At last the long stay in Imladris is over, yet on the eve of their march all are gladdened for joy has come even in these dark days, while across the sea a bold dragon seeks to humble the Faithful
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Valley of Imladris… Year 3434 of the Second Age.
Arianne woke feeling sick to her stomach, and she shivered. It was the cold chill hour before the first stir of dawn, and the moon was low though the worst of the cold was kept at bay by the warmth of her cousin and wolf, who snored happily, seemingly unbothered by the chill.
She desperately wanted to sleep more, but the morning sickness would not be denied; this had happened with startling frequency in the past weeks. At first, she had supposed it to be nausea; perhaps the elves had made something that disagreed with her, but then other signs came… her bosom became tender, and then her feet swelled, dizziness followed and lastly, she had missed her moon blood.
Arianne felt dread, true dread, as she knew the signs well she was pregnant... She had no doubts; she and her White Wolf would finally bring their firstborn to Arda... Just as the march South was upon them, although she did not know how that had happened since they had taken precautions, what had gone wrong?
Her beloved idiot would take care of her and her son, of that she had no doubt but still... She felt overcome; she had intended to go to war with her White Wolf and the others, but those hopes were dashed.
"I cannot go, may the Valar forgive me, but I cannot go to war; I must abide here. What cruel fate that my love shall miss the birth of our firstborn." thought Arianne, despairing. Fortunately, the sickness had subsided as she took a sprig of mint and popped it under her tongue before sliding back beside her beloved wolf.
Arianne lifted her head lazily and glanced at Rhaenys, who slept opposite her; she had waited many nights to share a bed with Jon, yet last night she had felt especially amorous and offered Rhaenys a place in their bed to wit the girl had happily agreed much to the ire of the others.
Though that is not to say she had been idle these three years, rising every morning with Rhaenys and Daenarys training with sword, shield and any other weapon, sparring with the captains of Elrond's household.
Still, there was a gloom about the place, especially when word from the South came, Anárion had held Osgiliath for three long years, driving the forces of the enemy into the mountains; this was welcome news, yet all was not well though the Orcs had been pushed back the beasts had plundered the lands in their retreat and supplies were dwindling by the day they knew unless help should come to Gondor would not long stand.
"Fortune is cruel, it seems. I had hoped to fight with my love, but Ilúvatar has deemed otherwise…" thought Arianne caressing her belly tenderly. "How shall I tell him that he will be a father so soon?"
Normally she would not despair; alas, when her beloved returned from Khazad-dûm, his character had changed and not for the better.
When Arianne met her White Wolf, he was a solemn, distrustful, gloomy man on account of his betrayal at the hands of the Tyrells.
Undoubtedly his most admirable quality was his sense of adventure and the nobility of his spirit; perhaps it was foolish, yet when he slew that foolish pirate, she could rightly say she loved him there and then, in that moment, she stopped seeing him as a green boy and saw him as a loyal and dashing man who brightened all about him; it was akin to glimpsing the sun for the first time.
However, her beloved had become dour as of late. He no longer smiled nor joined in celebrations, content to lock himself in his forge for many days. At first, they had thought the meeting with King Durin had turned sour; even Írimë and Galadriel couldn't reveal to them much as Jon had closed his mind to them, much to their sadness as they wished to help him.
They thought to ask Loras and Robar, even Ciryon, who said nothing on the matter save that the meeting went well, with Durin agreeing to furnish them with metals and other materials; it had grown vexing, so she and the girls had gone to the forges to confront their wolf.
Upon arriving at his workshop, they found Jon hunched over a kiln of emerald flames. He had not offered them welcome nor any acknowledgement; they had thought to subdue him when Robar came with Loras at his side, and upon seeing his brother was still dour as the stone, the old rune Lord, at last, spoke of their travels.
Flashback
The Journey to Khazad-dûm was one of vexation for Robar and Loras as the stubborn Gryphon had refused them passage through the air so while their brother-in-arms had arrived some days before them. They were forced to trek through Eregion, listening to the complaints of Aratan and Ciryon for near three days until, at last, they joined Jon at the entrance of the city, weary, hungry and altogether unamused.
Robar scowled as he approached Jon, who was speaking good-naturedly with the door wardens when he noticed their approach.
Jon smiled. 'It is good tidings that you join me so swiftly, my friends. I was just about to ask the Dwarves to send out a search party! I feard you may have been captured by Goblins and were being carried off to some dark hole far from daylight, but it seems fortune favours you."
Loras stood beside him and glowered evilly at Jon. "I swear by Eru, Robar, and I shall get you back for that glorified hawk's favouritism, Jon, mark my words."
He said nothing, merely smiling at his brothers and the Princes who remained quiet while the dwarves eyed them wearily, muttering to themselves about the strangeness of men folk before tapping upon the hidden door thrice and allowing them entry into the Halls of Durin.
They were swiftly taken to the throne room, passing by numerous dwarves, all of whom offered greetings. As they passed, Jon and Robar caught glimpses of their conversations; much was said of the world outside, especially in the East. Of these things, Jon had already heard many rumours, but it was only rumour; it appeared that amid the splendour of their works of hand, the hearts of the Dwarves of the Khazad-dûm were troubled.
They came finally to the doorway of the throne room, but as Jon made to enter, Robar halted. "Jon, I hope you shall have something to soothe his pride! So seldom do dwarves forgive slights."
'Aye, Robar, do not fret do you have so little faith in me?' said Jon assuredly.
'Yes,' chortled Robar. 'It is less to do with faith and more to do with not wishing to lose my head to dwarvish axes!'
With that, they entered the hall of kings, and it seemed a disquiet fell upon them as the dwarves turned to gaze at the newcomers.
Solemnly they paced the long floor towards Durin's throne until they stood three paces from his glimmering throne.
Then Jon spoke. 'Hail, Lord and King of the Longbeards, Durin, fourth incarnation of the most venerable father of the dwarves! I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour.'
Then the old Dwarf looked up, and Jon was struck by the King's appearance; his beard was more grey than silver, and his face held so many wrinkles that it looked like cured leather, yet the old dwarf was still redoubtable as the mountains he held in Kingship.
'Dark indeed is the hour,' said Durin grimly, 'and at such times, you are wont to come, Jon. But I ask now why I was not summoned when the Council was called near three years ago? Were the oaths we swore but a pittance, or perhaps you wish to turn aside the friendship of my peoples during such times?"
Jon bowed low. "I offer my apologies, King Durin; it was not my will to leave you out of such talks; the voices of the Dwarves were sorely missed at Amon Sûl.'
All seemed grim until Robar spoke, his voice mirthful. "My King, such a slight is hard to overlook, so Jon has brought you a morsel as a peace offering; it is a fine cake made with strawberries."
Jon glowered at Robar angrily but could do little to quiet his brother now lest he offends King Durin further, who seemed somewhat bewildered by Robar's eagerness.
"Well, I can't rightly turn down such offerings when presented to me," said Durin happily. "Come, Jon, we can speak of your needs while I judge the quality of your apology."
When Robar mentioned the cakes, they had laughed merrily. Jon, for his part, said nothing continuing to the hammer, the hot metal, all the while glaring at Loras and Robar as if he wished to smite them with his hammer.
"Oh, my Nin Mel… Your friends' jealousy has deprived you of my gifts… But don't fret; I'll make another batch of cakes," said Írimë running her fingers through Jon's sweat soaked tresses.
Arianne smiled, seeing her wolf come to his senses, yet there too was jealousy as Írimë ever sought to supplant her in Jon's heart.
Jon smiled. "Thank you, my sunflower," he said hoarsely. "You always do your best to drive away my despair."
"You're welcome, Nin Mel. I'm your wife; it's my duty…." said Írimë boldly, glancing at her niece and Rhaenys, though both appeared impassive, Arianne had known them for many long years, so much so she could discern the envy in their eyes. Rhaenys's temper and Galadriel's pride were always troublesome.
Seeing a fight was near at hand, Robar thought it best to continue his tale.
They soon learned that King Durin had greatly loved the cakes and swiftly devoured them one after the other, with Ciryon adding that the old dwarf had also downed nearly a dozen barrels of wine.
In the end, the Dwarf King had been so pleased with Írimë's cakes that he had even forgotten the reason for his displeasure and treated them as truly honoured guests.
