Flight to the East [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

3 | Counsels Taken

3 | COUNSELS TAKEN

The sun rose against a red sky. As Aderthon stared out over the city, the flowering White Tree behind him some fifty feet back, he tried to push all foreboding from his thoughts. Aragorn would deliver his decision soon enough. Until then, the waiting caused a pounding in the base of his skull and a tightness in his chest that Aderthon could not rid himself of.

His right hand sat on Galmegil's pommel. The smoothness of the mithril sat cool against his skin. He tried to close his eyes, but the darkness that engulfed him when he did made him even more uneasy. Even the breeze that blew his brown hair across his face did little to cool his anxiety.

The sounds of heavy booted feet on the stone behind him pulled Aderthon away from his musings. He turned, and found the weathered face of his second in command highlighted by the sunrise. Aglaron, who hailed originally from Dol Amroth's Swan Knights, wore his sword at his side and red cloak across his back. He'd seen many winters, being a contemporary of Lord Bergil who commanded the Northern garrisons, but could still beat any fresh-faced warrior that the Reunited Kingdom put forth.

"My lord." His low, gravelly voice wasn't unpleasant to Aderthon as he came closer. "Staring off at the horizon will not ease your struggles."

Aderthon gave a half snort. "No. It won't. But I have little else to do with my time right now."

"You've got your sword, and I have mine."

"Indeed, that's true."

Turning away from the Pelennor Fields, Aderthon allowed himself a small smile. He moved away from the edge. Unsheathing Galmegil, he couldn't help but marvel at the dawn's light reflecting off the blade. Hope stirred in his chest, a tiny flame, but there all the same. His mother had wielded this sword in the face of all despair, more than once.

He glanced up. Aglaron watched him, falling into a practiced stance. Aderthon copied him.

"Are you ready, old man?" he joked.

Aglaron just scoffed. "Always."

"Good."

Their blades danced in the morning sun. Neither had the mastery, each equally skilled in his own right. As sweat built up on his brow, Aderthon smiled. They moved apart for a moment to rest.

"Are you going east, my lord?" Aglaron asked. "Word travels fast in Minas Anor."

"Indeed it does. Like the walls have ears," Aderthon muttered.

Aglaron gave a short huff. "It was that way even when I was a boy. The day King Elessar healed Lord Faramir, half the town knew by evening. Whispered words that the king had returned floated down every street and back alley. Bergil insisted it to be true," he added. "I was skeptical. I missed the Havens, and feared the return of the king would somehow cause my life to change for the worse."

Aderthon laughed. He shook his head. "I would hope it hasn't, though war has not disappeared under his reign."

"Nay, it has not. But it never will. There will always be things in this world worth protecting with our lives." Aglaron stood up straighter. "If you go East, I will accompany you."

"Aglaron." Aderthon wasn't sure what to say. There were few besides his own sisters and cousins that he trusted as much as his captain standing before him. "I cannot ask that of you."

It was Aglaron's turn to laugh. "I know you well, Aderthon. I've known you since you were just training to fight for the king. I've also known Prince Eldarion. So I know you two well enough to know that even if King Elessar forbids you to leave, you will go, and he will follow. Two is not enough to pursue the destruction of that ring." He gestured in the general direction of Mordor. "Even the halflings were four, and their company nine."