Return to the North [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Penalty of Death

Now - Bree

“Truly?” gasped Pippin. “I can hardly believe it! The last time I would’ve seen you was when the three of you,” he flailed his arms at the thirty five year olds, “were five.”

“Same for me,” Merry agreed. “Why come you here?”

“Perhaps it’d best if you return to our chambers. These are matters we should not speak of so openly,” Elboron reminded them. “Come.”

Eldarion agreed wholeheartedly. He led the party back to the room where he and Aderthon were to sleep. All five of the company, plus the two hobbits, filed in. The wooden beams of the floor creaked beneath their every footfall, but it was not so loud as to cause concern. Pippin shut the door behind him as he was last to enter.

“So what brings you to Bree, and further on perhaps to the Shire?” Merry asked again.

Eldarion sat on his bed next to Elboron. He sighed and rubbed his forehead in stress before beginning his tale.

“A little over three months ago, a messenger arrived in Gondor from the North.” He paused before continuing. “He brought troubling news, news of Lady Tinneth's disappearance.”

“Míril and Elrohir must be devastated,” Pippin frowned. “I can only imagine if my own son, Faramir, went missing!”

“Indeed,” Eldarion agreed solemnly. He continued the tale. “After many days, nine of us were chosen to set out North where we will try to find Tinneth and stop whatever evil is growing in the North.”

“Nine?” Merry asked in surprise, looking around as if expecting others to come out of the woodwork. “Who else?”

“Edeva and Elfwine, the children of Éomer and Lothiriel. And my siblings Finduilas and Barahir,” Elboron told them. “They are sleeping.”

“Edeva and Elfwine have come?” Merry asked excitedly with a small smile. “Wonderful!”

“Danger you say?” Pippin reeled the conversation back in. “What danger?”

“We don't rightly know,” frowned Círeth. “Not that I know of at least.”

The three men shared a look. Círeth and Fëalas looked confusedly at them.

“What do you know,” growled Círeth. “What have you been hiding?”

Aderthon sighed and shook his head sadly. “All we have is merely poor conjecture. Nothing solid.”

“Surely there is something to go on,” Fëalas prompted them immediately, eager for more information. “Something to help us.”

“Alright,” Eldarion sighed. “All cards on the table, I suppose.”

Aderthon pouted and looked to protest, but Elboron touched his arm and lightly shook his head. They had to let Círeth and Fëalas know of their sister’s potentially danger.

“There is a sorcerer in the North, in Angmar. A man left over from Sauron's days. He’s called the Red Hand.” Eldarion began explaining to the four who had never heard the news before. “This Red Hand has a fascination with Fëanorians, according to our sources. He seeks to corrupt the remaining members.”

“Tinneth,” growled Círeth.

“We don't know anything for sure,” Aderthon jumped in. “Nothing’s certain!”

Merry spoke up after a long silence. “We should have answers tomorrow morning.”

The five companions were silenced in surprise. Eldarion looked the most confused.

“How so?” he asked the hobbit.

“We are here to meet with the Dunédain tomorrow. Bergil himself is coming!” Pippin smiled fondly as he remembered Bergil, son of Beregond.

“Bree is commonly our meeting place. Old Barliman let's us all have a room to discuss matters,” Merry explained more deeply. “Since big people aren't allowed in the Shire, this works well.”

Eldarion sighed. “Let’s hope they have some answers.”

Now - Angmar

Tinneth stood watching the training troops. Her dark, blood red dress and onyx crown with a corset of black, iron armor was menacing. Her silver hair was plated with onyx and rubies. Aradheleth the troops called her, the Royal Terror, for few dared to speak her given name. Only Halion had that privilege.

Strapped on either side of her black belt were her twin swords. Biter and Pincer they were nicknamed by the goblins she trained. For they were old elvish blade which burned them when coming in contact with goblin skin.

“These look ready, do they not?” came a sly, low voice below her the crept beneath her skin in a not unpleasant way.

“Carnimendo, my love,” she smiled at Halion. “Indeed they do. As do my current goblins.”

“I’d say one more month and we're in business,” he grinned. “Are you ready to conquer the world, melda?”

Tinneth narrowed her eyes and smiled as she watched the Angmarin troops. “Yes.”

Now - Dunland

“We are a month and a half out from Annuminas, sir,” Elladan told Aragorn in their weekly meeting. “We are making fast time with these horses.”

Estelwen, outside her father’s tent, was suddenly distracted from eavesdropping. A few soldiers were watching her with amusement and she suddenly felt somewhat guilty.

I suppose they know I'm eavesdropping, she thought. I'll just ask Father later about the meeting.

Estelwen put away the knife she had been twirling and wandered towards the food station. A month they had been on the road already, a month and they were half way through Dunland. Another month and a half and they would see the legendary city of Annuminas.

But the reason she had been eavesdropping was simple: what wasn't her father telling the troops? There was a closely guarded secret between Aragorn, Míril, Elladan, and Elrohir. She guessed it had something to do with Tinneth, but what she didn't know. Maybe Tinneth had died?

She picked up a bowl of stew and a bread loaf. Sitting down beside several other healers near a campfire, she tried to relax. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong. More wrong even than going to war. And she knew it had something to do with Tinneth’s fate.

As soon as she noted the departure of Míril, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elden from her father’s tent, she put down her soup bowl and walked brusquely over to it. She didn't even hesitate to walk inside.

“Father,” she began immediately. “What is the matter? What aren't you telling me, or the troops?”

Aragorn was caught completely off guard. He straightened up with a sigh and shook his head.

“Father, what is wrong with Tinneth?”

Aragon's head shot up. How could his daughter possibly have known it had to do with her cousin?

She's smarter than I give her credit for, he smirked to himself.

“Come on,” he sighed. “Let's take a walk.”

For the next two hours, he laid out to his youngest daughter everything he knew about Tinneth and Halion. Under the stars they talked, Estelwen growing more horrified every second. Her cousin was a traitor.

And traitors had to suffer the penalty of death.