Seemingly, Írimë's cakes were so delicious that they soothed King Durin's wounded pride.
From that moment on, relations between them were friendly as always, and the elven emissaries, together with the Dúnedain, began to speak about the amounts of steel and iron they would need for the forging of weapons.
As for Jon and King Durin, it seemed her wolf hadn't participated in the talks and left it to the rest to take care of it as they retreated to the forges instead jesting and laughing like the old friends they were, a friendship reminiscent of that of the Celebrimbor and Narvi.
It seemed the rest of their stay had been amiable Aratan and Ciryon had even bought two dwarven shields, an investment some considered wise though Isildur would not be among them; items of dwarven make were seldom inexpensive.
Robar continued to recount all that had happened during their stay while Loras occasionally offered his own insight until, at last, they came to the end of their tale, and though it was rather fascinating, it did little to explain Jon's gloominess as of late.
But before Arianne could demand more of him, Írimë approached Jon, who seemed to be hammering a breastplate, and before she could so much as ask the elf what she was doing, Írimë kissed Jon as fiercely as able.
"Nin Mel, we already heard the story of your travels… What troubles you so?" Írimë asked softly though there was an iciness to her that betrayed her displeasure. Yet still, her haughty smile betrayed the joy the elf took in her closeness to her wolf, and Arianne wished to smack her about the ears for such arrogance.
Arianne perhaps hid her feelings better than Rhaenys. Still, she couldn't blame her cousin for her hatred of this vexing elf since their courting near a century past, the Elves and Dunedain have always considered Írimë , Jons, lawful wife, as none among the Noldor would accept anything less, and the Dúnedain were delighted at the thought of another union of Elves and Men perhaps she could bear it if not for Írimë boasting of her good fortune every chance she got.
Something that Arianne considered most unfair; she was Jon's first companion, his first true love who chose to accompany him to Middle earth; although she was not the first woman to lay with him, nay, that bitch in Highgarden had claimed that honour.
Just thinking of that foolish bitch filled her with malice and amusement; it had been many years since Jon had told her the tale of his betrayal, yet she couldn't help but laugh at the little roses' misfortune. What would the Tyrells think of Jon if they saw him now?
"Undoubtedly, those glorified Stewards would try to win his favour again," thought Arianne angrily. She had bore no ill will towards the Tyrells, no her uncle had been chiefly to blame for reigniting the feud when he crippled Willas Tyrell, though it was rather one-sided as Willas hadn't blamed her uncle for his misfortune they even struck up a friendship of sorts bonding over horseflesh.
At the thought of her family, Arianne frowned. "What has become of them, I wonder? My cousins, my uncle, my father, even Quentyn… I have lived so long that holding a grudge has become wearying; mayhaps if I see them again, I may brag about my good fortune."
Though she was drawn out of her thoughts as Írimë began arguing with Sansa and Arya, who seemed altogether done with the haughtiness of the Elf princess.
"Those two have become more daring… Mmmppp, it seems they have found their way into my wolf's bed," thought Arianne wearily, hoping such tension wouldn't affect the baby.
As for the others, Daenerys was still chortling with Ashara and Shiera about what happened to Jon's cakes... The only one missing was Queen Rhaella, who was having tea with Celebrían and Berendreth, but Arianne knew that Daenerys would speak to her mother about everything that was said today.
Yet it seems that Lady Galadriel was wiser than most taking advantage of their quarrelling approached Jon, Arianne lamented Galadriel and Írimë were her staunchest rivals; she knew that the lady's love for her Wolf was as vast as hers, and in those moments, Galadriel was driven by that love, not by competition with them.
"My Wolf… Speak now; what ails your spirit and your heart?" asked Galadriel; seizing his hammer in her left hand and using her right hand, she grabbed Jon by the chin, though he wouldn't deign to meet her gaze.
"Do you truly wish to see the truth of my heart?" Jon asked sadly.
"Yes, to know the nobility of your heart is something I cherish greatly, my beloved, but I will not force you to open the way for me, so I ask you as your wife… Tell me what ails you, my love," said Galadriel kissing him with all the passion she could muster.
"Okay, that's too much…" Arianne thought resentfully, moving to separate them though it seemed they were blind to all else. It was then Arianne heard a peal of mirthful laughter in her mind and knew at once it was Galadriel, no doubt amused by her challenge.
"By the Valar!" growled Daenerys and Shiera while Loras and Robar laughed at their companions' jealousy though they were silenced by the evil glare of Ashara, who was altogether unamused by the Elf's boldness.
When they had parted, Jon nodded and set aside his hammer... But at that moment, Írimë came to his side, glaring at her niece, who seemed torn between her love for Jon and riling them up.
"Very well… I shall speak though it will do little to heal the wound of my heart," Jon said wistfully.
"Jon…" Sansa said nervously.
"What troubles you so?" exclaimed Loras, crossing his arms. "You have been acting queer since we returned from Khazad-dûm,"
"I never wish to return Khazad-dûm," said Jon gloomily, to the astonishment of all.
"You and King Durin parted on good terms... what happened?" asked Robar, dismayed, and Jon sighed, glancing at Galadriel for a few moments before she rushed to embrace him, not caring that he was covered in ash, soot and sweat.
"Oh, my beloved fool, you should have opened up to us before... You shouldn't carry such a heavy burden on your own," Galadriel said, not wanting to let go of Jon.
"Nin Mel… my Fool", mumbled Írimë feeling the sadness of her beloved.
"We came to the forges, sharing tales of our travels, reminiscing of all we had accomplished, then set hammer to anvil and spent the remainder of the day tending the forges," said Jon, his eyes sparkling with tears.
"And what happened, little brother?" asked Rhaenys worriedly.
"A shadow began to darken my heart when I saw King Durin working in my forge, and an evil feeling came to me in those happy hours," said Jon angrily though they were still
"Speak plainly, Jon. What has happened?" asked Ashara, worried for her beloved wolf.
Jon said nothing, but sank to his knees. And They saw tears on that once tearless face, more unbearable than wrath.
"I felt in my heart a great pain, and in my mind appeared the vision of King Durin in his bed, weary and at peace." he stammered. "It was his time, and I knew that the next time I visited him, it would be the last time I saw my friend in life."
"Oh.." was the only answer that Loras and Robar gave, not knowing what to say.
"Does anyone else know?" asked Shiera worriedly, choosing her words carefully, not wishing to add to her beloved's grief.
"No…" Jon growled.
"My beloved Jon… The pain that torments you is what my people often face here in the Perishable Lands; we can do nothing but enjoy brief bliss with our friends and hope that Eru will allow us all to return to see each other when this world is cured of the taint of the Great Enemy" Galadriel said caressing Jon love's face much to Arianne's annoyance.
"It's not your turn, my Lady," said Arianne, jealously removing Galadriel's hands from Jon's face earning an evil look from the daughter of Finarfin for her audacity while everyone silently watched the challenge between Arianne and Galadriel.
"Be silent, viper!" she hissed, and they shuddered at the hideous change. "Tis of greater importance to mend the heart of my husband, Arianne Martell, but I shall not forget your gall."
Awe and fear fell upon Arianne, and she cowered, shutting her eyes and not daring to look meet Galadriel's gaze clinging onto Jon for
"My Star…" said Jon warningly
Arianne frowned that despite his melancholy, Jon would still call that conniving elf his Star. By the Valar, how Arianne disliked those evil, knife-eared elves and when she heard Galadriel's laughter once again, she grinned evilly.
"Bitch of the Light," thought Arianne, and at once, the laughter ceased.
"We'll see about it, insolent woman…." said Galadriel, not bothering to meet her eyes.
"Oh, my Nin Mel… That's why you're so disheartened? What a fool you are; I'm your wife. Why did you not speak to me?" said Írimë, her voice trembling between sadness and hope, and Jon took her hands in his own eyes filled with regret.
"Blame him, not my lady. Jon would have said nought unless we pressed him!" grumbled Loras, furious that his brother must keep such things to himself after all these years.
'What do you mean?' said Robar sharply, looking at him in astonishment. 'Why didn't you speak of this before?"
