Eldarion was sure that his dress uniform had not been as tight the last time he wore it. He tried not to fidget with his shirtsleeves which were pulled up above his wrist bones uncomfortably. He had attempted to comb his hair out but his curls just turned into a frothy puff in the Summer humidity and he had ended up just splashing water on his head before combing his hair back and placing a simple, very Elvish looking circlet on his brow which had once belonged to his great uncle. Even if they were trying to hide it, everyone around the council table kept sending him piteous glances. He felt suffocated in the sable velvet in the heat and his stomach clenched in knots of anxiety. There was a goblet of watered wine the color of blood in front of him, the thought of drinking it made him nauseous. The council chambers smelled of the pine oil that the housekeepers used to keep moths off the tapestries.
Legolas had arrived on horseback in the early hours of the morning, having ridden through the night after a bird arrived in Ithilien bearing news of the tragedy. With him came Lord Elphir, the eldest son of the aging Lord Imrahil from Dol Amroth, a lordly man of fifty summers who would soon inherit his father's place in court. Commander Holleg sat beside Lord Elphir, Elladan and Elrohir, and Gimli and Faramir were there beside them. Arwen was adorned in a grey dress that signaled neither grief nor joy her eyes looked distant, hovering at a middle distance, like she was made from frosted sea glass that clear light poured through.
She sat on the far side of her husband's empty place at the head of the table from her son, one hand on the arm of his chair. Elladan was speaking.
"As of this morning there has been no change in his condition." Elladan kept his voice remarkably steady as he stood between his sister and his twin, his eyes flicked apologetically to Eldarion as he delivered the blow, "As of now, it is my medical opinion that," he took a deep breath, "the king may not… make a complete recovery." He couldn't look at Arwen, the guilt would be overwhelming. "We continue to exhaust all available resources to return him to us but," Elladan seemed to choke on his words as he forced them out under eyes utterly depleted of their normally brimming pools of energy, "the damage is extensive, perhaps beyond my skills as a healer to mend. The time has come to discuss contingency plans." His hand only trembled slightly as he moved it to his sister's shoulder, Arwen tried to sit straighter, to raise her face so that the tears did not escape her eyes, to disguise the signs of fading.
Eldarion made a sound that might have been a whispered, "Ada," and he felt Faramir lie a comforting hand on his wrist below the level of the table where nobody would see. Elladan took a moment to let his words echo around the high ceiling of the council chambers, in the silence they could hear the distant sounds of Dwarven hammers repairing the damage to the tower.
"The laws of succession are quite clear," Faramir offered, standing and opening a marked page to an ancient tome of Numenorian legal documents. A patina of professionalism covering his deep sense of failure and the ambiguous miasma of unresolved grief that hung thick in the air, "upon the, incapacitation of the regent the rule shall temporarily go to his Steward, whose primary duty shall be to see that the authority of office is passed permanently
to the rightful heir, the Queen regent, or, if he is of age, the eldest son." He looked at Eldarion grimly.
"Of age?" Legolas shared a look of horror with the queen and Arwen was secretly relieved that she did not have to be the one to object. He glanced down to where Eldarion sat, eyes fixed on the table before him, "you would put this weight on the shoulders of a child?"
"I am prepared to serve as regent until my son is ready." Arwen stood, all but placing herself between Eldarion and the Steward.
"King Valandil inherited the throne at thirteen years old but did not ascend to the throne of Arnor until he was twenty-one." Elrohir came to his sisters aid. Valandil's face came to his mind as he had last seen him, an ancient and shriveled figure dying gracefully in the sheltered keep of Annuminas after almost two yeni of mortal life. He looked at Eldarion and desperately wished that he could have seen his father to the same graceful ending to a long and glorious rule.
"And how do you think that a nation of men will respond to placing so much authority upon a foreign regent?" Lord Elphir said, flinching under the glare he received from both Elrondion twins.
"And you would prefer we place it on the head of a child?"
Eldarion clutched the arms of his chair, he desperately wanted his father and for a moment he let the voices drift over him as he lost himself in the fantasy of being picked up as a small child and spun around in a rib-crushing embrace. His father would not want his son to shirk his birthright simply because he thought himself too young.
"The line of Elendil has only just been restored," Faramir insisted, diplomatically cutting off the Southerner, "let the boy take the kingship in title only and I will guide him to the best of my abilities."
"He's not dead yet." Eldarion said with un-looked-for authority in his breaking voice. He softened his fists at the last moment as he laid his hands on the table. "He's not – he's not dead." Looking around, he felt utterly alone in this chamber of lords and princes bickering over his future. The eyes of everyone around the table were on him. "Please!" he looked to his fading mother.
