Chapter One

The Fourth Age

~ Estel Elessariel ~
I rolled over in the hard bed, and my body protested from the treatment. I grimaced, and sat up. Life as a slave was not pleasant, not at all.

I hadn't always been a slave, though. Once, a very long time ago, I had been the youngest daughter of the Lord Elessar of Gondor, and a sister to Eldarion and Tinúviel. But, alas, all were dead save me. My mother and sister had perished in a fire, one that I had escaped only because my uncle and aunt had taken me to Minas Tirith earlier that day for a surprise visit. My father had sworn revenge, and thrown himself into battle after battle. He had died in my brother's arms, and Eldarion had hunted down those men in revenge. But somewhere along the way the hunter had become the hunted, and my brother had fled into the forests of Mirkwood.

He was never seen again, and that had been eighteen years ago, when I was only three.

I barely remembered anything about those days, save for the day we were told that Eldarion was dead. My grandmother had nearly fainted from shock and . . . something else. I thought it had been fear, but never had I spoken of it.

I had not felt fear or shock or anger. I hadn't been old enough to know what it meant when someone was dead. For a long time no one had told me. In fact, no one had ever told me.

I had found out myself, when my aunt had died, only about six years after our enslavement. The stewards had ordered the arrest of my whole family a year after my brother's death, and my uncle had died working the mines only about two years later. My aunt had perished from grief and despair. And my grandmother, some part of me whispered, would follow one day. One day she would heed the call of death, and leave this world.

And she would leave me.

~ Galadriel, daughter of Kanya ~
I could feel my strength waning even as I lay there. I was old by the standards of Men, but by the standards of my forefathers, I was young, only about ninety years old. I was one the last of an ancient line – the line of the Kings of Númenor. In me ran the blood of Tindómiel and Atanalcar, the two of the children of Elros Tar-Minyatur, first High King of Númenor, and in my husband had run the blood of Vardamir and Manwendil. We had passed that combined blood on my son, whom we had called Elessar. His wife, Kiria, had had the blood of the Lady Éowyn and Lord Faramir.

Long ago had the King Elessar and Queen Arwen Undómiel ruled Minas Tirith, but that line had fallen into ruin many generations ago. When enough time had passed and all those who remembered had been dead for over four generations, the stewards had eventually put about that they had never existed, and that the Lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion II, had simply passed on his ruling to his son, Boromir.

But some did not believe those stories. I was among those some. We were of an order similar to the Rangers and the Elendili, and called the Believers. We believed the old myths, as the stewards called them, and in us had run the bloodlines of the ancient kings through a Ranger named Strider and the Elf Arwen Undómiel before her marriage to King Elessar.

But, alas, no one remembered the true identity of Strider. The knowledge had died with my great-great-grandmother, whose daughter and heir had not been part of the Believers. It was tradition that such secrets be passed on to heirs at death, but as the heir had not believed, the secret had died.

It was said among us that he had died on the quest of the Fellowship of the Ring, and Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn, had taken his place and risen to be crowned King Elessar. That was all we knew – that Strider had been a Ranger under Aragorn, and the first lover of Lady Arwen. Anything more we did not know.

It had been on a mission to discover Strider's identity that Eldarion, son of my son, had died. He had never returned, and whatever he had learned had died with him.

Alas that these evil days should be mine, I thought to myself, repeating the words King Théoden of Rohan had spoken at the death of his only son and heir, Théodred. The wise and old perish while the young turn away and linger on. That I should live to see the last days of my order.

For Eldarion and Elessar were both dead, and Estel could not take the throne. No. If anything was to be hoped for, it would be that Estel would bear a son who could take the throne. And Estel might not even choose to be part of the Believers. If that was so, then all of the knowledge handed down for centuries in the Believers would die with me, for I was the last.

I wet my lips. Now was the time. "Estel," I called softly.

~ Estel ~
I hurried to my grandmother's side. "Grandmother?" I asked. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, slid open at my voice. She gave a weak smile.

"My time has come," she said.

I felt as though the floor had fallen out from under me. Fear seized me. I had lived through the deaths of my mother, sister, father, brother, uncle, and aunt. I couldn't loose my grandmother! She was the last family member I still had.

