Chapter Two
~ Estel ~
For what seemed like days, my grandmother educated me on everything about the Believers. I learned the traditional greetings, how to name myself, the secret doings – everything. By the time my grandmother seemed close to finishing, my mouth had been hanging open in astonishment for a very long time.
My grandmother chuckled. "Close your mouth, my Estel, or otherwise . . ." She trailed off, her eyes sparkling with laughter.
I shut my mouth at once. "What does 'Estel' mean?" I asked curiously. I had not been called 'Estel' since I had been three, and yet . . . it seemed to fit in some way. It wasn't because that had been Lord Aragorn's false name during his fostering; something else seemed to make it feel . . . right.
"Hope. Lord Aragorn was named 'hope' because he was their last hope," my grandmother explained. "I named you 'hope' because you were born at the same time hopes began rising that the Believers could arise again."
That question answered, I moved on to other questions. Caressing the Elessar, I inquired, "Are their other heirlooms besides the Elessar?"
"Yes, of course. The Believers possessed three heirlooms – the Elessar, the Ring of Barahir, and the Evenstar pendant. The Ring of Barahir was passed on to your father, and to your brother before he died. This was good, because your father was found while your brother was not, and I thank the Valar that the stewards never got ahold of Barahir's ring. The Evenstar I passed on to your mother and then your sister, for it was only right that Tinúviel possess what her namesake's embodiment did. But the Elessar I withheld. It is the most powerful of all of the heirlooms, even though the others surpass it in symbolism. And now I give it to you."
I bowed my head. "I am honored." My grandmother spoke the truth; the Elessar, while not as powerful in its symbolism as the Evenstar or the Ring of Barahir, the Elessar had more power in terms of affecting its surroundings.
"Estel . . ." My grandmother's voice faded away, and the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. Bowing my head, I felt tears appear on my face.
May you find peace in death, Lady Galadriel.
The days afterward flashed by. I could barely remember anything. I was so numb from my grief that I couldn't feel anything else.
At night, I fingered the Elessar, keeping it always with me. It was my last connection to a past long gone, and I drew strength from it. It was piece of connection to my grandmother and my ancestors, and it would never leave me.
"You don't belong to me anymore," the steward hissed.
I stared at him, finally shocked out of my numbing, robotic state. Then the mind-blowing conclusion hit me – if I didn't belong to the stewards anymore, then I was sold!
I trembled slightly. The stewards weren't kind, but I knew they expected me to do. If I were to be sold, then I would have to learn all over again.
The steward straightened as someone barged in. "Ah, Your Majesty. Here she is."
He glanced at me. "Slave. Your new master. King Cezar of Dol Amroth."
I'd always wondered why slaves shivered at the name of Cezar of Dol Amroth. Now I knew. I was aware of nothing else but the pain, the violation.
Sometimes, I wondered bitterly if it was worth continuing to fight to live if I had to live with this.