"You should already know, despite his new cheerful and playful character, Jon has ever been grim, sullen and cautious; even when he came South to foster with my family, many thought him unfriendly or arrogant. He does not tend to reveal his thoughts or feelings to others… Unless he has no other choice, and it seems it has persisted all these years," grumbled Loras exasperatedly.
"Jon is much the same as my father. He was a loving and warm man with those he held dear but rarely shared his thoughts or sentiments even with those he loved preferring to bear the weight alone… There is little hope in changing him; Jon has always been like that," said Sansa, unexpectedly supporting Loras.
"Jon is as mindless and gloomy as my father," said Arya teasingly, hoping to lighten their burdens.
After hearing those words from those who knew Jon best, everyone in the forges complained about Jon's stubbornness in not sharing their burdens.
"My Nin Mel… You're a… Fool," said Írimë vexedly, although everyone was sure that "Fool" was not the word she had in mind.
Jon could not speak, but wept anew. 'Forgive me, my sunflower,' he said at last, "I hadn't the courage to speak of what I knew. I hoped beyond desire that I would not be parted from any of you, yet never did I consider that one whom I loved so dearly would be taken by the fullness of life... I beg your forgiveness!" said Jon bowing low, his eyes flecked with tears.
Indeed, they all felt pity for their beloved but no more so than Galadriel, who was reminded of her dearest brother Finrod who wept when his dearest friend Bëor passed away at ninety-three, a commendable age for the Edain, but for Finrod, it was but a spring evening. And queer though it may seem a similar fate had befallen her wolf who tarried so long in the company of immortals that death seems but a shadow of the sunrise.
"Oh, my beloved Jon…" thought Galadriel hoping to ease her husband's burden, yet it seemed that Írimë was always a step ahead of her.
"Oh, my beloved Nin Mel", said Írimë running forward and embracing him lovingly as she might, hoping to ease his burdens.
Something irritated Arianne greatly, but she consoled herself by placing her head on Jon's right cheek and began to pamper him by kissing him non-stop.
"You are forgiven, my White Wolf. Even the wisest make mistakes more so when there is a loss to be had," said Arianne lovingly, glancing towards Írimë with a most knowing look, while the Noldorian princess glowered at her, her green eyes alight with vexation
And it was not just her; indeed, all eyes fell upon her, but she did not cower, after all, she is Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne; she was Jon's first true love, the first to decide to accompany him... So, she must claim her place among these ladies of renown and noble birth, especially those vexing elvish she shall always be first in his heart.
Arianne felt the chill of winter keenly and endeavoured to hold her wolf close, delighting in the warmth of his form.
"Go to sleep Ari…." growled Jon holding her flush against him, much to her delight, yet Rhaenys was still fast asleep.
"I woke you up?" she mumbled sweetly before leaning over to kiss him. She had felt more passionate as of late though Arianne guessed it to be the joy of carrying their child.
Jon kissed her on the brow and held her close. 'Aye, my dearest viper, it seems you rise as the sun."
Arianne laughed merrily. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't matter, the sun has not yet risen, and it's freezing… It's good that I have you to warm me up,"
"I'm glad to help you… And it seems you didn't have nightmares anymore," Jon said, amused, apparently not noticing his nervousness, but Arianne quickly hardened her eyes and looked at him with sudden anger.
"It's not funny, fool; your damn elf has filled my dreams with nightmares for these three years", Arianne growled, thinking of Galadriel with resentment.
"You know Galadriel's pride, and she told me you called her Bitch of the Light... Of course, she would seek redress," said Jon wearily, and she frowned.
"Do you defend her?' she retorted, "Oh, by Yavanna, of course you would. The woman could set fire to your valuable and cast your armour into the ocean, and it would be, but a bat of her pretty lashes and all would be forgotten!"
"Arianne…" he growled angrily.
"Silence Jon… Rhaenys is still asleep… you had best do the same," said Arianne before settling herself into the crook of his arm.
"Mayhaps, you need a lesson?" said Jon. "As for Rhaenys, do not fret. She is still exhausted from last night, though I admit my shock you seldom wish to share me with others."
"I felt… adventurous… what are you doing?" grumbled Arianne as she saw Jon push her cousin to the side. Fortunately, Rhaenys did not stir, merely curling further into the covers.
"You're still awake… I want you, Arianne," Jon grunted, his eyes alight with lust.
"My White Wolf... It's so early, and I'm still sore... Aahhh!" Arianne moaned as she felt Jon pepper her bosom with kisses.
"I don't care…." Jon growled before hilting himself in her, yet still, Rhaenys did not wake.
"Truly? My cousin could sleep through a march of Olags," Arianne thought, amazed that Rhaenys hadn't woken up, but she couldn't think on the matter more as Jon began to make love to her.
"Oh, by the Valar", Arianne groaned, wrapping her legs around Jon's waist and capturing his lips in a fierce kiss.
And so, the morning began with love reaffirmed and passions alight.
After they had made love for what seemed the whole of the morning, Rhaenys finally roused herself, and the young dragon was displeased, demanding Jon satisfy her as well though he refused with great sadness the night passed. Together they watched the dawn grow slowly in the sky, now bare and cloudless, until at last the sunrise came. It was pale and clear, and the valley glittered as diamonds for the morning dew.
Life in Imladris goes on, much the same as it had since their first coming some three years back, preparing for war as best they could while Anárion valiant as he was held out against Sauron alone; his friend had driven the enemy from Ithilien yet still many horrors came from the Black Lands.
Although not all was lost in Anárion's last message, his friend offered him thanks for his gifts; though the Orcs were cruel and cunning, the men of Gondor were of great stature and strength, and their panoply of such quality that none save the stoutest Orcs could hope to slay them indeed so proud was Anárion that he had asked him to strengthen both Minas Anor and Minas Ithil when the war had ended.
Jon was honoured to hear that, but he knew should they tarry much longer, Gondor would be overthrown; many times, he had thought to go South to aid his friend but knew in his heart that his place was here.
Knowing he wouldn't get any more respite, Jon rose from his bed and donned one of his beloved wife's works; Lalwen always sewed gold or blue robes for him in the Vanyar manner and chose one of the latter this time, it was a stunning bottomless blue robe like the sea embellished with silhouettes of silver eagles among the clouds… An apparent reference to Lord Manwë.
For the past three years, Lalwen, Galadriel and Sansa have not allowed him to wear anything except the elven robes they have lovingly made for him, though to dawn such raiment's was altogether against the grain of his nature, yet knowing that such fair maidens would fashion clothes for him filled Jon with happiness.
Alas, not all was cheerful since foreseeing Durin's death, he had become sullen; it felt as if a great weight of dread was on him. Indeed, his companions had seen the change in him, and they were not false. He had spent many years among those of long winters and, to his shame, forgot the gift of Ilúvatar, yet it did little to ease his unhappiness knowing that many of those whom he loved would journey to the Halls of Mandos.
King Durin would go to the halls of his fathers, and the world would become gloaming ever deeper, yet his death would not be so hollow. Jon had not forgotten his dream of beautifying and strengthening Valyrian Steel with the knowledge of the Dwarves and Eldar; though such plans had been forgotten for plots of war, there was seldom time to practice such crafts. Fortunately, in his last days with Durin, he may have found the answer, although at the moment, his attention was drawn to other matters.
Once dressed, Jon followed the winding path to the halls of meeting. Elrond was there as well as the chiefest councillors of Elves and Men, of whom Galadriel noticed his coming and smiled in greeting.
"My King, I have arrived," said Jon bowing low.
"Finally... Welcome, Jon," said Elendil in greeting, bidding him stand.
"Baelon Targaryen," said King Gil-galad.
"King Gil-galad," Jon said respectfully.
"Jon, my grandson," said his grandmother leaning closer and kissing him on the cheek.
"Grandmother," said Jon happily.
Galadriel bowed to him and smiled. "Take your place by our side, Prince Jon." said his Star happily. "Your knowledge shall be of great help,"
"My Lady Galadriel... It will be an honour," said Jon returning the bow, then offered the same courtesy to his mentors and brothers in arms who were grinning ear to ear.
Yet as he moved to take his seat, Jon noticed Círdan eyeing them warily; it was unsurprising they were certain the old Elf had gleaned the truth of their closeness, in large part for the many gifts they had exchanged over the years and how often they had been found together, but such things could wait they had much to speak of.
