were tightly closed, and his body was tensed against the horror he could not wake from.
The battlefield was black with smoke and dead earth, the lines of battle no longer clearly drawn. Bodies from both sides of the fight littered the ground. Men, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, beasts who spoke with voices and those who had been trained to carry riders into battle. His own dark-furred horse lay bleeding and broken on the field of death.
It was not the figure of the Deceiver that terrified him, nor the long club that could strike down several Eldar in a single blow. It was the Ring that rendered him immobile with fear. And it was then that he knew he was weak. He would never live up to the legacy of his grandfather, who had challenged Morgoth to single combat and very nearly won.
He could only watch in sickeningly slow motion as the hand moved out and grasped him by the throat, and the agonizing pain of flesh being charred by dark flame and smelted metal was as real to him as if he'd actually experienced it. He felt himself being tossed aside on the battlefield to die, and he heard his lover's voice crying out in anguish as the Star of Radiance faded.
The High King woke abruptly as the dream released its iron hold on him, and he sat up in bed, shaking and crying. Elrond's voice rang in his ears and made his heart ache painfully, and he had to remind himself verbally that he was safe and Elrond was safe and everything was alright now.
He turned to see if he'd woken his lover, but found the bed was empty, just as it had been since he'd left Imladris with his men and marched home to Lindon and Lindon Hall. Over a year ago. He wondered why he still expected Elrond to be there, when he knew full well that Elrond was governing Imladris.
He turned onto his stomach and tried to go back to sleep, hugging one of the luxurious pillows close to him. He was still shaking uncontrollably and his heart continued to beat rapidly. He looked out of the window, gazing at the stars and the setting moon. He was still awake when his attendant knocked on the door at first light get him ready for the new day.
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Morning had come and morning had gone, with its breakfast meetings and early appointments. Ereinion's darling chief counselor had seen fit to liberally slather him with more 'urgent' and 'imperative' decisions before noon than usual. Sadly, the bumbling Elda was too dense to realize that the High King was not a morning person, and continued to schedule ambassadorial meetings and other delicate matters when Ereinion was at his worst, despite the king's requests to the contrary. It seemed that nothing less than a written royal order would get it through to Meneldil that Ereinion enjoyed his sleep and would like to partake of it until at least three hours after first light.
If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd be writing that order this very moment.
The Lord of Lindon and High King of the Noldor rested his chin on his arms, which were folded atop the desk in his private office. Half-finished correspondence and unread field reports lay strewn across the great, antique desk. A cup of cold tea sat forgotten to one side. The gold and silver head-shackle, as Ereinion often referred to it, had long since been tossed across the room (for the nth time).
Ereinion felt like an overworked animal. In wartime, he understood the constant gaggle of counselors and aides advising him this and wanting him to deal with that. Their whole lives depended on it. But there was peace now, and while the need for government still existed, the practice of nearly suffocating the supreme executive officer with things that needed to be taken care of rightnow didn't seem nearly as necessary to him as it had in those times when their lives were on the line. How had he survived this last time?, he wondered. He'd had Elrond last time, that was how. Elrond, who was now in Imladris, where he was needed.
Imladris.
The most idiotic idea struck Ereinion. It was worse than idiotic, he decided quickly. It was folly. It was madness.
It was the best damn idea he'd had in a while.
Inspired, he finished all the reading and writing in record time, filed the reports away in their various cabinets, and dumped the sealed and addressed letters into a box to be sent out in the morning. He picked up the crown and the cloak that had been carelessly tossed over the back of a chair and slid out the secret passage behind a bookcase. Using the network of secret passages known by only a few of the palace residents and personnel, he arrived in his personal chambers undisturbed by courtiers. He tossed crown and cloak onto the bed.
Within a few minutes, several other items had been tossed haphazardly on the bed: a knapsack, a few changes of clothes, a blanket, a dagger and scabbard, a waterskin, a purse of gold, a comb, and several other items helpful to one who is running away. He packed efficiently and changed into something more suitable for travel. Then he went to a large chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, taking out the large mithril spearhead of Aeglos. Wrapped in canvas and leather, he packed that as well. He tied the mallorn-wood staff to the knapsack, and went to the balcony. He was three stories up, facing west. Soon the people would gather in the Sea-garden for evening prayers and songs, and he could ride east, toward Imladris and his lover.
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Ereinion heard the evening hymns begin and spared a few moments to add his own prayers from his balcony, then put on his cloak and gathered his bag, now also filled with a few items he'd collected from the kitchen and Elrond's old apartment. Armed with knapsack and cloak, he went down the secret staircase and into the maze of passageways. He didn't carry a torch, though the passages weren't lighted. He could see well enough in the dark, and knew the labyrinth of corridors well enough to navigate them blindfolded. He selected a passage that would take him outside, to the Moon-garden. There would be few in the garden itself, and none who would bother him, he hoped.
Ereinion moved through the gardens confidently, for if he moved otherwise someone would suspect something. Once through, he turned northward, to the stables. His stallion, Sadron, was in a large, clearly marked stall. "Sssh," Ereinion said with a sound and a finger to his lips. The horse wisely complied. Ereinion barely had the time to tie his bag onto a lightweight harness and secure it onto the warhorse when the stablemaster caught a glimpse of him from one of the other stalls.
"Out for a ride, Your Majesty?" he queried casually as he continued his work.
He was suddenly thankful, both for his custom of regularly riding and for the fact that the stablemaster couldn't see the harness or pack from his point of view. "Yes, just a few turns about. I shan't be gone long," Ereinion replied.
It wasn't a lie; he didn't say what it was he was taking a turn about. He could be taking a turn about all Endor. It was the stablemaster who assumed that he meant he was taking a few turns about the castle or the city. Ok, it was a lie of omission. But it wasn't as if he'd never done that before.
The stablemaster smiled. "Have fun, milord." Then he turned back to his work.
Ereinion smiled back, genuinely. "I will, thanks." If only the poor elf knew what he was really saying, Ereinion thought to himself. He hopped astride the horse's back and rode out at a canter. Only when he was out of earshot did he ask Sadron to gallop east as fast as he could.
The ever-faithful horse did as he was asked.