Author's Note
Around 2011/2012, I set out to create some Silmarillion inspired Lord of the Rings fanfics that I called The Fëanoriel Chronicles. Over the course of about four years I wrote many long-fics dedicated to original characters and canon alike, set in a world where Fëanor's lineage continued into the Third Age. But after over four years of consistent writing for my lovely Fourth Age heroes, I had to take a break from writing fantasy, especially Tolkien. There is no universe I love more, but I needed a change.
Fast forward to August of 2021, and I think I'm finally ready to dive back in and at least finish this fic that I left people hanging with since about 2017/2018. However, going that long without writing these stories means we run into a small problem: I am way better at writing now. Over the next few months I will be rewriting the chapters that were already written, and continuing on to finish the fic.
I hope you're as excited to get back to Aderthon and Eldarion and the rest of the gang as I am. I needed a break, but now I'm ready to come home.
Flight to the East
The Fëanoriel Chronicles Book 5
"...and long have I wandered by roads forgotten..."
Boromir, The Fellowship of the Ring
1 | TO DO WITHOUT HOPE
Year 51 Fourth Age
His brown hair stuck to his face as he stood, panting, in the rising sunlight. The fire in his heart overwhelmed his entire body. With a harsh cough, he allowed the break that both of the new Red Company recruits so desperately needed.
Aderthon didn't want to admit that he felt as exhausted as they appeared, staggering to half lean against the citadel wall in the training grounds he'd officially taken over for the most elite of the Reunited Kingdom's soldiers. They could seek that, but he wouldn't. He didn't lean, didn't seek out any aid except the water skin that lay cast aside on a wooden table. As he lifted the black leather waterskin to his lips, the morning light caught the glint of metal around his finger.
He paused. Staring at it for a moment mere inches from his face, Aderthon felt the weight of an hour of predawn training crash onto him all at once, mingling with the months of despair and loneliness that had followed what the scholars now called the Second Battle of the Pelennor. He had no interest in abandoning the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, not while Eldarion lived at the least. But this ring, this cursed artifact that no matter how purified by Lady Lúthien, kept him straddling the lines of life and death, and severed him from his parents.
Ironic. Fate, doom, seemed to truly love to damn Fëanor's line to atonement for an oath ill-sworn. He had Lady Lúthien's blood as well. Was her part in Sauron's downfall catching up with her descendants through his ring?
Movement beyond the Ring of Berúthiel tore his thoughts away. The two young men, both singled out of their training with the Citadel Guard as prime candidates for the Red Company had stood back up tall. Aderthon couldn't help flashing them a small smirk. He took a quick drink.
Moving back over to their large, packed dirt circle, he twisted his wrist, Galmegil glinting golden red in the dawn. He didn't train his recruits with blunt swords. Neither his, nor theirs. The Red Company took only the best. It would always take only the best. Either they controlled themselves enough to neither harm nor be harmed, or they did not belong.
Perhaps the Doom of Mandos hung over them. Perhaps they had no hope of finding a way to destroy this accursed ring. But as the recruits, Berenor and Malrin, stood ready to oppose him without hesitation, Aderthon just nodded.
They would just have to do without hope, then.
Aderthon faked left. Neither fell for the tease. As Berenor, brought his steel blade up to block the following strike, his grip never wavered. Blue-grey eyes stared back at Aderthon, unfazed, beneath matted, golden hair. His brown furrowed as Aderthon placed more weight. He gritted his teeth, grunting in pain.
The flash of metal from his right caused Aderthon to release the pressure and dodge back around to face Malrin. The man's sword kicked up sand where it sliced the boot prints left by Aderthon's fierce approach.
"Good." Aderthon nodded, smiling again as he moved a few steps back. "Much better than yesterday. Now you're thinking like a team."
Neither responded. Sweat caused their skin to glisten and their faces had flushed ages ago as they struggled to keep up with Aderthon. But he readied himself once more. "Again."
"Aderthon!"
