I do not own Tolkien’s characters, places, or ideas. I do own my own, however.
*Just a note, in this story, Aragorn had six children. The eldest two, Eldarion and Elluin, were twins. Elluin married an elf, Beren, and they also had six kids. The 3rd eldest, Eärendil, had three sons. The middle one, Jandin, is the main character in this story.*

The sun was still shining over the great stone city of Fornost, where dwelt the Royal family of the Arnor. It was a fortress, built in times of war, which were now long gone. Down one of the many streets of the great city a boy ran. His height, which may have perhaps suited a ten or eleven year old, did not match the mature, yet now angry light in his bright blue eyes. His silvery-blonde hair was damp from his running.
Strangers in the city wondered, for his clothes, though casual, were of very fine make; such clothes as a prince would wear. And those who dwelt in the city were puzzled, because the young boy was a prince, and princes do not usually run like the wind down winding city back streets. But Jandin, for that was the prince’s names, was upset, and so defied the bonds his elders had set on him. He was angry with his father, his uncle, and the stupid Council members for not letting him sit in on their meetings. Not old enough indeed! Jandin thought to himself. I’m sixteen!
Jandin remembered how his Uncle Aradrae, the King, had asked him why he even wanted to sit in on Council meetings. He himself had avoided them until he was thirty, at which time his uncle has dragged him along by the ear. ‘But I’m not you, Uncle’ Jandin had replied. After that, his uncle had responded with the ‘when your older’ thing.
Jandin turned into an alley, climbed down a ladder into an old, forgotten cellar that he had discovered when he was nine. He was about to go further in when he heard voices talking.
“Those half-elves are stupid. Smart stupid,” spat a first voice.
“That don’t make no sense,” argued another.
“It does so. They ain’t a knowin’ we exist, and they ain’t found our lair in the mountains in the millennia we’ve a had it there. Yet they’s a managed all the same ta wipe half o’ us out!”
“There’s that skirmish at the beginning of the age…”
“That were in Gondor, it don’t count,” the first voice interjected. “And then there’s that axe of theirs we have, that they’s a thinkin’ destroyed, if they’s a knowin’ ’bout it at all.”
“What axe?”
“The one Lord Fane hands outside his quarters, idiot,” drawled the first voice.
“Oh, that one!” the second voice exclaimed. “Ya could a said so. Weren’t it supposed ta be some ruddy heirloom o’ theirs?”
“Aye, and from the First Age.”
This conversation had sparked Jandin’s interest form the first. The half-elves were obviously his family in Arnor and Gondor, as no other half-elves existed. And how dare they call him and his family stupid! Sure his uncle and father were acting like it right now, but they didn’t all the time.
While eavesdropping, Jandin had crept to the end of the wall and was now looking at the people who were calling his family stupid. Dark Elves! he thought, seeing their dark hair and yellow eyes. This can’t be good! He edged a little closer to get a better look at his family’s age old rivals, and promptly fell into the middle of their circle. The three of them, for there were two Dark Elves, all recovered at the same time.
“Get ‘im!” the first elf yelled.
Jandin swore and bolted for all he was worth. He knew this area like the back of his hand and was able to escape quite easily to civilization.
“I have to get the axe back,” the prince muttered to himself, leaning against a wall, panting. “But for now I’d better get out of here before I’m spotted like this.” He ran as fast as he could up to the Palace, and turned at the King’s office, knowing that that was where his uncle would currently be. He knocked, and heard the familiar voice of his uncle calling him in.
“It looks like you’ve been running,” Aradrae observed.
“That I have,” Jandin replied. “I was down near the gate…” he smiled sheepishly at his uncle’s questioning gaze – the area down near the gate didn’t have a good reputation, “… and I heard a conversation between two Dark Elves.”
His uncle’s response was instant, almost automatic. “Jandin, that’s ridiculous! Everyone know that the Dark Elves were killed out when my grandfather captured them three centuries ago.”
“But they have an heirloom of ours!” Jandin exclaimed. “It’s millennia old!”
“What would this age old heirloom be?”
“An axe,” the prince stated firmly.
“Jandin, I have read the histories of the First and Second ages many times, and no where do they mention an axe.”
“But I know where it is and everything!” Jandin protested.
“I think we have said enough on this matter,” Aradrae said, standing up. “I do not want to hear about Dark Elves again, and I absolutely forbid you to go chasing this ‘axe’ of yours. Do you understand?”
Jandin nodded reluctantly, but in his mind he was calculating the swiftest way to get to the Blue Mountains in the west.
“Very well then, you may leave.”