But she cut off before I could protest. "My time comes," she began, "and I would not have it wasted with pleas and reassurances. For I can give none to you, my child, that you do not already have."

I bowed my head, straining to hold back tears. "~May you pass in peace,~" I murmured, using the traditional blessing my grandmother had taught me so many years ago in the Elven tongue.

My grandmother's eyes brightened somewhat upon hearing the blessing. "Ah, so still you hold dear the words of the tongues of our ancestors," she said. "That is good, for what I know cannot pass except through a fellow Believer."

I cocked my head. I was sure my grandmother was mistaken. The Believers had been some sort of cult long ago, they who had promoted some sort of belief . . . and most often had been executed for it as well.

My grandmother smiled faintly. "You think that I speak in the illness of old age, perhaps, or that I speak in hope of a hope long faded. No. The Believers are still alive. In fact, your brother and father were Believers."

I stared at my grandmother as the pieces began to fall into place. The stewards hated the Believers, claiming that they made claims that undermined their stewardship. They always said that the legends of King Elessar and the others were just that – legends. They weren't true and would never be true. Elves? Dwarves? Hobbits? Myths meant to entertain children. Númenor? Rohan? Imladris? Pretty dreams by a bard. The Three Rings? The One Ring? A scary story.

But the Believers believed in all of these. They said that they were true, and before public opinion had turned against them, had walked with dignity, saying that in their veins ran the bloodlines of King Elessar and Queen Arwen.

"Is that why our family was enslaved?" I asked slowly. The stewards had persecuted the Believers mercilessly in the past years; if my father and brother had been part of that, then maybe that would explain our enslavement.

My grandmother looked away. "Yes."

I took a deep breath. "Then you need me to be your heir." I knew a little bit about the traditions of the Believers. One of them was that the ancient secrets could only be passed on to a fellow Believer, one who became the heir and then holder of those secrets. With the dwindling numbers, I guessed that only one heir was needed. "Eldarion was your heir at first, wasn't he?"

"No. Elessar was my heir, and Eldarion his. It was unusual for two heirs to learn before the original person was dead, but at that time the stewards seemed to be loosing interest in the Believers, and I thought that maybe it would be safe to start growing once more. Unfortunately, that turned to be exactly what the stewards wanted, and we were all caught. Thankfully, they thought that the secrets died with your father and brother. They didn't realize that the Believers could have a female or a male heir."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Eldarion had been my greatest role model before his disappearance. I had always rushed to greet him first, and he had always obliged to help me learn to write and read and play with me. How could I respond to my grandmother know that I knew it had been her decision to enlighten Eldarion and thus endanger him – and in the end, cause his death?

"I know that it was not the best idea," my grandmother said quietly. "It was a foolish hope, one that cost you much. But I too had lost. I've had to watch my sons, my daughter-in-laws, my granddaughter, and my grandson die, and now I'm about to leave you." Pain shone in her eyes, and sympathy began to creep back into my system. I had suffered for her mistake, but she had the added burden of knowing that she had caused it. That must have been so much agony.

My grandmother took a deep breath. "But duty dictates that I pass on what I know." She raised her eyes to meet mine. "Will you agree to become the heir to the last Believer?"

For a moment, I considered refusing. I had seen my brother and father and mother and sister and uncle and aunt all be killed because of the beliefs of the Believers. I didn't think that more bloodshed was necessary. And it had been a faulty decision that got my brother killed – what if the Believers believed in faulty beliefs?

My grandmother seemed to understand my confusion. She pressed something cool into my palm. I peered at it.

It was a green stone, cool and glinting in the faint light. No. It was an eagle-shaped brooch that shone silver, and set in it was the green stone. It isn't an emerald, I realized. What is it?

"The Elessar, also called the Elfstone," my grandmother answered. I flushed as I realized that I had spoken aloud my thoughts. "It was passed down from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien to her daughter, Lady Celebrían of Imladris, and in turn to Queen Arwen Undómiel. Later it returned to Lady Galadriel, and she gave it Lord Aragorn when he joined the Fellowship. It is one of the heirlooms of the Believers that were small and unknown enough for us to salvage from the stewards."

"So the stories are true."

"They have never been anything else."

I closed my hand around the brooch. I took a deep breath, and made the decision that would change my fate forever, for good or ill.