Dreams of Power [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

Healing

Aragorn met Éomer on the field of battle. He picked his way between corpses of horses and men alike. The stench of death hung in the air. It reminded him far too much of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields except that now it was men killing men, and lacked the orcs of Sauron. Yet even without Sauron evil managed to surface. He sighed wearily as he noticed a handful of men he recognized. Two were friends of Aderthon and Eldarion, who lay in the blue cloaks of the Prince’s company. But the royal blue was now stained black with blood.

Éomer approached him on horseback. His face, drawn in a weariness mirroring Aragorn’s own, betrayed all his emotions. The kings clasped arms in greeting when the Rohirric lord swung down from his steed.

“It is good to see you,” Éomer smiled. Then his smile faltered as he looked at the devastation. “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Aragorn sighed. “Indeed. Thank you for heading the call.”

Éomer laughed softly. “I would not abandon the White City. Then I would truly be a lesser king than my sires. Besides, I value the friendship of her King.”

They looked left as four horsemen rode up. One flew the colors of Dol Amroth, another of Rohan. Two more bore the Reunited Kingdom’s colors.

Eldarion, Fëalas, Elfwine, and Prince Elphir dismounted around the two kings. Eldarion’s face was drawn in weariness and his father frowned.

“It is done, then?” Aragorn asked his son.

The prince clenched his fists. “Yes. That idiot-”

“-saved everyone’s lives,” Aragorn contradicted him quickly. “A foolish choice, it seems at first. But one done out of honorable intentions.”

Éomer, Elfwine, and Elphir all looked at the Gondorians in confusion. Aragorn shook his head. “Not here. I bid you return with me to the city. There we will discuss what has happened.”

The other lords agreed immediately. Everyone mounted their horses and followed Aragorn back towards the gate of the great city. Eldarion trailed behind last and, upon passing the broken body of Berúthiel, dismounted briefly. He noticed Kir’s dagger missing from her chest and supposed the man had retrieved it already. So Eldarion stooped and picked up the sword Anguirel. An artifact such as that should not be lost, he decided, and intended to give it to Aderthon as some sort of closure for the death of Tinneth. If he did not want it, the vault of Minas Tirith would gladly accept the ancient sword of Eöl and Maeglin.

Eldarion remounted his horse and hurried after the other lords into the city. He caught up with them in the fourth level, and from there they left their horses on level six, walking their way to the citadel one level above. Aragorn led them inside to the side room he often used for conferences. There they all sat and Aragorn began relating the tale of the return of Berúthiel.

“This only was revealed to us half a week ago,” he ended. “Two messengers from a resistance force against the Shadow in Rhûn came to us. They had rescued Lady Círeth and knew the enemy that we faced.”

“So Lord Aderthon is now bound to this ring?” Elphir frowned at the news. “What can be done of it?”

Aragorn sighed. “We do not know yet. I spoke with Kir, one of the messengers, briefly before the battle. He had planned on binding himself.”

“If it is a relic of Sauron, surely it will corrupt Aderthon,” Elfwine added quickly. “Something must be done!”

Eldarion frowned at him. “Kir assures us any corrupting influence, if it is there at all, will take a long time. Lady Lúthien cleansed it of the Enemy's influence.”