All three in the ring paused at the sound of Eldarion's call. Aderthon turned to his cousin, surprised to find him standing under the low white stone arch at the courtyard's entrance. Eldarion had been up far too late those days to get up early. He'd been sticking his nose is ancient texts with scholars from across Middle Earth, elf, man, and dwarf. They all sought the same thing: answers to ending Berúthiel's ring without ending Aderthon himself.
Both exhausted young men managed to find the strength to bow their heads to Eldarion. "My Lord!"
He nodded to them, but focused still on Aderthon. "Come here."
Aderthon sighed. Sheathing Galmegil, he trudged across the short grass to stand with Eldarion in the shade of the archway. "Why do you interrupt me?"
"Don't use that tone with me," Eldarion warned him. But he didn't sound angry, just tired. They were all tired. "I'm interrupting your training for a good reason."
"Let's have it then."
Eldarion smiled. "You aren't going to like it though," he said, patting his cousin on the shoulder for a moment. "I'm here to order you to take the day off from training."
He didn't wait for Aderthon's response. He walked over to the recruits instead, leaving Aderthon to fume in isolation. His grip around Galmegil's hilt tightened. The metal of the sword and the ring began to clash, biting into his flesh, but Aderthon ignored it. His fury gave him strength.
An iron tang filled his mouth as he bit his cheek to stay silent when Eldarion dismissed Malrin and Berenor for the day. They left after curt bows and ragged, breathy courtesies to Aderthon. Soon only the songs of morning birds filled the courtyard where Aderthon stood rigid in the center, while Eldarion stared at a decimated straw training dummy by the wall.
"Was it your father that ordered it?" He finally managed to choke out the question when Eldarion turned back his way a minute later. "Or my sister?"
As Eldarion moved to the exit, he didn't wait for Aderthon. "Wrong on both counts. Though Círeth had mentioned a desire to shoot a few arrows in you to strand you in the healing houses. I ordered it, alone."
Aderthon sighed. He gritted his teeth but jogged after Eldarion, catching him as their boots hit the cobbled road. "No news from Akilina then?"
"I'm afraid not. She's due back today though. Alagos is returning with her."
"Círeth's second in command?"
Eldarion nodded.
They strode side by side through the waking city. Few nobles woke before ten o'clock in the morning, it seemed, but the servants and soldiers rose with the dawn. The fire in his heart cooled as Aderthon watched the people. Even if Akilina had learned nothing from the ancient texts of the coven regarding how to destroy the ring, at least the people of the Reunited Kingdom would give him purpose.
"Come on. Change and get breakfast, then we've got council meetings at ten." Eldarion paused as they reached Aderthon's house. "And before you complain about this order, know it does not come from me."
"I would never disobey an order from my King," Aderthon said.
Eldarion just let out a sharp laugh as he turned away that left Aderthon smirking. It had been disobeying the orders of his uncle that had landed him in this predicament and half a dozen others previously. With a long deep breath of the spring in Gondor, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.
"What's this? Lord Aderthon, enjoying a moment to smile at the scent of flowers?"
If the scent of flowers hadn't been enough to leave him smiling, the sound of lilting voice did it. He opened his eyes. Nimwing, dressed as she did most days in a gown of white with her golden hair loose to flow in the wind, wandered over to him. Aderthon couldn't speak, other than to say her name.
"I received word from your sister last night."
"Fëalas?" He perked up at the mention of the younger twin. She'd been gone for months, working with her rangers to establish a more firm peace along the borders of Harad.
Nimwing nodded. "Yes. Some of Lord Legolas's folk and her own are establishing a connection with the men of Near Harad. They hope to share knowledge of plants and animals between them, with her Rangers acting as a go between."
Politics. Aderthon didn't have much of a mind for it. He could understand it well enough but the drivel that could spout from old men in seats of power and young ones who sought only to acquire more bored him.
"Is it going well, then?" He asked.
Nimwing laughed. "You don't need to pretend to be interested on my account, Aderthon. Besides," she added, backing up and moving away, "I would guess you'll hear all about it at the council meeting."
He called after her. "Will you be there?"
