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{Boons are a thing of wonder. Aragorn is enjoying his first taste of magic, his grey eyes unfocused as he concentrates on the deep thrum of a spell activating. His body morphs seamlessly, which, understandably, causes him to inhale sharply.

But then it's done. He now looks through the eyes of a Sciathán Lion. Shaking his pale mane and stretching his feathered wings, he stands and lifts his chin to catch the scent of leaves, soil, living things on the air. Pale eyes aglow, he almost seems to smile.

This is a gift he will put to good use. His head dips and he slips the locket over his ears until it settles against his furry chest. There it stays as his feet pound against the ground, knocking up dirt and debris. Once he has sufficient speed, he opens his wings and lets the air catch against his feathers.

He has watched the Eagles fly - birds beyond counting too - yet nothing prepares him for the sensation of pure free flight. His feet still move, almost as if he is racing over the open air, and he roars his approval.

Back on the ground, there is a whinny of disapproval. A certain Unicorn is giving his master a skeptical look, head tilted to one side.

When will Men learn not to play with magic like it's a toy?

Aragorn makes one round in the sky, letting his wings become accustomed to flight before he lands quite near the Unicorn. Ehtyarion shakes his mane and paws at the dirt with his hoof. With an amused glimmer in his eyes, Aragorn nudges his friend gently and encourages him to follow him.

No one will be eaten today. Or any other day for that matter. He is not that sort of beast.}

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I could ask for no finer praise. {He has known he is separate, but the idea of some doomed fate cursing his family has always haunted him.} What are your plans if we go to war?

[ A soft chuff ]

I am sure you will find better praise from those better suited to give it.

[ War, and Maglor's eyes cloud, a storm rising ]

Pfah! Let the Rulers speak of war and the fools march. Trouble comes. I dreamt of a monster at the station, and my friend Aubri of a monster of ice. Whether the dreams are true I know not, but I am done with those who tear at me and give me hope only to destroy it anew. If the Elvenking calls I will come, but otherwise I am done with this and with them.

{He gives Maglor a look reminiscent of one of Gandalf's trademark expressions. Not for naught does Peregrin Took compare him to the Wizard.

("Was there ever anyone like him? Except Gandalf, of course. I think they must be related.")

Really, Maglor, must you be so abusive to yourself?}

It is by the side of the Elvenking that I shall fight. {Carefully, he readjusts the camera, giving Maglor a clear look at a certain ring. Yes, it has survived.} Leave the conflicts to those of us young enough to still be foolish.

[ sadly, Maglor does not know Gandalf (he might have known Olorin) and so the look passes unmarked. (the answer is yes) The ring however, does not, and Maglor draws a breath with a hiss of recognition ]

The twinned serpents of Finarfin's house! [ Wistful ] Finrod would be pleased, I am sure.

I would rather you not be foolish Elrondion. Thranduil knows his business, I am sure, but it sits ill with me that he would fight for those he disdains.

{His brows raise and he glances at the ring he never takes off. The Ring of Barahir is an enduring symbol for the Dúndedain as well as the Kings of Gondor. Eventually it will go to Arwen once they are betrothed.}

Lord Elrond bestowed it on me along with the reforged blade of Narsil. {Elendil's sword, which has earned the fear of Sauron.}

He fights to defend those under his protection. I cannot say I know his entire reasoning, but that is the reason I have agreed to fight with him and his son. I have been blessed with an Elvish sword, the Flame of the West, and the skill to use it.

I do not know that name, but if Elrond gave it to you, it must be a good blade.

[ He shrugs ]

I do not pretend to know his mind. If he thinks it is worth it, then I must assume for him it is, although I do not see it. Only have a care, Elrondion.

It is the blade Elendil wielded when he faced Sauron. Isildur used his father's blade to cut off Sauron's hand and thus take possession of the Ring.

{His hand rests on Andúril's hilt.}

I shall return to you, hîr vuin.

Sauron? Morgoth's lieutenant? I think Legolas spoke of that. A blade with a proud legacy then.

[ A flinch ]

Do not. No lord am I any longer.

None other. He has sought to end my life on more than one occasion.

{To know a Dark Lord fears you is a remarkable thing indeed.}

Are you not my lord?

Then I am glad that he fails.

[ The refusal is almost violent ]

Do not! I... I am no one's Lord. And it is far too dangerous to claim me so.

He would wish for me to take the Ring for my own.

{And become one of his Generals no doubt. Sauron would not like him fall like Isildur.}

My family, then.

[ A snort ] He would. I heard. What he did to my nephew. He would enjoy corrupting one so bright as you. But he does not know you, or he would know that path is futile, I think.

[ A tremble and he shakes his head ]

I have no claim on the Earendillion, and so none to you as well.

I feared it wasn't so futile. I turned my back on my heritage and secluded myself in the forests. Yet, each time Rohan or Gondor called for aid, I could not deny them.

{Now, here he stands, knowing he will be King.}

Claims are meaningless. I hold no claim over the people of Gondor. I choose to love them.

I do not think you would be the sort to refuse aid to any who need it.

[ A small flinch ]

I... Even so. To ... to be numbered amongst my kin is... a curse I would not bring on any.

They gave me many names. {Because Aragorn refused to give them his real name.} I made many friends and watched them pass on.

{Curses are terrifying things, but he knows now that they can be broken.}

I number myself amongst many who are cursed. Curses can be broken; new paths can be forged. You have already set your feet on one.

Not this one, Elrondion. Not this one. The Doomsman himself warned us. Eru alone, I think, might free us.

The Doomsman has no power here. Eru is not needed. The curse does not apply until you return from whence you came.

Does it not? Then tell me, Aragorn, why the Silmarils still call to me. Why death and grief still follow in my wake? No. The Doom holds.

Greed is a trait of many. Few would condemn you for wishing for them. {Beauty has been the downfall of countless souls since the beginning.} Death and grief follow you here because there is no other way to sway your heart. The courts - the world - know what and who you hold dear.

Oh Aragorn, it is so much more than greed. It is a siren call, an hook caught deep. I hate them, I hate them, and I need them, also. I would kill anyone who held one and refused me - I have done so. The Oath is a chain around my soul, and it has awakened here once already.

So you know your weakness. {If it can't be overcome, he can be wary of it.} No one can be impervious to all desires. I shall not put you in a position where you feel torn.

{However...} As precious and beautiful as the Silmarils likely are, their value does not eclipse the value of your life or your sanity.

The Oath disagrees with you, Elrondion. When it wakens, I hear nought else. I would risk, I have risked, everything to silence it again.

I do not abide by the Oath. I see your value beyond it and beyond the Silmarils which so many covet.

None should, but it is too late for me. And you are far too kind, Aragorn.

I cannot believe that. Your presence has meaning with or without your kin. This gift is filled with suffering, reunions and opportunities. Do not forget the third!

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