"I hope this council will be over soon so I can get some breakfast", Jon murmured.
The great Lords had begun to talk before his arrival, although nothing of great importance; according to Robar, merely determining the best routes to take on their march to Mordor the journey would be perilous no matter what approach was taken; the enemy had many spies in his service, and would no doubt seek to bar their path or waylay them as best he could.
Yet, as he glanced at the maps, it seemed that only one plan had any true merit to cross over the Misty Mountains and follow the Anduin down to the plains of Dagorlad.
"You have a keen mind for war, my Wolf, but I fear that traversing Caradhras with such a mighty host shall prove difficult; its paths are winding and narrow, and winter is upon us, so the high peaks shall be heavy with snow," said Galadriel sternly and Jon nodded in agreement.
Jon nodded in agreement. "But I have the solution, my star; to travel as one host would be to invite disaster Caradhras seldom cares for visitors, so we much go swift as able; we must divide the army."
"But how shall we cross such perilous peaks so near to winter?" asked Galadriel warily.
"My Lords, it seems to me that I have the solution to reach Mordor," said Jon drawing the attention of the council.
"I knew you would share your wisdom Jon. Speak," King Elendil said curiously.
"In my opinion, it is best to do what has already been decided in this Council... Split our army into two separate hosts, the first travelling the Pass of Imladris and the second the Pass of Caradhras," said Jon, glancing at the maps.
"Yes, that had been brought up but to traverse those mountains is foolhardy rarely does Caradhras abide travellers," answered Glorfindel warily. Doubtless, he had little wish to travel across the great peaks though none could blame him.
"Aye, but we have something that no army of Men and Elves had before… A dragon as an ally," said Jon warily, remembering Vhagar's proudness.
That aroused the immediate interest of everyone present.
"Are you going to fly on your dragon and see the way from above?" Loras intoned excitedly.
"Well, yes, but not as such I shall see through her eyes," answered Jon proudly.
"Will you enter the mind of your dragon?" said Elrond, quavering between excitement and curiousness.
"I can treat with her Lord Elrond, but you know of Vhagar's proudness. She will seldom do something she believes is undeserving of her strength!" Jon replied.
"And why do you think your dragon will agree?" asked Gil-galad with a deep frown.
"Perhaps, Vhagar is rather greedy in her own way... yet I know she would wish me no harm, so I ask her to be the one to guide the army over Caradhras," Jon requested solemnly as the Great Lords of Middle Earth gazed at him unblinkingly as if testing his will and in fact, he could feel a great weight crashing over him, but he did not relent.
Elendil and Gil-galad glanced at the others for a moment, offering them a chance to speak, and when none came forward, they relented.
"Very well, but are you sure that your dragon will allow you to enter her mind?" asked Elendil in surprise.
"I'll convince her, I'm sure... Though as long as I warg into her mind, I shall be immobile for a time," said Jon grimly.
"We will go with you… We will take care of you while you are inside your dragon," Loras said quickly, and Robar nodded after a few moments, but his grandmother Rhaella was not satisfied with the plan.
"The plan is risky, but it is feasible; however, if it begins to snow, I am afraid it shall be difficult to see even for a dragon," said Rhaella worriedly, though she knew her grandson would not be dissuaded.
"I know of your fear, Rhaella but worry not, I shall aid Jon in this undertaking," exclaimed Galadriel surprising the entire Council. She held up a small crystal phial: it glittered as she moved it, and rays of white light sprang from her hand, and Jon cried aloud, "Aiya Eärendil elenion
ancalima!".
"Jon?" said Glorfindel confused why his pupil would say such a thing.
"My lady?" questioned Lord Círdan in wonder.
"What's that?" King Gil-galad asked curiously.
"Many years ago, when we went together to Dorwinion and retrieved that great treasure from the depths of the Sea of Rhûn, I gifted Jon this phial... A creation of mine that can brighten even the darkest shadows" said Galadriel offering the phial to her husband, all the while defying the urge to kiss him.
"And I used it on that occasion to illuminate my sight at the bottom of that Eastern Sea... Lady Galadriel's gift shall be of great help to us," said Jon taking the phial with great reverance.
"Yes, but now thanks to the Silmaril that Jon gave me, I have sufficed the phial with greater light... It will shine brighter than it did in the Sea of Rhûn, enough so that in case of great need, Jon may guide us through the treacherousness of Caradhras." Galadriel said gently, looking at Jon with a smile full of love.
"This is indeed a glorious gift," said Elendil with great adulation.
"In that phial there lay the light of two Silmarils... The one that Jon retrieved from the Sea of Rhûn and the one from the Silmaril retrieved by Beren from Morgoth's iron crown, now in Eärendil's possession," said Robar reverently, remembering the story.
"A reminder of one of the great tales of the Elder Days," Loras said excitedly.
"Indeed, my knight has been entrusted with a powerful gift... Isildur, son, you are very quiet... are you well?" King Elendil asked, noting that his eldest son had not spoken the entire Council, and everyone could see the reason.
Isildur was falling asleep.
The conduct of the heir to the Great King was pitiful, his face tired, gaunt, and his eyes blackened; it certainly seemed that he had not been able to sleep for many days.
"ISILDUR!" King Elendil yelled, furious at his son's snub, who was suddenly startled.
"Father... I beg your pardon; the baby was awake the whole of the night," said Isildur wearily, and Jon smiled.
A joy in the midst of such darkness, the night before leaving for Khazad-dûm three years ago, Isildur had asked for some jewellery to calm his wife's anger. He had readily agreed and gifted Isildur a diadem of silver and gold.
It seemed Elendur spoke truly concerning the nature of women. Queen Berendreth was delighted with the jewel and forgave her husband, and a short while later, the Queen declared she was with child; much to the joy of Isildur, nine months later, the valley rang with the cries of new life as little Valandil was born in the beauty and calm of Imladris, a sign of hope for the Dúnedain.
As far as Jon knew, Isildur had named his fourth son after an old childhood friend who died sailing the Great Ocean.
However, Isildur had appointed him as Valandil's mentor, which basically makes Jon a second father to the baby, and he was to educate and help raise him in case something happened to his father. A great honour indeed, one that Jon did not expect even if he was indirectly responsible for Valandil's birth.
"Perhaps we should let King Isildur get some sleep… His son seems more restless than him…" Jon whispered with as much respect as possible, but everyone noticed his true intentions… And smiled.
"Silence, Jon… perhaps you should learn from me considering your taste in women… You will be much worse off than me…." grumbled Isildur, and Loras and Robar laughed loudly while Jon reddened in embarrassment.
Yet the words of Isildur rang true, and Galadriel glanced at him with a sense of longing.
"My Star, what are you thinking?" said Jon happily.
"You should heed the words of Isildur, my foolish Wolf, lest you come to regret it…" said Galadriel merrily, her eyes alight with mirth, and Jon discerned the joy in her heart blazing bright as the sun.
"Has she had a vision of the future?" thought Jon in astonishment, but before he could question her further, Elendil spoke.
"So, how wily is my grandson?" laughed Elendil. "I imagine he is in good health."
"I'd rather face a company of Hill Trolls than face that boy when he is unhappy", grumbled Isildur sleepily.
"Fret not, son of Elendil, Valandil shall grow to become a good man," Galadriel said with a smile.
"I hope so, my Lady. I don't know why my wife desired us to take care of our son instead of the servants," groused Isildur once more.
"Well, it seems to me that this Council has served its intent; we have chosen the path to heed, our soldiers are armed as best they might be all is ready ", said Gil-galad gruffly.
"The great battle of our Age draws closer," said Glorfindel solemnly.
"Let's go with the others to breakfast and replenish our strength, then we shall make ready for the march to Mordor," said Elendil and a shadow of fear passed over him.
"May the Valar guide us!" Jon said aloud, and the others nodded.
"Oh, my brother, I'm certain your wife will have made some shortcakes… Can I have some?" asked Loras heartily.
"Perhaps," grumbled Jon, remembering how he had lost his sweets with such commonness, though his sour mood lessened as he offered his arm to Galadriel.
"Thank you, Jon…" said Galadriel courteously, kissing him on the cheek before they went off to the dining room.
Írimë was at that moment sitting at the high table, adding the final touches on a batch of cakes she had made for her dragon.