She didn't respond, but she did smile, and he couldn't help doing the same. Of course she would be there. Nimwing somehow managed to tread the line between action and talk, perfecting both. It amazed him. Even Eldarion couldn't always muster the same grace as she when frustrated with the politics of court. Nimwing said she owed it to centuries of patience with an old Sindarin warrior. Aderthon figured she just had more than her fair share of the loveliness of Elbereth in her.
He tried to emulate her. He really did. Ten o'clock came and he took his seat to Eldarion's right, Círeth beside him. He caught a glimpse of Nimwing further down the line, official emissary of Amon Loth, beside Elboron and half a dozen other men of the Reunited Kingdom both north and south. With them were several dwarves including Nîm son of Gimli and Ambi of Dain's house, as well as Merry and Pippin. Amdirien sat beside Arwen as she always did, and beside her, Adíra had been given a place as one of the few Haradrim in Minas Anor's walls.
He really tried to be like Nimwing. She sat straight, listened with intent. Nimwing rarely raised her voice and never snapped. But she also did not back down, and though Men of the Reunited Kingdom rarely found themselves awed by elven kind, she could make the best of them second guess harsh tones.
Aderthon, however, did not find it easy to keep his tongue in check. His body ached from overuse. A burning like smouldering hot coals filled every muscle in his body, and he knew Eldarion had been right to make him stop. He'd been up early training the Red Company recruits every day for weeks, and taking few breaks during the day from the Company itself. He would not allow some small piece of metal crafted by a craven, traitorous Maia Ages ago to cause his men to fall into disrepair.
He would do without hope. He had a duty to his cousin, his king, and his people. Though the endless arguing and debating of the people in the council chamber did force him to pause and reevaluate his resolve.
They argued over the costs of repairs. They argued over the costs of raising another army. By the end of the session, Aderthon noticed even Lord Aragorn's frustration at their lack of urgency. Didn't they realize that the Reunited Kingdom sat more defenseless now than it had in the many decades since the War of the Ring?
"I think we have had enough discussion for one day," Queen Arwen said. She cut off the debates before they could continue, and the room went silent. None would argue with the queen.
Aragorn nodded. "Agreed. We will discuss the matter of funding later." He stood with Arwen, and the rest of the gathered people's followers, until at last the only ones who hadn't drifted out of the room were Aderthon, Eldarion, and Elboron.
"You would think they'd never fought in a war," Elboron said. He sounded neither angry not cross, merely bemused, as they came together a few meters from the doorway. "Most of them have seen two, some have seen three."
Before either Aderthon or Eldarion could answer, however they were interrupted by the groaning of the massive wooden doors being heaved open. Inside walked Círeth's right hand man, Alagos, dressed in dark greens and browns. Beside him walked Akilina in the black leather of her order.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lords," Alagos said. "I was looking for my Captain."
"There is nothing to forgive," Eldarion insisted. He turned to the woman from Rhûn as Alagos left. "You have news, Lady Akilina?"
She shook her head. "None. Our only hope remains what we'd already discussed."
Aderthon gritted his teeth and turned away to look out the window of the Tower. Then they really were without hope. If all they had were whispered rumors of Morgoth's ancient fortress beyond the East, the ring had claimed him. Aderthon tuned out the questioning between Elboron and Eldarion and Akilina.
Only when the doors creaked open again and Alagos spoke did he turn back.
"Apologies again, my lords. But there's an elf here to speak to King Elessar—"
A sharp, clear voice interrupted the ranger. "Indeed I am here for him, but the prince and his cousin will do for now."
Aderthon looked him up and down. Flaxen hair as smooth as silk framed a pale face with grey eyes. He didn't need Alagos's words to tell him this was an elf, and one who had seen many an age if he had to guess. The elf's gaze flickered immediately from the people to the ring on Aderthon's finger, before he glanced back up.
"And who might you be, Master Elf?" Eldarion asked. "And from where do you hail?"
"I am Eglanor, wanderer and master of knowledge." He pointed to Aderthon. "I've come to help you with your jewellery problem."