UNDERGOING REWRITE AUGUST 2021

Fëanoriel Chronicles Book 5

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YEAR 51 FOURTH AGE

After impulsive heroics at the Second Battle of the Pelennor, Aderthon, nephew of King Elessar through Elrohir, is bound to a First Age ring of power that keeps his spirit bound to Arda and sundered from the Undying Lands. Hope is in short supply for him in the months that follow. With Orodruin dormant, none know how to destroy it other than to seek for the ruins of the fortress of Morgoth, Utumno, where some of the forges may still be lit. But no one knows where to find them.

When a mysterious elf arrives in Minas Anor claiming he can guide them, for a price, a quest is set to travel to the East to seek the ruins of Utumno. A fellowship of seven is chosen to keep Aderthon safe, both from the outside world and from himself. 


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Ironic. Fate, doom, seemed to truly love to damn Fëanor's line to atonement for an oath ill-sworn. He had Lady Lúthien's blood as well. Was her part in Sauron's downfall catching up with her descendants through his ring? 

Movement beyond the Ring of Berúthiel tore his thoughts away. The two young men, both singled out of their training with the Citadel Guard as prime candidates for the Red Company had stood back up tall. Aderthon couldn't help flashing them a small smirk. He took a quick drink.

Moving back over to their large, packed dirt circle, he twisted his wrist, Galmegil glinting golden red in the dawn. He didn't train his recruits with blunt swords. Neither his, nor theirs. The Red Company took only the best. It would always take only the best. Either they controlled themselves enough to neither harm nor be harmed, or they did not belong.

Perhaps the Doom of Mandos hung over them. Perhaps they had no hope of finding a way to destroy this accursed ring. But as the recruits, Berenor and Malrin, stood ready to oppose him without hesitation, Aderthon just nodded.

They would just have to do without hope, then.
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