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.”
“Where is Aderthon?” Éomer asked.
“The Houses of Healing,” Eldarion replied quickly. “They are keeping him asleep while he begins to heal, and Círeth is with him.”
Aragorn sighed. “What we know of destroying it is this: it is similar to the One Ring. Destroying the rings Sauron crafted requires a place of forging he would've used.”
“But the one he used lies under the waves now,” Fëalas said quickly, frowning. “And Orodruin remains dormant.”
Aragorn nodded and gestured to Fëalas. “Therein lies our problem. Kir mentioned dragonfire as maybe a possible alternative, but no fire drakes remain that I am aware of. Smaug was the last of those creatures in the West.”
They all sat silently for several moments. Each fell lost in thoughts his or her mind conjured up. Prince Elphir finally spoke minutes later, his voice heavier than he would've liked.
“At least the battle is won.” Elphir pointed this out with a wave of his hand. “Rhûn has lost its ruler and ten thousand troops, and that is no small blow to them.”
“Truly do you speak,” Aragorn agreed with a smile. “Perhaps Rhûn will think twice before launching a second offensive. I thank all of you present for your assistance today; the hope of the Free Peoples is alive because of you. Please stay as long as desired.” He stood and they followed suit.
“Is my sister here still?” Éomer asked Aragorn quietly.
The king nodded as the walked through the throne room together. “Indeed. She is at the Houses of Healing and is resting. She hopes to return to Ithilien soon.” He turned to Eldarion who walked some way behind. “Please show King Éomer to the Houses of Healing.”
Eldarion bowed to his father and beckoned for the white haired king of Rohan to follow. He led the way quickly to the next level down. Here he found the Houses of Healing bustling with activity. He stopped a healer and asked where the Lady Eowyn was being tended to.
“Show King Éomer to her room,” Eldarion told the young woman. When she nodded, he turned to Éomer. “I will leave you, lord. For I must see to my cousin.”
“Of course,” Éomer nodded.
Eldarion pushed on further into the healing houses. He dodged healers and the beds of critically wounded. Finally he came to the side room where Círeth sat beside Aderthon.
“Has he woken?” Eldarion asked her quietly.
She shook her head. “No. But the healers say it is only a matter of time.”
“I have many choice words to share with him when he wakes,” grumbled the Prince. “He will wish to be still asleep.”
Suddenly they heard a small chuckle from the bed. They quickly turned to the patient to find him smirking, eyes blinking against the evening light coming through the window. Aderthon tried to sit up but could not.
“Lie still,” Círeth ordered fiercely. She folded her arms. “Unless you want to be in here for longer.”
“No.” He shook his head. Then he turned his head to the prince. “Eldarion, spare me your tirade. I can already hear it in my mind.”
The prince rolled his eyes and folded his arms to match Círeth’s hard expression. “My father says that it was an honorable decision, however foolish. I blame Kir for putting the idea in your head in the first place.”
Aderthon shook his head as vigorously as he could. “Do not blame him. I pushed him for the answers I wanted. He did not want to give them to me.”
They settled into quiet chatter. Fëalas came soon and they continued for as long as the healers permitted it. But once the night had fallen, the headmaster came and shooed them all away, telling them that Aderthon needed all the rest he could get.
And yet not ten minutes later, Aderthon got another visitor. Her blonde hair fell loosely down her back and a single small braid decorated her hair. She wore a white and grey dress and walked noiselessly.
“Nimwing!” Aderthon tried again to sit up but she shook her head.
“Lie still.” She poured a glass of water for him and sat down on the chair to his right. “Here.” He drank it gratefully and she smiled. “I am privileged to help you. You did a brave thing today.”
Aderthon chuckled. “Eldarion called it foolish.”
“War calls for desperate measures.” Nimwing sighed. “Had it not been for you, many more would've died. If you had done such a thing not in battle then yes, foolish would be an apt word for your actions.” She chuckled.
He smiled ruefully, his characteristic smirk back on his face. With a glance at her face, he asked her a question. “How did you fare?”
“I took it upon myself to keep the nobles occupied during the battle,” she admitted. “Many were...difficult. But I watched from the walls and wished I could fight beside you and your army.”
“Perhaps someday,” Aderthon said with a shrug. “I would welcome you by my side.”
They fell silent, Aderthon blushing slightly. He hoped the darkness of the room apart from the few candles would keep it hidden from the maiden before him.
“Are you in much pain?” she asked after a few quiet moments.
He gritted his teeth. “Not as much as I would've expected. My shoulder hurts the most. But the healer who tended to me says I was fortunate. The blade missed the vital areas.”
“This is good.” Nimwing nodded eagerly. “Give it time and you will heal fully, this I am certain of.”
And time he was given. It took a month before Aderthon was allowed to leave the Houses of Healing for good. When he was finally free, he went first to see his own house. There, Merry and Pippin greeted him warmly and prepared a grand meal that they shared with his sisters, Eldarion, and Elboron. They chatted merrily as friends do.
And yet in the months that followed, a shadow hung over Aderthon, a shadow of increasing depression. Kir, as master of the Coven, left Minas Tirith not long after the Battle, but Akilina his wife remained behind to provide what aid she could to discovering a way of destroying the Ring of Berúthiel. The feeling that he would be sundered forever from his kin, both man or elf, upon death followed Aderthon like a shadow.
And so fall turned into winter, winter into spring, and spring into summer. The days passed, Minas Tirith was rebuilt. The Pelennor once more became busy with farmsteads. Eldarion and Aderthon trained more men for battle, but during all of it they searched for answers.