The Council
From the time of the kingdom of Arnor, continuing after its collapse during the War of the Last Alliance, and through the centuries of the Third Age, the region known as Evendim had ever been a place of eternal beauty. Many believed Nenuial, the great lake and central feature of the region, was the true source of the enchantment. Its waters were clear, blue, and sweet. On calm nights they became another starry sky below, across which another moon floated tranquilly with its lover above. The Annuminas ruins on the southern shore would have had no respite from solemnity were there no magical waves lapping against its fallen heights. The trees along the lake shore would have had no reason to stand so tall and proud were they denied their rippling reflections. Perhaps the lake’s mystical gifts were endowed by the Elves who once lived here, but the departure of Celeborn and Galadriel millennia ago did not carry away the area’s treasured aura.
Hugging the eastern shore of Lake Evendim, as Nenuial was also called, the island of Tinnidur Keep rested placidly, with an ancient stone bridge, wide and steadfast, inviting visitation. The keep became home to the Dunedain descendants of the House of Isildur, and here they hoarded the history of their lineage, memories of a glory long past with the falling of the kingdom of Arnor.
“Why are we bothering at all?”, Ferrod asked, gazing out at the sunrise glistening on the water.
“A promise was made, and honor asks us to see it kept”, answered Calenglad, doubt scratching at his words.
“And to whom was the promise made?” demanded Astiul, with a rhetorically negative tone.
“Yes, yes”, answered Calenglad with some irritation, “The Half Elf is dead now, but his son still lives, and we, as the sons of the oath makers have some responsibility, no?”
The three Dunedain rangers fell silently into their own thoughts until finally Calenglad, their leader, nodded toward the tall double doors into the keep, and the others followed as he made to enter. They ascended the sloping hall into the center of the keep where it widened into an echoing, cavernous chamber centered by a squared pool of clear lake water drifting through. Overseeing the venue, a majestic statue of Elendil, fabled king, posed with wide and proud stance, heroically and singlehandedly lifting his great sword over his uplifted gaze, determined and hopeful. All three glanced up at the king, as tradition dictated, and as the statue’s powerful presence demanded.
The trio followed the flagstones, worn smooth by ages of treading boots, around the pool and to a short set of stairs leading up to a platform behind the king, where tables and chairs were arranged for meetings amongst those who led the Houses of the Dunedain still found in Evendim.
Calenglad poured them all goblets of wine while the other two sat, leaving the chair at the head of their table empty. After setting the wine down before each member of the group, he lowered himself into the vacant chair.
“Again, I ask,” Ferrod spoke first while the others took their first sips. “Why are we bothering with this boy, this Cutch? Until Andreg dragged him to Esteldin, the half-blood was comfortably away from us, not reminding us of the embarrassment of his grandmother, that Elf witch Gilmorwen. As far as I can see, the Vow has been kept and we owe him nothing.”
Astiul roughly set down his goblet at the racial slur. “You have no call to use such words! The boy’s father proved himself faithful to us by his own actions. He stood up to Gilmorwen even though in the end it cost him and his wife their lives.”
“At Gilmorwen’s own hand, remember”, Ferrod replied, setting down his goblet and leaning toward Astiul defiantly. “She was turned to the Dark by her own weakness, consumed by madness, and would have doomed us all had we heeded her counsel. How do we know that, even though her son Elenyon showed no such defect, that it has not crept into her grandson? That he will not become an enemy that we will one day need to dispatch, and to invite him now into our midst will only make us vulnerable?”
Astiul snorted at that. “I’d no idea you harbored such ill feelings toward Elves, my friend, or their offspring whose blood is mixed with our own.”
“And toward Elves, generally, I do not”, Ferrod quickly answered. “But I do not allow such respect to diminish my resolve against any who show themselves to be a threat to the Dunedain. This … boy, Cutch, is an unknown to us, and because of the Vow, he has been kept at a distance. We should keep him so until he has in some way proven his tendencies. His recklessness in Esteldin does not speak well for him, so far. To bring him here, the last bastion of the Dunedain, is folly.”
The two fell silent, slaking their thirst with healthy draws of wine, their gazes locked on each other as they each prepared their next verbal volley. Taking the opportunity to intercede, Calenglad set his goblet down and cleared his throat. The others took this as a signal to stop and listen to their leader.
“Our chieftain, were he to speak on this, would most likely say to let the lad find his own fate. As of now, Cutch is a fifteen-year-old boy, old enough to be on his own, but certainly no captain of our demise. I propose we allow his coming to Tinnidur, teach him the best of Dunedain history without revealing our weaknesses, and in, say, a years’ time see who he is then. We should not reveal to him the truth of his heritage, for we should be most interested, for many reasons, in who HE is, not just what well-spring issued him. Besides, there is no reason to inflict his grandmother’s infamy on him.”
Ferrod and Astiul listened, each watching the others face for a reaction to Calenglad’s words. Neither seemed particularly averse to their leader’s position. Calenglad sipped his wine as he appraised their silence, then nodded to their unspoken assent.
From the distant entrance, sounds of tall doors opening and closing echoed to the trio, followed by the footsteps of two entering the pool chamber, where a young voice issued an exclamation at the sight of the king’s statue. The three looked at each other, recognizing the reaction of a young newcomer. They waited until Andreg appeared from around the statue with his young charge in tow.
Keeping behind Andreg, Cutch looked at the three seated rangers with some curiosity, but Calenglad was relieved by what the boy did not show.
Fear.