"Perfect," She thought, looking proudly at her creations as she sat down, waiting for her dragon to return from the war council.
She had been summoned several times to those Councils but had always refused, her mind was not for war like that of her brother; no, her mother had raised her to be a proper Elf maiden.
Although she was very wise in her own right, Írimë much preferred a simpler life and, like many of her kin held great love for growing things, so when she discovered her dragon enjoyed strawberries planting a garden had seemed the best way to show her love.
The next step was to learn how to prepare cakes, something that she had never done in her long life since her servants did it for her, but the desire to please her dragon was fierce, so she learned as best she could and in the three years they have lived in Imladris she had become a renowned strawberry grower, confectioner, even if she only makes her own delicacies for her beloved dragon.
As she thought about it, she could see her husband's concubines taking their seats, from noble Ashara to her greatest rival Rhaenys who glowered at her from her place at the far end of the table while she held a place at Jon's side.
"Just as it should be", thought Írimë, though Artanis would be seated on her dragons right.
Artanis, her beloved niece and rival though as of late this had blossomed into a love of sorts, they hadn't shared a bed, merely a few kisses; just thinking about it filled Írimë with shame yet too, a sense of wonder and curiosity… But those thoughts were clouded when she laid her eyes on Arianne.
Arianne Martell, her husband's first love, the first woman to choose to accompany him from those lesser kingdoms in the Far East.
"And the mother of his Firstborn…" thought Írimë sourly.
She and her niece had learned of Arianne's pregnancy some time ago, and she was wrothful; she was Jon's first wife, yet that woman had robbed her of the joy of bearing his heir.
The elves seldom have children in such dark times, wisdom that she would heed, although that did not make this situation any easier since she felt that that upstart had stolen a privilege that was legitimately hers, although she could do nothing but accept it and wait anxiously for the children of her beloved dragon begin to grow in her womb.
At that moment, the heralds announced the coming of their Lords, among whom was her husband acting as an escort for Artanis and his grandmother Rhaella and seeing him enter, Írimë put aside her bitterness against Arianne, feeling joy when she saw he was clad in one of the robes she had made for him.
Kings Elendil and Gil-galad came too with Isildur and his wife Berendreth, who in her arms carried their baby... Valandil, their bawling bundle of joy.
They were followed by Círdan and Glorfindel and her husband's brothers-in-arms, Loras and Robar, who swiftly went to greet his lady wife, who was pleased to see him.
Lastly came Elrond and Celebrían, who had drawn the eyes of all for the beautiful jewel she wore, a crown of mithril akin to the one worn by Eärwen save that it was loftier, and it was all white, and the wings at either side were wrought of pearl and silver in the likeness of the wings of a swan, so lifelike many thought it would take flight, and upon its summit was set a single sapphire that shone as the stars.
Jon seated his grandmother and Galadriel before strolling beside her and planting a kiss upon her cheek.
"My Dragon…" said Írimë, embracing him gladly.
"My Sunflower…" said Jon, caressing her golden tresses.
"Aunt…" grumbled Artanis, and Írimë snorted softly.
"Niece…" grumbled Írimë, though she smiled as Jon noticed her cakes and swiftly devoured three in short order.
"Delicious…" said Jon delightedly, his eyes alight with happiness.
"Hehehe… Don't worry, Nin Mel, there's still more… Aren't you going to share some?" Írimë asked, smiling innocently.
"No!" said Jon greedily before resuming his feast.
"Well, as you wish, Nin Mel…." chortled Írimë, her eyes gleaming with amusement and love. Though not all were pleased as she heard Robar and Loras mumbling many curses under their breath, chief among them selfish bastard and damnable oaf.
The breakfast passed without incident, and everyone laughed, ate and satiated until the servants began to take away the dishes; it was at this moment Elendil and Gil-galad rose from their seats, faces grim, indeed it seemed a shadow had passed over all cloaking them in fear and grief.
King Gil-galad raised his hand, and the bustle of the hall stopped as all turned to hear the words of the High King.
"I hope you all enjoyed your breakfast… for now, we must speak of darker days. It was three years ago that the Lord of the Dark Lands came forth from his cursed realms sacking Minas Ithil and burning the heir of Nimloth most fair," said Gil-galad sadly.
Then Elendil spoke, his voice mighty as a summer's wind. "Gil-galad speaks truly for alas! Dark days come, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed, and so we have formed this great alliance of Men and Elves to cast down the Lord of the Dark Tower just as our kin did in the War of the Jewels, we have dwelt here in joy and tranquillity, readying for the day we march against this terrible foe and that day has come!"
"At last, the day has come, one I hoped I would never have to see, for my husband shall march to war," thought Írimë, grimly though she was not alone in her fear as she saw Arianne, who had turned ghostly pale. "The father of her son must go to war, and there is little hope of his return."
"All must be prepared to march in a few days, sharpen your blades, saddle the horses and gather provisions... Our greatest test is upon us... let us hope the Valar may guide us to victory," Said Gil-galad and this was meant with many roars of approval.
"It has been an honour to have all of you as guests in my house, and it saddens me that our time here ends because I know that many will not return... In these three years, my house has been illuminated, beautified and strengthened with your company, and for that, my wife and I thank you..." said Elrond, bowing low.
"Indeed, the walls that my silly dragon has erected to strengthen and widen the halls of Imladris are works of great strength and beauty even though building them was a punishment on Artanis's part since it was a great pain for him..." thought Írimë her eyes darting towards Arianne. "If I know that girl as I'd like to think, she will not hide this from Jon."
"Verily, my dear aunt though perhaps we should follow them", said Galadriel, her voice one of anger and resentment.
"Artanis, how many times must I tell you? Do not enter my mind so wantonly," said Írimë angrily.
"We can speak about that later, aunt; now I think it best we should keep an eye on our dragon. I feel he shall need us," said Galadriel proudly; alas, she was forced to agree. She had planned to follow Jon anyway, but it seemed she would have support.
Her assumptions proved correct; shortly after they had left the hall, she spied Arianne heatedly conversing with their dragon, it seemed the Dornish Princess wished to stroll through the valley. For a few moments, Írimë thought he might deny her, but in the end, Jon gave in, bidding everyone farewell, knowing he would face the ire of the others thereafter.
They followed them as swiftly as possible, keeping under cover wherever possible; indeed, she and Artanis must have seemed like two shadows, one white and one black, following their prey through the forest in silence until they reached a clearing with a small stream.
Before they were noticed, they had slipped behind a tall birch, and they listened anxiously. They could not tell how near Arianne and Jon were, the words seemed almost in their ears.
"What's wrong, Ari? You're so fearful," Jon asked, staring at his lover, but she was clearly frightened and cast down her gaze, holding her belly with care.
"Oh, my Wolf… something has happened…" stuttered Arianne sadly.
"Tell me…" said Jon lovingly and embraced her.
"Oh, my Wolf… I'm so sorry," she said, her eyes wet with tears.
"Why?... Arianne, you're scaring me, my Viper; tell me what ails you so I can ease your burden," said Jon, kissing her lovingly, much to the shock of Arianne, who returned his love in kind.
"My dragon is bold…" thought Írimë angrily, anger shared with her niece, who was frowning.
"It's just... It's just... I CAN'T GO TO WAR WITH YOU!" Arianne wept, though Jon seemed happy, pleased even.
"Of course, our beloved fool would be happy if all of us stayed safe behind these walls." grumbled Galadriel and Írimë couldn't help but nod in agreement.
"It does not grieve me to see you stay behind my Viper though I must ask what has brought about this change?" said Jon, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
Arianne said nothing and gently placed his hand on her belly, and Jon knew at once, backing away, his eyes wide with fear and hope.
"Arianne… You… You… Are you?" asked Jon fearfully.
"Men have stomachs for wars and slaughter but raising children? I think they would prefer to storm the Dark Tower alone," said Galadriel dryly, and Írimë chortled.
"Yes, my Wolf… I carry our firstborn; we'll be parents come Spring," said Arianne; after a moment, she had grown calmer and seemed at peace.
For a few moments, Jon said nothing while the three maidens waited to see what choice he would make.
"My beloved dragon would never disown one of his children," said Írimë, utterly sure of her husband's nobility, caressing her necklace.