"Eldarion," Elladan looked at his nephew, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry."
"He said that he would wait for you." He told his mother, ignoring his uncle, "That might be the last thing he ever said!" Arwen flinched visibly at his words, "Can we not do the same? Just… a few more days, please."
"If that is your will," Faramir conceded, he took a deep breath and looked around the table, "This council will reconvene in three days."
.
"The years have not been kind to my brother. He hates and loves our father, as he hates and loves himself. The long silence broke his mind. Namo's justice does not universally reform." Maedhros' eyes flicked to the ceiling in an expression that reminded Aragorn of a beaten dog looking to his master, "even after all these yeni."
"Was he the one who orchestrated the downfall of my house?" Aragorn asked, wondering at the horror of millennia of isolation without recourse or justice.
"Not directly. We knew nothing of the events unfolding in the living world," Maedhros glanced around the cell, his face was unmarred and his hands were both whole but something deeper had been amputated in a way that even the Valar could not, or would not restore, "this has been my world for untold years." He shrugged, "time did not pass here, we were told that this was mercy. But my brother's rage has only grown." He met the mortal's eyes with pity and suppressed jealousy. "his misguided experiments from ages past lay dormant after his death, but it seems they did not fail, as he once believed, all he needed to break open the gates of hell was the blood of the half elven."
"And their will." Elrond added with a cringe. "What do you mean?" Aragorn turned to his father.
"It was Eldarion who activated the stone." Elrond answered with certainty, "without any evil will, only love and desperation - he was trying to save your life, Estel."
"He does not have that power, he is only a child." Aragorn shrank away from him in disbelief but there was nothing but wisdom in his gaze.
"A boy might bring down the heavens for a parent's love." Maedhros said knowingly and Aragorn buried his face in his hands, fear for his son's soul overriding any thought of the preservation of his own life.
"Will the Valar hold him innocent?" Aragorn looked to his father, "Ada?"
"I hope so." Elrond's face darkened, "Their wrath should fall upon those who set this vile contraption in motion. Eldarion was used, Aragorn. His grief and his fear was exploited. They saw the army of the dead crossing the plane from the towers of Valmar three weeks ago. The destruction was unlike anything we have seen since the first age, the city had no defenses, the Vanyar have never seen war. I lead the defense of Tirion against the horde, every one ever killed in all the wars of all the ages was set free, hungry and filled with rage.
We had to get someone inside," he paused, a pained look passing across his features, "there is only one way to do that."
"Three weeks!" Aragorn sat up in horror before the second part of his father's words caught up to him and his voice went up in horror, "Ada, you took your own life?" Aragorn took his father's arm, pulling up his sleeve he saw that there were stained bandages wrapped around his wrists where they had been slashed by the expert hand of an experienced surgeon.
"It was the only way," He winced, pulling his hands against his body, "We did not know the fate of those who had been killed in the attack." He answered stoically, "someone had to go.
Someone had to see what had become of the Lord of the Dead." He felt Aragorn pull him into an embrace where they both sat on the floor.
"You will be re-embodied," he insisted, petting his father's braided hair, savoring the unlooked-for blessing of his presence in this dark place beyond the walls of death.
"Peace, child," Elrond laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, "We will find a way, if we do not, then all of Aman is doomed," he shrugged with a wry smile, "it was not the evilest thing I have done to protect the innocent."
"Ada!" he was interrupted by a cacophony of cruel boots on the damp stone of the corridor. "Yrch," Maedhros observed with disgust.
"Where would he even find such creatures in this place?" Aragorn asked, looking to his father for answers.
"They were like us once," Maedhros answered, leaning close to the bars so that a flicker of firelight outlined his fair face.
"The fate of their souls has been the subject of debate for many long yeni," Elrond answered, looking with concern at the door, "whether the Dark One truly has the power to destroy a soul forever, or if," his eyes flicked apologetically to Feanor's eldest son, "they are merely held forever in these halls."
"Well, I suppose that particular debate is solved." Fear made Aragorn sarcastic as it always had as the smell of decay filled his nostrils.
The troupe stopped in front of the door, lead by the same, blue robed Maia from before. "Well, here you are!" he smirked coldly, "four ages of trouble."
"Virne!" Maedhros warned the Maia. "Are you my brother's plaything now?"
Pallando-Virne clicked his tongue, a yellow smile curling across his face as he looked at Aragorn from the door with mild interest.. "I almost believed that your son had finished me!" It was all that Aragorn could do to keep himself from fruitlessly flinging itself at the celestial being.
"Did you hurt him?"
