Dreams of Power [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Flaring Tempers

A/N: Do not forget that every main OC has an entry on my FFN profile page with more detailed explanation as to who they are. Might be useful.

Aderthon took Nimwing to meet the King, the other two following them, hoping to locate Eldarion there as well. They walked up the white steps from the courtyard into the Citadel. Nimwing had never been to Minas Tirith. Her astonished face betrayed all her emotions. This was the first major city of men, not including Dale, that she had ever visited.

“It is quite remarkable, really,” she told them. “In my two thousand years I have not seen a throne room this large.”

They approached the swan throne. Aragorn was nearby talking to Eldarion and Fëalas. When the four drew near, they turned towards them and Aragorn smiled when he saw Aderthon leading Nimwing. The elf woman was the same height as Aderthon, who was of course a distinctly tall man because of his elven blood. Her white outfit, comprised of a tunic and leggings with a similarly white cloak, fluttered as she walked.

“Lord Aragorn, this is Nimwing. Legolas chose her as an ambassador.” Aderthon stepped up to him.

Nimwing bowed to him, her eyes wide. “It is an honor, King Elessar.”

To her, he was living, breathing history. She knew of his heritage, for she had studied the Noldor and the Sindar instructed by Carmegil. He had taught her of his Queen, Lady Melian the Maia, and the princess, Lady Luthien.

“The honor is mine, Lady Nimwing.” He bowed back to her. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”

She smiled and nodded. “I am excited to work alongside such noble men and women.”

Aragorn turned to Fëalas. “Show her to the rooms we had prepared.” He nodded to the red head. Turning back to Nimwing he continued, “I hope you find them comfortable enough.”

“I am sure I will.” She bid farewell, smiling especially at Aderthon while she followed Fëalas to her new home.

Once she had left, Aragorn turned to the four companions around him. “Now…” he paused looking at them. “Follow me.”

Together Elboron, Eldarion, Aderthon, and Círeth went with Aragorn to the largest meeting room in the Citadel. It was where council meetings were held and seated thirty. Aragon brought them to the far corner and they all sat down, Círeth taking up a seat on top of the table, perching cross-legged.

“First and foremost.” He turned to Elboron and Círeth. “What did you find?”

Elboron drew out the dagger and placed it on the table. “We spoke to two of the academics in the Hall of Lore. It seems this is a facsimile of a dagger of Eonwë.”

“Hissael, one of the two, says it is from the Coven of Vultur.” Círeth gestured to the make of the dagger and the eagle emblem. “Do you know of them.”

“Only in legend.” Aragorn picked up the dagger. “They were said to have attempted the assassination of their king, Khamûl, with a poisoned dagger.”

“Khamûl the Easterling?” Eldarion looked up in surprise. “The cult is that old?”

Aragorn stood and paced for a moment, looking at the dagger. “The cult is ancient. They worship Eonwë, whom they call Vultur in their tongue.”

“What are they trying to say?” Aderthon took the dagger from his uncle. “Is it a threat? Or an offer of peace?”

“Or a warning,” Eldarion said ominously. He couldn't help but think of the conversation he’d had over lunch.

It had been the sad tale of Nemir, Lady of Dol Amroth. Apparently her extended family had been killed by Easterlings recently. She had blamed Eldarion for his lack of action, his lack of decisive decision after Lord Barahir’s death. It made him think about what he should have done. He should have avenged his friend’s death.

“A warning?” Círeth cocked her head. “A warning about what?”

“A warning about what's to come, perhaps.” Eldarion paced as his father stood and watched him. “We cannot allow Rhûn to continue killing our people. Maybe they want to help?”

“Slow down, my son,” Aragorn instructed. “We cannot rush full on into a conflict with a powerful enemy without careful consideration.”

“You know Elfwine would support us!” Aderthon leapt to his friend's aid.

Aragorn shook his head and sat down. “Elfwine is not King of Rohan. And I will not ask Éomer to risk the life of his people so soon again after the Battle for Arnor.”

Círeth nodded. “I will double patrols on the border with Rhûn, just to be safe.”

“A prudent move.” Aragorn sighed. “Do not attack unless engaged.” He looked around at the younger generation before him. Had he been so reckless once? “Go. It's nearly time for you to sleep.”

They bowed to the King upon his dismissal. Aderthon stormed out, angered by the entire turn of events as of late. The words of Alodia rung in his mind.

“You think it connected to Arnor?”...“Will you avenge him?”

Two very important questions. How had Halion been wrapped up in all this? That boded ill for all of them. Halion’s gift in sorcery was not a secret. Was Tar-Mëonis a student of his? It would make sense.

Then there was Barahir's death. Aderthon wanted nothing more than to slaughter all of the Easterlings until he could get to Barahir's murderer. The problem was, he didn't know who to blame. Was Halion the real murderer? Or Tar-Mëonis?

As he walked down the steps he found Alphros sitting there eating a few scraps of his dinner. Aderthon was surprised.

“Alphros,” he said, cocking his head in confusion. “What are you doing?”

The young man lifted his head to see Aderthon and then shot up. “Eating, sir. I like the fresh air.”

Aderthon nodded. “Do you want to get some training in tonight?”

Alphros looked up at the moon slowly making its way higher into the sky. With a rogue smile and nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“Good. Let's go.” Aderthon and Alphros walked briskly through the town to where a training ground had been created for the army. It wasn't very large, but it worked. Aderthon turned back to Alphros. “I apologize for neglecting your training. I know that is why you came here.”

Alphros shook his head. “Lord any training you can give me I value. But I know these days have been rough.”

“Indeed.” Aderthon sighed as he unlocked the weapons cabinet and took out two training swords. “Tonight is a good night to hit things, though.”

Alphros chuckled lightly. “Good.”

From the shadows, a white cat sat watching them. Berúthiel was the cat’s partner, not master, for no ordinary cat was she.

Lossëa was her name, Snow white. She was a lesser Maia of Oromë and Nessa, related to Ravennië the Lioness of the West, and Tevildo, Prince of Cats. In the Elder Days she traveled to Middle Earth and remained in the forests until Men awoke. Once the Men woke up, she became fascinated by their short lifespans and studied them.

But they corrupted her, as her closest studies were done on the Southern and Eastern Men, those that worshiped Morgoth. So it was that in the Third Age she found Berúthiel being tormented by cats. Lossëa befriended her, striking up a partnership. For Berúthiel wanted dominion over men, and Lossëa wanted one very simple thing: to bring her brother Tevildo back from the void. Unfortunately her own power of sorcery were limited, so she needed Berúthiel to perform the proper spells.

So for now, Lossëa would watch and wait, gathering Intel for Berúthiel and communicating it to her telepathically. With her nine black cat servants, their eyes and ears gathered everything. Berúthiel would be untouchable.