Chapter Three

~ Estel ~
I slipped into the library and sighed in relief. The rooms of Dol Amroth were usually very cool, and for most was the perfect temperature, but for me, it was terribly cold. Minas Tirith was very warm compared to Dol Amroth.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, I thought with sad amusement. I had been in Dol Amroth for two months now. I had learned from the king that he had purchased me because he had become enamored of me one of his visits to Minas Tirith. Apparently for some reason the stewards had had be dance and sing for them, and he had quickly fallen under my spell.

The king had also wanted a son, and today I had learned that I was pregnant with a child. All of the doctors had proclaimed joyously that all the signs foretold a son. The king had been overjoyed, and was now celebrating in the main halls.

But it was so drafty there, and I had convinced him to let me go to the library. A fire was always kindled there, and I found the temperature easier to bear in the library than anywhere else. The king had first thought that I was insulting his city, but I had managed to assure him that it was just my hormones making me more sensitive.

"My lady?"

I jumped in surprise as a voice sounded from behind me. Whirling around, I turned just in time to see a well-built, surprisingly handsome man emerge to look at me. His eyes immediately darted downward to my stomach, and I realized with some surprise that my arms were positioned protectively in front of my stomach, shielding my child.

"You have his child." The sentence was said matter-of-factly, calmly, and yet for some reason I thought – for a moment – that I heard a ring of fury in it as well.

"Yes. He hopes for a son," I replied, sinking down to sit.

The man shrugged. "So do all kings and most leaders," he said nonchalantly. I eyed him for a moment, wondering who he was. He was dressed in plain clothes of neutral, earthly tones. Short dark hair crowned his head, and powerful dark eyes examined me in return.

"Can you read?"

I turned back to the man, startled. "What?"

He held out an old, worn book. The cover was plain; only a dark blue cover with no symbol or title on the front. "Can you read?" he repeated.

I shook my head wordlessly. No slaves were taught to read; it was said that it made us less focused on our tasks. The man frowned.

"Well, as the consort to the King of Dol Amroth, you should be able to read," he said in a thoughtful tone. "I can teach you . . . if you wish."

I stared at him. He knew how to read? Only those of the higher classes were literate, but if he was, why would he waste time on a lowly slave? He couldn't be attracted to me; he already knew I carried the king's child.

"I wasn't always a slave," he explained, sitting next to me and laying the book down in front of us. "I learned how to read a long time ago, and I'm a bit rusty, but I think we can figure it out."

And so it was that I began the arduous task of learning how to read and how to write. My teacher was patient and understanding, and knew almost all the legends he taught me by heart.

"The palantíri were seeing stones, and they were a gift from the Eldar to the Men of Númenor. Seven were salvaged by Elendil and his sons when Númenor was drowned by Eru Ilúvatar. Three Elendil held; two were gifted to Isildur and Anárion each. . ."

"Lúthien Tinúviel was the only child of King Thingol of Doriath and Melian the Maia. It was said that she was most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar. She gave her love to Beren Barahirion, and when he died she died as well, being the first immortal to accept the Doom of Men. But she was not the last, for her descendant Arwen Undómiel too gave her love to a mortal. . ."

"The Simarils alone contained the light of the Two Trees of Valinor after Melkor destroyed them. One was borne back to Valinor by Eärendil and Elwing; the other two fell into water and earth when stolen and then cast away by Maglor and Maedhros. . ."

Months passed this way, but never did I ask the man's name. He knew my name, of course, just not my true name – Estel Elessariel. Finally, as the eighth month approached and the castle was preparing for the birth of my son, I dared to ask his name.

"What is your name?"

The man froze mid-word. "Costin," he answered finally.

I eyed him, doubting it. The word came . . . unnaturally to his lips. I highly doubted that it was his true name. "I don't think so."

Costin smiled. "Yes. Your insight serves you well, Estel Elessariel, leader of the Believers and the last heir of King Elessar and Queen Arwen."

I gaped at him. "You – You know?" I sputtered in disbelief. "But how can you? You are no Believer!"

He eyed with me with amusement. "On the contrary, my lady," he said, inclining his head. "My true name is Círdan Faramirion."

I stared at the man. Círdan Faramirion had been my sister's fiancée, all those years ago. "What?" I stammered. "You cannot be!"

Círdan smiled grimly. "Ah, yes. The stewards thought it better to pretend I was dead," he explained. "I've tried for months to contact your family; no one ever told me what had happened to the Believers."

"The Believers don't really exist anymore," I said quietly. "All of my family have entered the void; even Lady Galadriel died almost a year ago."

"And now the Believers will die out. I don't think your son will help us, Estel. It will be up to you to help us regain the throne."

"But how? I'm just a slave now, and the Elessar is not meant for grand magical escapades." I was growing exasperated now. "And what's worse is that I'm a female. The stewards barely tolerate those of royal blood, and much less will they tolerate a female."

Círdan shrugged. "Only you can do it, Estel. You're going to have to find a way, somehow. I can help you, can aid you, but to make you queen – only you can do that."

I stood at the edge of the cliff. The wind blew my hair and my dress about me. The fury of the King would be great when he discovered what had happened – his son and heir had passed away in the night.

I was not willing to stay and discover how great his wrath would be.

I closed my eyes. Things were worse in Gondor now, not better. Strange creatures had laid waste to Ithilien only a few months prior, and the stewards were scrambling to enlist more and more men for the army. But no matter how large a force they assembled and sent, not a single person ever returned from the battle.

Círdan's face flashed through my mind momentarily. He had been sold already; I doubted that I would ever see him again. But his last lesson echoed in my mind: "The Lady Elwing cast herself into the sea with the Simaril, and Ulmo bore her out of the waves and gave her the form of a bird."

I stared down at the waves lapping at the cliff beneath my feet. Then I fingered the Elessar.

And then I, Estel Elessariel, last heir to the throne of Kings in all of Middle-earth, cast myself into the sea with the Elessar.