During the evening Jandin went to his uncle’s library and looked up the records of his grandfather Beren’s captivity by the Dark Elves. After memorizing the vital information the books contained, he went to his room and prepared for his trip.
That night Jandin took his sword, his bow, food, some ext
ra clothes, one last fond look at his younger brother Reven, and stole out of the palace.
Jandin used what he had learned of stealth and secrecy to sneak pass the guards, thinking that when his teacher’s had taught him this skill, they had not intended for it to be used in this manner.
The outer gate was the hardest obstacle in fleeing the city. For this gate, he climbed up it, crawled on top of the outer wall on his stomach, and dropped onto the ground out of the guards sight. Free at last! He would have taken a horse, but he knew it would have been impossible to sneak a horse out of the stables, and even thinking about taking it unnoticed passed the outer gate was absurd.
Jandin had been travelling unnoticed, unhindered for a few days when one night, as he sat by his fire, he heard a wolf howling. He quickly grabbed his belongings and climbed into a nearby tree. In the dim light of the fire, he could make out a lone wolf, who sniffed the area and ran off. Before long, the whole pack had made it’s way to Jandin’s campsite. For his supper that night, Jandin had caught a couple of rabbits. His supper had been interrupted when he had heard the wolf howling, and he hadn’t bothered to take the rabbits in the tree with him. The wolves were now devouring what he hadn’t eaten. But wolves are hungry animals, and the remains of a boy’s supper aren’t enough to satisfy a hungry pack. Soon, they turned their keen snouts to the tree that Jandin was perched in, growling hungrily.
“Uh oh,” muttered Jandin. “I wish I had a fire up here to shoot down their hungry throats.” He had had an arrow drawn since he climbed up into the tree, and he now shot it down the throat of the wolf that was trying to climb the tree; trying and not succeeding.
The prince estimated as best as he could how many wolves there were left. He had slain four, but there were still two or three slinking about, and one was still trying to climb his tree. He shot it, then grabbing his saber, Jandin leaped out of the tree. It was most likely a very foolish thing to do, but Jandin was confident, having been taught by his Uncle Aradrae, who had been taught by his grandfather, the King Elessar, who was said to have been the most skilled warrior the race of Man had seen since the First Age.
Jandin kicked the wolf that he had just slain out of his way, and fought the wolves with his back to the tree. He realized that there were indeed three wolves left as they all jumped at him at once. Jandin killed town in the initial rush, but the last wolf bit him in the right arm. Most elves were ambidextrous (One exception had been Jandin’s grandfather Beren, who was lefthanded. If right-handed elves were rare, left handed were three times as) but those elves who weren’t were trained to use both hands. Fortunately for Jandin he had been trained that way as well. He was naturally right handed, but any task he could do with his right hand he could do with his left.
Jandin finally slew the last wolf. He then turned his attention to his wounded arm. The wound was not deep, and the prince was able to bind it, though it was a little difficult doing it with one hand. In his family, it was the younger sibling’s that had the greater healing abilities – a strange trait, but welcome amongst princes like Jandin who had older siblings.
Jandin slept in the tree that night and continued on the next day. That night had been his last night in the forest, and he felt quite vulnerable in the open land with its rolling hills and tall grass. He had never been away from home for more than two weeks before, and certainly never without a guard. Just because he was one of the lesser princes didn’t mean he wasn’t a prince.
Just before he stopped for lunch the prince approached a rather steep hill, and thought he could hear sounds of fighting coming from the other side. When he came upon the top, he saw a group of around two dozen goblins fighting a human girl about his own age. She was doing as well as anyone their age could do against two dozen of the creatures, but she needed help. Jandin stood up and began firing arrows at them, though the pain in his arm grew worse with each arrow. Before long, none were left. Jandin walked down the hill to meet the girl who he had saves. She was wearing pants, a tunic and a heavy cloak all in dark green which immediately distinguished her as a traveler like Jandin, although she looked as if she had been travelling for a longer period of time.
“I suppose yer gonna want somethin’ fer that, huh?” she demanded as he drew nearer.
“Just your name,” the prince replied.
The girl looked him over, seeing the fine quality of his clothes and the gold and silver that were inlaid on his weapons. “Mi name’s Ildera. Aren’t ya dressed a little fancy fer a traveler?”
Insulted, Jandin looked down at his clothes, which to him were quite plain (plain in Jandin’s mind meant loose fitting with only a little embroidery). “No, not really. At least not compared to most of the other clothes I have.”
Ildera raised an eyebrow. “Most folk are lucky if they’s havin’ even one thing so nice as that. You’d have ta be a prince to have anythin’ fancier.”
Jandin grinned. “But I am a prince. My uncle is Aradrae Ellenroh. You’ve heard of him, right?”
Ildera gaped at him open-mouthed. “Uh, of course I have, yer highness. He’s the King in these parts. Wait, yer bleedin’.”

Jandin instinctively winced at the words ‘your highness’. From an early age he, like most of his family, had insisted on being called his name except on formal occasions. Some people seemed to think formal occasions were happening all the time, and it ground on Jandin’s nerves. “Oh, that reminds me, I haven’t introduced myself yet.” He place his hand over his heart and gave a formal bow. “Prince Jandin Ellenroh, son of Rendil Ellenroh at your service. Please just call me Jandin or Jand.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a prince before. What about yer arm?”
“Oh, that,” said Jandin casually. “I got bitten by a wolf yesterday. It’s a bit sore, but I’ll rebind it now.”
“What brings you out here?”
So Jandin and Ildera sat down, and Jandin told her about the Council, and about the conversation he had heard, and how he wanted to get the axe, letting Ildera bind his arm. Ildera, being the adventurous sort, insisted on coming along. Jandin accepted eagerly, having seen no one (except the wolves) since he left Fornost.

This is my first story that I’ve published, so please review! If I have made a mistake or error, please not that this story does take place 300 years after LOTR, so some locations and such would have changed.