Chapter One | Maedeth

Five hundred and fifty five years after the razing of Amon Sûl...

T.A. 1964

A chill breeze blew through the stone throne room of Fornost as the iron and wood doors creaked on their hinges. Maedeth shivered. The cold air hit the nape of her neck, left exposed as she'd had her red hair done up for the ceremony that morning.

Not that any could tell it was past midday. The sun had not come out. It hid behind dark clouds and snow fall.

Standing in the second row of nobles, she fiddled with the single bracelet of bronze and gold. No one spoke. No smiles graced faces fair or foul among the attendees.

There wasn't much to smile about these days.

Maedeth brushed her thumb along her bracelet again. Sometimes she missed the rest of her jewelry. But bronze could be used in weapons, gemstones could be traded for supplies. She would have parted with the fineries even without Prince Arvedui's…

King. King Arvedui.

Even had the new King not ordered the melting down of fineries for the war effort, she'd have given them up willingly. Her brother fought on the front lines, but her battle lay in council chambers and luncheons with visiting nobles.

A small youth chorus began a Quenya hymn. Gowns and tunics shuffled as all turned towards the doors. She couldn't see much. The shining silver tresses of Lady Celebrían blocked her view. But she knew this ceremony by heart.

She had seen so many kings of Arthedain rise and fall. Arvedui joined a long line of stalwart heroes as he processed down the aisle. Dark brown hair fell straight below his shoulders. His beard, once the same color, had flecks of grey in the torchlight. How different from King Araphor, who ascended at eighteen the night her brother had rescued the Palantír so many years before.

And yet the war did not change.

Maedeth turned behind at a tug on her dress. Her niece rocked from foot to foot, brown hair only slightly lighter than her father's. Mírien tugged again, brow creased. Maedeth bent down.

"I cannot see," Mírien said.

Maedeth tried to suppress her smile when she noticed her brother's wife, Tiniel, frowning. Maedeth could almost hear her thoughts. How unbecoming of an elven child!

"Neither can I," Maedeth said.

Mírien huffed. She turned away, facing forward. Maedeth looked over at Tíniel. She could see the smile breaking through the stern countenance of Rínior's wife. Before either laughed, they stopped looking at each other.

Ah to be as carefree as an elf child. Mírien knew nothing of war except stories told over dinners of the Hero for the North. As Maedeth watched Arvedui ascend the few steps of the terrace towards Malbeth the Seer, she thanked the Valar that Rínior did not have to attend this ceremony.

They called him Hero of the North for good reason; nothing could stand between him and whatever goal he set his mind to. Usually that meant swinging a sword and commanding an army. But courtly pleasantries? Never.

She spared a glance right to Celebrían. The Lady of Rivendell stood poised to perfection. The total opposite of what her brother would have been at this event. Wearing a gown of silver, gold, and white lace, Celebrían represented the best of her people. And beyond her, still as stone except his drumming fingers on the wooden pew before him, stood Elladan.

The resplendent star clasp holding his midnight blue cloak in place echoed her own. But where his shone white with six points, hers had been crafted of bronze and rubies, reaching out to eight points. The Star of Fëanor.

A blessing and a curse.

Elladan glanced over, behind his mother. Maedeth felt heat rising to her cheeks as she turned away with a small smile. She had to focus on the ceremony. She could not risk becoming like Rínior: desensitized to the significance of Arthedain's coronations with every passing century. The council room was her battlefield.

The silver crown rested heavy on Arvedui's head. It seemed to sink into his brown hair, forcing it down, imprisoning it against his skull. Perhaps Malbeth and placed it too firmly. But as the Seer held out the brilliant Scepter of Annúminas and the new King grasped it, Maedeth reserved judgment.

His grip did not waver. She knelt with the crowds, vowing to serve yet another king of Men unto her dying breath. As the crowds filtered into the aisle to greet the new King, she fiddled with her bracelet. She traced the engraved eight pointed star. The dispossessed shall they be forever.

And here she waited. Bowing to another mortal king.

"Your Majesty," she said.

But King Arvedui just let out a small scoff, and raised her off the ground. "While you honor me with your participation in this" –he glanced around–"pomp and circumstance, you and I both know it is your assistance I need, not your audulation, Maedeth."

She smiled. Perhaps she had been too hasty and judged the new King too soon. "You know where to find me, my lord."

The crowd pushed her away, like a tide at sea. Pushed and pulled, it didn't take long for her to spill out into the vestibule with the other dignitaries.

"Quite a performance."

Elladan meandered over holding two cups of wine. He offered her one. When she took his, he gestured over his shoulder. Celebrían stood chatting with the newly crowned queen, Fíriel of Gondor, and Prince Aranarth.

"Not interested in mingling with the royalty, Elladan?" It took all her strength not to smile.

"I am quite content for my mother to make friends with the new royals, thank you," he said. "I'm here as her sword and shield."

"Ever the gentleman."

"And your twin? Where did Rínior escape to this time?"

Maedeth moved with Elladan further into the antechamber. More and more nobles filtered out of the throne room. "There is a war on, Elladan."

"Ah yes. No rest for the Hero of the North."

"And yours? Where's Elrohir?"

Before he could answer, Maedeth felt two small arms wrap around her waist and almost pull her back. She laughed.

"Hello Mírien," she said.

The girl laughed, moving around front to stand between Elladan and Maedeth, not at all caring about interrupting them. "Mother says I can go riding in the morning. Will you come?"

"Mírien, mind your manners!" Tiniel grabbed her daughter's arm and pulled her back out of Elladan's way. "Lord Elladan, I apologize for my daughter's behavior."

Elladan just chuckled. "No offense was taken, Tiniel. Though perhaps Rivendell is lucky you and Rínior chose to raise her here in Fornost."

Without meaning to, Maedeth laughed. Tiniel's pale cheeks warmed slightly but she couldn't stop her own chuckles completely. It was true Mírien seemed to fit right in with the Mannish children, despite being a half elf. She watched the girl run off through the sparkling crowd of gowns and tunics.

"Have you any word of when Rínior is returning?" Maedeth said.

Tiniel shook her head. She brushed a few loose strands of dark hair behind her ear. "None. He is far afield these days. I seldom hear from him and when I do, it is war news." She looked up. "Do not mistake me, I am proud of Rínior. He lives up to every rumor, every legend. But sometimes I wonder if he prefers the rush of battle to the monotony of Fornost."

Elladan hummed in agreement, sipping at his wine. "There are days that I fear my brother is the same."

All talk of the war halted as the King emerged from the throne room. The raucous applause reverberating against grey stone and stained glass windows drowned out any thoughts but this: Arthedain had a king once more. It would stand strong and fight for the free peoples, as it had for the last five hundred years. And as Maedeth gazed upon the silver Scepter of Annúminas glinting in the flames of torchlight, she pushed away thoughts of her own birthright. This was how she served. This was her battlefield.