"He's a clever boy that one, brave, if hasty. I did not expect him to put up such a fight, and what did I find when I returned to Mandos? But the throne of death cloven down to the roots of Arda and my old friend waiting to greet me. I think its time for a change of theme." He casually tossed three brilliant gems onto the damp floor. They skittered across the ground, he laughed cruelly as he watched his three captives wince at the blinding light which exploded into the chamber.
"Relax Feanorian, theyre not real." He mocked. "Take the mortal." At least six armed wraiths, in varying stages of decay, swarmed into the cell, their twisted, orcish features a
skeletal horror beneath spiked helms.
"Take me!" Aragorn felt Elrond attempt to stand in front of him, "I have more Maian blood than he!"
"Silence Elf!" an invisible force struck Elrond on the jaw, snapping his head to the side and causing him to stagger into the wall. "You made your choice, Earendilion." Aragorn choked on the overpowering stench of decay. Clutching hands clung to his arms as he kicked and struggled to get free of them. He was dragged into the corridor to the sound of Pallando- Virne's cruel laughter. The gate was slammed shut behind him.
"He will try to make your spirit depart," Elrond cried after him through the bars, "Stay alive! Remember Arwen! When I get you free of this place you will return to her, I promise!"
.
"Are you sure that this is a good idea?" Findegil peered around the corridor down the shaded interior hallways of the royal apartments. Ornate crown molding cast eerie shadows in the dark ceilings and the morning sunlight shone behind heavy curtains. His heart was racing.
Somehow, miraculously, the guards at the door had bought his story about retrieving the books that the prince had in his bedroom. Findegil had been playmates with Eldarion since infancy and he had the easy manner of a boy doing his best to help his grieving friend and not a bandit attempting to steal the Sword of kings.
"They're all in council," Allatar reminded them, "this will be our only chance."
"And you think that it will work?" Fin asked Tulk, looking between him and the wizard.
"Indeed." Tulk nodded gravely, "He must ground the ritual in the power of Mahal, and in his own bloodline, it is the only token strong enough to do both." Findegil lead them on tiptoe down to the heavy cherrywood door to the King's study. He grasped the doorknockers, formed of brass in the shape of two sea serpents.
"The Dwarf is right," Allatar whispered. "a magical token of his house will ground the boy, and we will perform the ritual somewhere that there will be no interruptions."
"I still think we should tell the queen." Findegil said weakly.
"Tell the queen what?" Brekke appeared as sudden as an apparition from the bedroom, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Findegil yelped and his two companions froze. The large bag of laundry beside her made a squeaking sound and Elanor's brown eyes appeared over the linen.
"What are we telling the queen?" she asked eagerly.
"Yes, Fin." Brekke stared down the shorter boy with menacing eyes, "What are we telling the queen?"
"What are you doing here, Brekke!" Findegil snapped.
"My Job, Fin." She rolled her eyes.
"Were handmaidens!" Elanor told them helpfully.
"Yes Fin. We, are enjoying the privilege of doing our DUTY, changing the royal bedlinens. This doesn't look like the archive," she looked critically at the wizard, as if his tattered blue robes and toothless smile were unfit for a court appearance. "What are you doing here?" she brushed a burnished curl out of her face, regarding Findegil with distain.
"I…" Findegil blushed, "I mean we, we think found a way that we can help Lord Aragorn."
Brekke shook her head in disbelief, "and you do not want the Lady Arwen to know about this," she made a gesture that imitated Tengwar quotation marks, "Help?"
"She will think it too dangerous!" Findegil answered lamely "But," he looked between the wizard and the dwarf, "Eldarion wants to do it. We have to try, you have to help us, please don't call the guards!"
"The lord prince has ordered us to assist him," Tulk said seriously, "would you stand in our way?"
"He ordered you to go sneaking around in the King's study?" Brekke hissed. "We need Anduril!" Fin blurted out, trying to keep his voice low.
"You need…" her fists went into balls and she locked eyes on the three of them with fury, "tell me why I should not scream for the guards this second!"
"Because you too love the prince and would not deny him the chance to save his father!" The wizard observed with a raised hand.
Brekke narrowed her eyes at the old man and inhaled deeply, preparing to scream but Findegil put his hand over her mouth with a gesture to be silent.
"Eldarion saved your life, did he not?" Tulk urged her.
"You'll get us banished from the city!" Brekke looked around in horror, pulling back in disgust from the fat boy's hand, "where do you want to take it?"
"To the Halls of the Dead," Allatar answered her, the girl's eyes became round.
"Is that how he healed me?" Brekke softened, "Why I had that strange dream? Are you practicing necrom…"
"Shh!" Allatar silenced her.