"I know, aunt, that's one of the reasons why you and I love him so dearly", seconded Galadriel, her eyes mirthful and loving.
"Jon?" Arianne asked nervously, but he just sighed and hugged her tightly, causing her to start crying.
"Ari… This is wonderful news; I'm sorry if I frightened you; I felt overcome… By the Valar, I still am…" said Jon, holding her close and kissing her with all the passion he could muster.
"I thought you'd be furious, you fool; why didn't you embrace me first?" Arianne growled, still crying but now in happiness.
"Ari.. what is the name my uncle gave me?" said Jon taking her hands into his own.
"Jon Snow…" Arianne said sadly.
"And why was my last name Snow?"
"Because... Your uncle made you pass as a bastard to protect you from Robert Baratheon," Arianne said sadly.
"I never knew my mother... until I stood before the Doomsman, yet I bore that shame for years uncounted. I dared not think to bring such shame upon another, Arianne Westeros is not so accepting of bastards as the Dornish, and I knew my child's life would be one of hardship," said Jon recalling those unhappy days in Westeros.
"Oh… My beloved Jon, my husband, my dragon, those memories will never stop tormenting you, it seems," said Írimë, her eyes flecked with tears.
"So it would seem… The shadow of the past will haunt our beloved fool until the end of his days; oh… how I wish I could bring him peace from those horrid days," said Galadriel mournfully.
Yes, our husband does not deserve to suffer such shame from those petty kingdoms and those wretched men!" said Írimë, still watching the pair converse.
A glance at Artanis made Írimë learn that she, too, wept to see her husband's sadness.
"Jon… All of that is behind me, my White Wolf; I could never see you as anything less than the man I love," Arianne said, resting her head on Jon's chest.
"Still… I'm so frightened, Arianne. I don't know… If I'm ready to be a father, I'll go to war soon; I don't know, I don't know…." said Jon, his face pale as silver.
"Are you afraid you won't come back?" Arianne asked in surprise.
"I would be a fool not to be afraid, my love. Now we must do battle with the chiefest servant of the Great Enemy, and who knows what dark and sinister things he has sired in those blackened pits… we must not underestimate him," said Jon grimly, his face hard as stone.
"Jon…" said Arianne sadly, yet her tears were wiped away by Jon's warm touch.
"But you have given me a reason to return my Viper. I shall be here for our son and you," said Jon gaily, bringing his hands to Arianne's belly.
"You don't know the boundlessness of the love I feel for you, my White Wolf", said Arianne, her eyes shining now as if with some light kindled within.
"Yes, yes, I know, but I am afraid that I must tarnish our joy many years shall this war last, and many still shall never return, and I fear our meeting shall not be till many days hereafter, but I ask you now to guide our son as best you may for he will need you when I cannot be there," said Jon who now seemed bent, laden with years, but holding power beyond the strength of kings.
"I know, I understand..." said Arianne sadly, yet she realised what he had said at that moment.
"Him?... How do you know it's a boy? It could be a girl, one who is just like her mother," Arianne demanded, but Jon laughed mightily.
"I have a feeling... And it is that same feeling now as his father drives me to name him," Jon said solemnly.
"Don't you think it's too soon?" Arianne asked, but Jon shook his head.
"No, it is a feeling that drives me to name him now... Arianne, we shall call him... Amanówë," answered Jon proudly, surprising Artanis, Arianne and herself.
The word Aman had several meanings. Blessed Land or Blessed One, free from evil and Nówë was the name that Írimë knew Círdan bore when he dwelt in Cuiviénen.
"My Nin Mel is honouring Círdan by naming his firstborn son after him, Oh, my Nin Mel, I am happy for you and for Arianne, yet I weep for I could not be given such an honour, but I know the Most High shall bless us with children someday," said Írimë, sadly knowing she had been outdone.
"I share your pain, my aunt… But it is not our time, and it is not correct to bring children into the world in times of war, although this does little to alleviate my jealousy…" said Galadriel wisely, yet Írimë could discern the sadness and jealousy in her words.
"Come, dear Artanis, we already heard what we wished to hear, and again we proved that both of us gave our love to a man like no other," said Írimë happily, taking her hand and kissing her brow, then kissing her softly on the lips.
Galadriel nodded, and they made to leave unnoticed by the two lovers who danced among the streams, happy and peaceful.
Days after…
Several days had passed since Arianne confessed to Jon that she was pregnant, and he had come to accept the news with joy and fear.
Jon never thought it to happen on the eve of war, yet the Valar had seen fit to bless him in such dark times, already there was a fierce love for his son, and it hurt his heart to know that he would not be there to see him born, learn to walk or hear his first words.
He must survive for Amanòwë's sake to raise him as an honourable man.
After he and Arianne shared their happiness, they returned inside, where Jon called for a meeting with all his loves, friends and the Wise to tell them the news.
The news was met with great happiness, especially from Lord Círdan, who dabbed at his eyes with the corner of his robe; Elendil clapped him on the back and offered congratulations while Loras and Robar embraced them, and then, to their embarrassment, Loras handed Robar a bag of gold.
Apparently, the two had a long running wager about who among them would have a child first, and it seemed Robar won.
Arianne grumbled in anger while Robar chortled and offered her some of the winnings, which did a little to alleviate her embarrassment.
Isildur embraced him. "It is splendid news, my friend. May fatherhood find you worthy, he said."
Jon turned to glance at Galadriel, fearing his star would become enraged. Indeed, Jon had rarely felt such dread, nor did he need to read minds of the others to know their hearts Ashara glowered at him, and Shiera's eyes seemed to glimmer evilly, yet it couldn't be likened to the sour countenance of Rhaenys, who seemed more dragon than maiden.
But the ones who worried Jon were his two Eldar wives… Lalwen and Galadriel, he had thought they would be furious, yet it seemed they looked upon him with greater love than before, and he wasn't about to grumble.
Yet there was much to consider, chiefly the reaction of the Noldorin, who would no doubt be displeased by such happenings; in their eyes, Lalwen was his lawful wife, and he scowled at the thought of the Elves treating his son as Fëanor treated Fingolfin and his siblings.
But there was little time to ponder such things as his mind turned thoughts of the forge. He had made good armour and keen swords, yet he was availed little in the blending of the arts of Dwarves, Elves and his kin in the East; fashioning swords had been somewhat easier than armour.
Yet was not so dour his time in Khazad-dûm had proved fruitful Durin had thought it best to go about the steps to turn the metal in Valyrian steel, this befuddled him at first as it meant doing the process backwards, but Jon had trusted the wisdom of Durin.
He had spent many days in the forges toiling day and night until, at last, he had wrought a thing of great beauty.
Jon raised his hand, and all at once, the revelry ceased as the many gathered looked at him in confusion. 'Your pardon, my friends!' 'He said. 'But there is more happy news I wish to share. After many days in the forges that Celebrimbor once called home, I have fashioned an armour that melds the teachings of all peoples. Therefore, I ask that you accompany me to the forges so that I may show my work.'
The others were silent for a moment, and then Isildur spoke, "Tis a splendid idea! Come, Jon, I would like to see what your skill has brought forth." This was met by a chorus of agreement as all were eager to see what Jon had made.
Halls of the Silver Hammer (sometime later)
The moment finally came when all those Jon summoned appeared in front of the entrance to the forges, and all were astonished by the sight of the grand suit of plate. The steel glimmered as a rising star, and set upon the breastplate was a great ruby held by a chain of gold, its rondels were a fine make as well, with the left being fashioned to resemble the leering face of a dwarf, while the right was a gryphon in flight similarly the pauldrons were beautiful, especially the right which was fashioned in likeness to a gryphon's head, a skirt of lobstered plate stretched from waist to mid-thigh, and under all this, he wore a hauberk of mithril scales.
"Ohh… how wonderful," said Shiera, marvelling at the quality of the armour and its shine while Ashara chortled at her lover's amazement though she too was amazed by her love's creation.
"Jon..." Said Lord Glorfindel, mesmerised by the beauty of the armour
"You have outdone yourself this time…" Lord Círdan said, his mouth slightly open in shock.
"Oh, for the Valar... What an excellent job..." said Gil-galad, his eyes roaming over the plate in appreciation.
"It seems you have succeeded, brother", Robar grumbled jealously.
