The Age of Men - A New Plan (Ch 2)

Character Reference:
Eldarion — King of the Reunited Kingdoms; son of Aragorn & Arwen; brother of Aramiel; uncle of Arestel
Arestel — Daughter of Aramiel & unknown elf father; granddaughter of Arwen & Aragorn; niece of Eldarion
Elboron — Steward to the King of Gondor; son of Faramir & Éowyn; father of Barahir & Éromir
Éromir — Prince of Ithilien; son of Elboron; grandson of Faramir & Éowyn; younger brother of Barahir

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Éromir ran a calloused hand through his tangled hair. He was on edge; it was not often he found himself in the Great Hall. Around him loomed white stone arches and buttresses, from which hung silky banners bearing the symbol of Gondor. They rustled every now and then with a passing draft.

“My King,” Éromir began slowly. “If what you speak is true — that the time of great peace is over — then we must act, and swiftly.”

Eldarion leaned against his chair, high-backed and made of wood and mithril, a great gift from Gimli and the dwarves to Aragorn not long after his ascension. He sat across from Éromir, elbows propped on the smooth arms of his chair, his hands folded at his chest. “Act we must, yes,” he said, “but not with haste. There are no clear signs.”

“No clear signs?” Éromir cried, nearly leaping from his seat. “Smoke on the horizon, a foul breath on the air, these are not sign enough? You must send your men to Mordor, now!”

Eldarion closed his eyes. “Éromir, no one has heard this voice but Arestel and me, and what it says I do not know. A whisper is hardly reason enough to send a cadre of men to an uncertain fate. Though Sauron has been vanquished from Mordor and Orodruin reduced to a shell, the land is still dangerous. I would not send my men where I myself dare not go.”

“But surely it cannot be so treacherous, not after all this time?” Éromir protested.

“Do you so easily forget Minas Ithil? Its history is shadowed still by the Morgul Vale and will be for some time yet. Recovery is not so simple. That is why my father had it razed, why it remains barren to this day.”

Éromir was offering advice as best he could. How was he to proceed then with an indecisive king? Feeling wholly ineffective he pounded the arm of his own chair with a tight fist. “And what counsel did my father provide? Or was he, too, disregarded?”

The king now looked at Éromir, blue eyes piercing into grey. “Be careful, Prince of Ithilien,” Eldarion warned low in his throat. “Do not test my patience by losing your own.”

Éromir swallowed thickly. “Forgive me, King Eldarion. I mean no disrespect.”

“Faramir, Steward of Gondor was my father’s most valued ally. This heritage of trust between our families remains strong, and it is a great weight I assign to Elboron’s words, as well as yours.” Eldarion paused, then continued: “Elboron has suggested we keep sentry along the Ash Mountains and Mountains of Shadow, nothing more yet. In the meantime he advised we assemble a council, one to carry on the legacy of the Nine.”

The Nine: all in the Fourth Age knew their legend well. The Nine were the last great alliance of men, elves, dwarves, wizards, and hobbits. But since the destruction of the One Ring and the diminishment of the elves, such an alliance now seemed impossible. The dwarves returned to their mining, scattered throughout the far-flung mountains. No elves had been seen in the two years since Aragorn departed and Legolas set out with Gimli for the Undying Lands. Rumors of elves that had stayed behind seemed nothing more than just that.

Éromir sat rigid and clapped his right palm over his heart in a salute. “I will serve Gondor in whatever capacity you deem for me, King Eldarion. I will lead our strongest men and fight off any threat that attempts to cross our borders.”

“I have no doubt in you, Son of Elboron, or your skill as a soldier. But I must ask something different. I wish for you to assume your father’s place in the new council. I will travel west to Eriador, to the Shire, and I request for you to accompany me.”

“Eriador,” the prince breathed. “That is a long way. Could we not send others for this task? Is it wise for you to remove yourself from the kingdom?”

“Once,” answered Eldarion, “Shire-folk made all the difference to Gondor and to Middle Earth. We owe them our proper respect. I feel my father would do the same. I have faith in our men to protect the land in our absence.”

The king continued: “I’ve heard rumor that the heir of Thorin Stonehelm has traveled from the Iron Hills to the Glittering Caves, near Helm’s Deep.”

“Heir of Thorin Stonehelm,” Éromir mused. “Durin Ironhelm?”

“Aye,” said Eldarion. “Durin Ironhelm, Durin the Deathless as he is known. On our way west we will search for him and ask him to join us in our quest.”

“To the Shire? Is his presence necessary there?”

Eldarion shook his head. “Not just to the Shire. We go also to Rivendell in search of elves.”

At that moment Arestel burst from the shadows, her long, red braid whipping behind her as she ran. “I will go with you!” she cried, her words echoing determinedly throughout the Great Hall.

Eldarion and Éromir abruptly stood. “Arestel!” Eldarion said, and Éromir slowly relaxed the hand that had instinctively reached up to grip the hilt of his sword. “How long have you been hiding there? You are intruding on matters that do not concern you.”

“The livelihood of my people, the security of my home, these matters should not concern me?” she demanded, steadying her voice.

“Aramiel would never allow it.”

“I care not what my mother would or would not allow,” Arestel said. “I will follow you anywhere. If you deny me this then you will have to lock me away in a cell.”

“You are too young to understand—”

“Forgive me, Uncle, but it is you who does not understand.” Arestel squared her shoulders. “We must do all we can. I may be young but I understand well the cost of Gondor, and I am willing to pay for it with my life.” A few feet away Éromir watched her, and though he betrayed no expression, inwardly he felt a surge of pride in her. But Arestel’s heart pounded. Never before had she been so forceful with her uncle, but she could never forgive herself for not doing everything possible to protect the kingdom. In the silence she found herself painfully aware of Éromir’s presence, and her resolve briefly faltered. To have spoken to Eldarion that way in front of the Prince of Ithilien—

Eldarion softened. “You are right, Arestel,” he said in elvish. He approached her and took her hands in his. “My precious niece. Your grandfather would be very proud of you.” He turned to Éromir. Switching to the common tongue, he said, “Return now to Emyn Arnen. Tell your father of what we have spoken. Assemble five groups of soldiers and send them to patrol the western range of Ephel Dúath. In two weeks’ time return to Minas Tirith, and we three will set out for the Glittering Caves.”

“I will do as you say,” Éromir said and bowed to both Eldarion and Arestel before departing the citadel and riding with renewed energy for Emyn Arnen.