"He can talk to dead people?" Elanor looked up at them, her eyes aglow with wonder, "like his father talked to the dead people in the mountain. But he has to use the sword! Thats why you need it!"
"You know your history, young lady!" Allatar looked impressed.
"My dad taught me!" she said proudly, "We can put it in the laundry!" Elanor suggested, shaking the heap of bed linens. Brekke groaned. "We have to help him Brekke, we have to help save the king!"
"This is it," Brekke shook her head in dismay as the others stole into the study. "We will all be banished!"
The King's study was ornate and cluttered. A large desk carved in flowing lines of the Eregion style was placed before windows hung with red curtains. A large, antique map of the Western part of Middle Earth hung on the only wall that was not covered in bookshelves. On one wall there was a carved fireplace made of black stone. It was swept and cold for the summer but the worn chairs set in a circle before it hinted that this was a beloved gathering place in the winter months. Findegil himself remembered playing with the prince before that fire on yuletide evenings in his childhood.
The mantle reached up to the paneled ceiling in a great trapezoid, and there, on a stand with a finely made Galadrim scabbard, sparkling with bright gems, underneath it, just within reach of a tall man, was the King's legendary blade.
For a moment, the five co-conspirators just stared up at the gleaming longsword, in awe. The swirling lightning pattern of Narsil's reforged shards turned the steel into a painterly work of art, runes set along the spine caught the dim light and its edge seemed to shimmer with the memory of starlight.
"There it is!" Tulk let his eyes drink in the beauty of the sword, it was, in his professional experience, a masterpiece.
"Can anyone reach?" Brekke asked, looking around and realizing that she was the tallest among them by six inches.
.
"Well mister Strider," Pippin felt extremely silly. He sat on the chair beside the bed, wearing a crisp uniform and watching the slow rise and fall of his friend's chest with concern. "They said that you might be able to hear me, that you might recognize my voice." He leaned forward, studying the sleeping face, Aragorn was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. There was more grey in his hair than Pippin remembered. "They said that I could come to the council meeting, but I don't mind sitting with you if it means that the lady Arwen can go. She looked so sad, I don't know what would become of her if you…" pippin could not bring himself to say it, "You said that I was an ambassador from the North Kingdom but I think that you were probably just being nice. I'm no politician, I'm sure that I would just say something embarrassing around all these fancy big people." He put out one hand, gently patting down the king's shirtsleeve.
'Faramir is getting big, he keeps asking me to teach him sword fighting. He always wants to hear stories about our adventures, he doesn't understand that sometimes adventurers don't come home. He keeps saying that he's going to ride off with me one day to visit the wide
world. Maybe when he's a bit older I'll take him to see Rivendell, or bring him here to stay in court with you, if you would like. Get him a formal education, teach him his letters. If its not too much trouble.'
'I hope that Elanor is getting on well with her first day. She's a clever one, I don't know where she gets it but she's a sponge for history and stories. You should have seen the Grey Riders who escorted us, they seemed to take a liking to her, taking her on their horses and teaching her all their queer songs. She memorized the lay of Luthien, don't you believe, well, the first few verses at least, but her pronunciation is a marvel. It was good of Sam to send her here, but it would break your heart to see them separated. He couldn't come on account of him being the Mayor now what with all her little sisters to manage, I think he's relieved to get one out of the hole, and when she comes back home the young Hobbit boys of the Shire will be lining up to court her. She'll have her pick of the Four farthings.'
'We had rain this spring like you've never seen, mister Strider. It nearly washed the bridge out, we had to call in Dwarven masons to repair it. You will have to see it the next time you visit, they did a wonderful job." This was too much for him and he choked, his friend's face growing blurry behind a veil of tears. He reached out to hold the slack hand in his own and was comforted to find it still warm.
At his touch a shudder went through Aragorn's body, his hand clenched, and for a moment an expression of agony moved across his face.
"Mister Strider?" Pippin stepped closer. He touched his friend's shoulder but the moment had passed. He stood, hovering at the side of the bed, "can you hear me?" Pippin glanced back at the door, he was torn between a desire to run and tell someone that the comatose King had shown a sign, however brief, of consciousness, and his fear that he might miss his friend's first moment of lucidity if he stepped outside.
"Eowyn!" he cried out over his shoulder, "lady Eowyn!" he repeated and a moment later there were feet in the corridor outside and the lady of ithillien appeared.
"Did something happen?" she went to the bed. "He moved!" Pippin told her.
"Aragorn?" She asked, taking his hand in her own and putting one hand to his brow, there was no sign of awareness. "what do you mean he moved?"
"My lady," the look of dismay on Pippin's face chilled her to her very core. "I think he's being hurt."