"Aye... My endeavours to unite the Valyrian Steel and strengthen it with the might of the Dwarves and the skill of the Eldar have come to fruition... After much toil and sacrifice," said Jon proudly while his lady loves chortled in amusement.
"Yet it lacks a helm, brother! Have you not fashioned one?" said Loras in confusion.
"I already have a Helm, Loras," Jon said, motioning to one of the squires to bring him the Helm of Hador. He bowed, returning a few moments later with the mighty helmet as well as the shield of the High King, and as he knelt, he offered the Helm to his master.
Jon smiled and took the Helm graciously. "I thank you for your service, lad; you may go and attend to your other duties."
The squire nodded and swiftly departed the hall, then Jon set the Helm upon his head, and all fell silent tall, and fair was their beloved in that hour indeed; it seemed that Hador had come again proud as any man who had ever walked these shores and as they gazed upon him they felt hope and love for all good things even in these dark days.
"Oh... My Nin Mel, you appear as one of the mighty of the West," said Írimë happily, yet before she could embrace him, Rhaenys came and beat her to it.
"Here, it's my turn remember?" said Rhaenys haughtily, embracing Jon, and Írimë scowled.
"I will not forget this... Good sister," Lalwen threatened, returning to Galadriel, who was not pleased herself, nor were the other women for that matter.
"Greedy…" Daenerys grumbled jealously.
"Yes, splendid work without a doubt... But I think it is better that Jon took off his helmet; its enchantment affects friend and foe," said Elrond beginning to feel the magics of the Helm take hold.
"Fool..." Rhaenys cursed under her breath though she was heard by everyone.
"Jon, can you fashion me an armour like that?" said Arya putting aside her jealousy in hopes of tempting her love.
"A fine request, young lady!" said Isildur glancing at the armour in wonder.
"You may touch it if you wish," said Jon proudly and
"It is warm to the touch," said Elendil in wonder.
"Aye, and it seems light as elven mail," said Glorfindel proudly, and Jon nodded.
"Indeed, master, it is light as Gondolin steel and strong as dragon scales. I'd wager that I could swim in it should the need arise," said Jon pleased with his work.
"Beautiful work, you again show that you are a worthy smith… But I wonder your reasons for asking Elendil and me to bring our weapons," said Gil-galad, and Jon smiled.
"It seems to me that you already supposed the answer King Gil-galad…" said Jon kissing Rhaenys on the brow before stepping forward proudly.
"Jon?" asked Rhaella looking at her lover in worry.
"What are you doing, Jon?" asked Sansa warily, unsure of what her cousin had planned.
The Kings of the West glanced at each other before drawing their weapons, Narsil gleaming cold and bright while Aeglos shimmered as the moon.
"Are you certain this is wise?" asked Elendil, somewhat vexed by Jon's arrogance.
"A blacksmith must place his life in peril for his creations; if it cannot turn aside such blows, then I am still a novice with much to learn," said Jon grimly, and once more, the room felt silent save for the hammering of metal and the hiss of the forge as they waited to see what would happen.
The great Kings said nothing, and then both lunged forward, sword and spear held aloft as they brought them down with considerable strength. Jon gave a great cry of pain and fell to his knees, and for a moment, all were fearful that Narsil and Aeglos had struck true, yet Jon rose to his feet grimacing in pain.
"Jon.." cried Galadriel, and at once, she was at his side trying in vain to undo the breastplate hoping his wounds were not so grievous.
"My Lady..." said Glorfindel in astonishment as he had not foreseen the Lady of Light to act so boldly yet, he knew they had been friends for many years, so her concern was quite natural.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, my... lady," said Jon
"Elrond..." said Celebrían, nervously glancing at her husband.
"My intervention is not necessary, my wife... Look," said Elrond, indeed, the Lord of Rivendell spoke truly, for the armour had turned aside the blows, and the halls erupted in applause as the Elven smiths celebrated the good fortune of their kin forging a thing of such beauty.
"Excellent work... You invested your time well, Jon," said Loras embracing his brother happily.
"Splendid..." said Isildur heartily. "Truly, you have proven your worth as an armourer."
"You speak truly, my son; it is a marvellous creation. I've not seen such fine craftsmanship ere Númenor fell," said Elendil happily,
"Well, young man, you have shown us your worth again... Excellent work, beautiful, soft, light and very strong... Now I fear that only Mithril and Maltagil would be superior alloys," King Gil-galad said, somewhat annoyed that the hardness of his beloved spear was overcome.
"Thank you for your kind words," said Jon happily though his happiness turned sour as he glanced at his lady loves, who were wholly displeased by his actions.
Rhaenys stepped forward, brandishing Dramborleg. "We shall speak of your foolish behaviour before we leave, brother. I promise you that." The others nodded in agreement.
Jon paled at the thought it was then he heard the voice of Galadriel in his mind.
"Your punishment is not over yet, my beloved Wolf; when we are next together, you must answer to me for your foolishness, abiding the blows of such weapons for a mere test; you are becoming far too bold," said Galadriel, her voice half fear half happiness.
"My beloved Star still doesn't wish to see me hurt", thought Jon happily.
"Of course, my beloved fool…." Galadriel grumbled angrily. "Never doubt my love for you nor my wish to see you in good health. I am your wife, after all."
Jon was about to reply when Gil-galad spoke again.
"Well, it seems coming here was fruitful, though I am saddened we must leave Imladris so soon, else I would ask for a suit of plate like your own", said Gil-galad regretfully.
"Yes, I shall beg your pardon, my King, the metal takes a great deal of time to smelt, and I used what I had to forge my own armour", answered Jon.
"A pity…" Isildur growled, looking at Jon irritably.
"Indeed, my King…" Loras seconded, scowling at his brother.
"You're a fool Jon.." Robar sighed.
All laughed at Jon's plight as it never ceased to provide amusement while Arianne whispered to their son not to be as foolish as his father.
"In that case, Jon, you should give up some of the things you have in your armoury as compensation for this slight, and I would favour a new dagger!" exclaimed Glorfindel, his eyes alight in mirth.
"That's a pleasing idea, Jon…" said Círdan, his eyes too twinkling in mischief.
"Lord Círdan…" said Jon in disbelief, wondering why his mentor would go along with this.
"That's a fine idea… Take us to your armoury," said Elendil merrily, pleased that he may claim something after all.
"As my King commands…." Said Jon sadly as the laughed at his misfortune.
"Don't forget, my Wolf, we shall speak of your foolishness later!" said Galadriel threateningly, and he paled at her harsh words.
"My Star, please!" Jon.
"Silence Jon, take us to the armoury; I also want to claim something from there…." Galadriel said happily.
In this way, they were taken to Jon's armoury, where they took what they wished from among the jewels, armour, and weapons though none were equal to the suit of plate worn by him.
However, one tarried behind his keen eyes darting between his pupil and the Lady of Light. Their closeness was apparent, but he never imagined such a love would boom, and Círdan was horrified they had transgressed the laws of the Noldor, and he knew his kin would be angry for such trickery; the only question he had was if the Lady Írimë was aware of it.
"I'm certain she is not that naive… Oh, by the Valar, this will end very badly…." thought Círdan fearfully as he followed after his kinsmen.
- -Westeros (Small Council)
Jon Connington stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, where the council had assembled, for there was much to discuss though he would have preferred to gather in the Tower of the Hand; Aegon had insisted on such meetings taking place in the throne room.
There was the Imp who served as Master of Laws and who he had no real care for, Lord Yronwood as Lord Justicar, Darkstar, as he was called, served as the King's companion, the old goat Marwyn served as Grand Maester and Lord Rodrik Harlaw, an Ironborn served as master of ships though this was seen as a way to give the Ironborn a voice rather than the man be ably suited for the office.
The only position left empty was Master of Whispers, though none wished to usurp Lord Varys for fear of retribution; Qyburn had gathered information for them, yes, and although he was useful, none trusted the man for his relationship with the Lannisters, especially Cersei.
Who was trapped in the dark cells being flogged for her misdeed though it is a wonder to Connington she hasn't died yet.
Conquering the Kingdom was easy thanks to Annatar's ring but keeping it… That was very different.
To begin with, Robert Baratheon's debts that do not seem to end and Victarion Greyjoy's Rebellion were two of the problems they have faced since the beginning of his governance; although they have achieved the reunification of the seven Kingdoms, there was still much to do.
Firstly, rebuilding all that had been ruined by the war, and no place was so devastated as the Riverlands that seemed now a graveyard of streams and burnt fields, with bodies lining the roads and crows glutting on the dead.
"Is there anything else we must speak of?" grumbled Connington angrily, wishing this meeting would be over swiftly.
"Just rumours from Essos regarding Victarion Greyjoy; apparently, he's started plundering some Free Cities…." Lord Yronwood muttered.
All eyes fell on Rodrik, who grimaced, "I have little love for my good brother. I tried to dissuade him when he rose in rebellion, but he said that the Ironborn do not bow and scrape before lesser men. As stupid as Balon was, I fear Victarion is far more foolish. The Greyjoys have always sought to return to the Old Ways, forgetting that we were poor and starving then as well; still, I hope the Ironmakers can rule wisely lest they end up like the Greyjoy's."
"So that can wait… Anything else?" Connington sighed.
"Yes, it seems that some Pirate styling himself the Lord of the Waters has claimed dominion of the Stepstones," said Tyrion. "And according to the Dornish, the new pirate king has taken up residence in Torturer's Deep, calling himself the Lord of the Waters and it seems he had a fleet of triple decked trireme's.
Yronwood scoffed. "It seems the rumours of Aurane fleeing the city after the Lion bitches arrest were true, though I never thought he'd have the stones to steal the whole of the Royal fleet."
"It is better to get rid of him as soon as possible... The Stepstones are a vital maritime trade route," said Connington cursing the foolishness of the damned seahorses.
"We will need the Redwyne Fleet, the royal fleet… Well, what remains is not enough to face those galleys…." Lord Harlow said, stroking his chin.
"Grand Maester send a letter to the Arbor requesting Lord Redwyne the use of his fleet… This won't last long," said Connington, and Marwyn nodded.
"That pirate doesn't know what's in store for him," Aegon said, thrilled at the thought of battle.
"We must try to recover the galleys, they are property of the Crown, and we are not in a position to lose gold," said Tyrion, and they nodded in agreement.
At that moment, the doors of the room were opened and in strolled Gerold Dayne, who swiftly crossed the room and knelt before the throne.
"What's going on? We are in a meeting of the Council Ser Gerold; order that no one enter until it is finished," said Aegon angrily, glowering at the Knight of High Hermitage.
"Your Majesty, I'm very sorry to interrupt, but... There is someone who wishes to speak with you and insists that he cannot wait," The knight replied, clearly bitter.
"And who is this visitor?" asked Ser Barristan speaking for the first time.
"That would be me..." said an effeminate voice, and soon the scent of heavy perfume filled the halls; its owner was an obese, bald man dressed in rich silks and soft slippers.
No introduction was necessary, although no one expected to see him after so long away; many hoped he had died.
"Varys…" Connington growled, displeased that the spider had returned to his webs
"Time has passed, my Lord. I am glad to see that our King Aegon has reclaimed his crown; it means that all our scheming and toil proved fruitful," said Varys bowing low.
Aegon rose from the iron throne and descended the long steps until, at last, he stood before Varys.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Varys, and on behalf of House Targaryen, I thank you for all you have done for my sister and me, although it is a pity that she is not with us," Aegon said sadly.
"Your Majesty, I did what I did for the good of the Kingdom. I was saddened to learn of the kidnapping of your aunt and sister at the hands of the bastard Ned Stark, a pity indeed, the young Princess Rhaenys so fierce, so beautiful and now lost, the only consolation is to finally see you on the throne that is rightfully you" Varys said in a cloying tone that disgusted everyone present.
"Yes, thanks in large part to you, my Lord," Aegon said gratefully.
"Your majesty honours me, but I know that I was not the only one who provided you with the means to claim the Iron Throne; I understand that a Priest of the Lord of Light gave you a powerful gift," said Varys, his face grave and Aegon nodded slowly drew out a delicate chain from which hung said gift.
"Yes, this ring has proven to be a blessing," Aegon said, looking at the ring with something akin to obsession.
"If you insist, Your Majesty, although another thing that has caught my attention is your choice of jesters, in the entire history of Westeros, it seems to me that no one has had jesters so... Noble," Varys said, arching an eyebrow and Aegon laughed.
After Cersei Lannister's defeat, Aegon gathered all the members of the Kingsguard who were still alive.
The Kingslayer is still missing, Ser Mandon Moore was killed in Blackwater, Ser Alys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann had no wish to serve, and Kettleblack was a fool. Still, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount, those men were scum, cruel and cowardly, little more than glorified mercenaries who gloated in their position and power by beating up helpless girls or acting like thugs at first; it was considered sending them to the Wall, but they had already sent many there and the Night's Watch did not deserve such scum, so another punishment was decided.
In front of the entire Court who did not move a single finger or came to their defence, making it clear that they were not loved by anyone, the false knights were stripped of their white capes and degraded to being court jesters, but it was also decided that they would be turned into eunuchs.
"You were their Lord Commander once, Ser Barristan. Who better than you to apply the sentence?" said the King, and the old Knight had obeyed gelding them; now, the fools served as whipping boys and louts when the King needed amusement.
No one was surprised that Varys knew this, but those who knew him "best" knew that this was not simply a visit or an exchange of gossip...
"Well, personally, I'm glad to hear from our elusive friend again, but I know he didn't come here after a year just to say hello," said Tyrion, pouring himself a glass of wine and watching Varys' every move.
"Oh, my Lord Tyrion has spent time and has managed to recover some of the power and influence his father unjustly took from him after his heroic performance in Blackwater. To see him restored to the Small Council is a great joy I could say the same about you, Ser Barristan. I see that your trip to the East was worth it," said Varys happily, his eyes glinting.
"Varys... seldom do you come save to deliver ill news, So why have you come?" Connington asked, glaring at the eunuch, who laughed sweetly.
"Apparently, my Lords know me well, a pity for someone in my business, but I fear they are right; I am not here to mingle or catch up… rather I bring news to the King and his Council of a conspiracy against the crown," Varys said, and the entire Council fell silent.
"Speak…" Aegon commanded.
"I have heard whispers from some members of the Citadel that they seek to overthrow his grace and bring about the end of House Targaryen. They have support in the remnants of the Faith Militant who are still furious over the death of the High Sparrow and those others sympathetic to their cause," said Varys
"The Gray Herd has begun to move..." muttered the old Maester grabbing a pinch of sour leaf from his pouch.
"The Gray Herd?" Lord Yronwood asked.
"A long story for another time, my Lord… One problem after another" grumbled Connington.
"Aurane Waters will have to wait, or the King may be dining on poison tomorrow", The Grand Maester complained.
"What do you suggest, Grand Maester?" Connington asked.
"We will march against the Citadel…" said Aegon boldly.
"Your Highness, that has never been done", Lord Harlow tried to say, but he was silenced by the King.
"Yes, but Marwyn has already made it clear to us how dangerous those pompous, arrogant old men are, and apparently, it is necessary to remind them that in Westeros, no one is above the King … Besides, I don't want to become a page in some Maester's book just yet," Aegon snarled.
"Even so, no Monarch has ever assailed the Citadel, not even Maegor..." Tyrion said, knowing that this would once again shake the Seven Kingdoms for better or for worse.
"And that seems to be part of the problem… They think themselves above the Dragons; Ser Barristan muster as many soldiers as you can… I will lead the attack myself… We march against Oldtown. I will not allow anyone to ruin what I have fought hard to gain, they were given a chance to accept my rule, and now they shall know what it means to waken the Dragon," Aegon grunted, and Ser Barristan reluctantly nodded.
"As Your Majesty commands…" said the old Knight.
"Speak like a true dragon majesty…." said Varys sweetly.
"Lord Varys, no one has been able to fill your shoes on this Council, and I would need your talents which is why I am offering you your old position," Aegon said.
"Your Majesty honours me with your generosity…." said Varys bowing low.
"Damn, Eunuch always scheming," thought Connington angrily, while Tyrion recalled something Varys told him a while ago.
The storms come and go, the waves crash overhead, the big fish eat the little fish, and I keep on paddling.
"Well, it seems that it is true…." Tyrion thought, taking a sip of wine.