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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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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!

'To evil end will all things turn that begin well' [ Maglor quotes from memory, the echo which has haunted him for the last five hundred years, give or take ]

There is no opportunity that I dare to trust.

Has this begun well? {Be honest, Maglor. Aragorn's lips twist, amused.}

For me? Yes. It did. [ A soft, strained murmur ] They gave me back my brother, my firefly. As he was, before. Young and fey and mostly unburdened by the madness that took him. And I... I was so happy. I thought... despite the pain of my hand, the grief of Maedhros' death, that we had done it. That my brothers were free. And then Morla called him son, and twisted him to her will, and he fell, my bright brother, and Solais refused to yield to us the Silmaril. They killed him you know. The Seelie Champion. Executed him like some common dog. So you see? Even here. Again. The road is the same.

You were brought to a world against your will, given what you thought you desired and then used as a pawn in a cruel game. What you have gained - what you have lost - is independent of the curse. You are not the only one who has suffered.

{He does not speak of himself, but rather of the many who are not cursed and experiencing the same misfortunes.}

I know. I am very selfish, eh? But... the story is the same. Over and over again.

That wasn't my point. {Selfish isn't even the right word. It's more...} You get in your own way far too often.

Do I? [ He shrugs a little wryly ] I... suppose I might, I have not... noticed.

You see your life as a circle - unending, unbreakable - and so you continue on a path that curves and curves back to the end and the beginning. That may very well be your reality, however your mind can take you other places for a time. Living in fear of what is to come will only increase your woe.

What is to come will come whether we mourn it beforehand or not. There is joy in small moments.

I do not think I remember how to, any longer.

Then a repeat lesson is required.

[ A soft fond chuff ]

So stubborn. I do not think I can. Aragorn.

I have far more hope in you. Would you not encourage me to find happiness again if I were sad?

I would, but you are not me, Elrondion. No Doom hangs over you.

And what if I succumbed to the Ring, used it for my own, let my selfish desires fester...

Would you hate me? Would you call me hopeless?

But you did not. And in that you proved stronger than I at your test, Aragorn, for I did not hesitate that day long ago, nor any of the times after. And e'en if you had, the Ring, Master Bilbo told me, has a mind of its own. How could you hope to fight one of the Maia?

You would forgive me for my weakness and understand that the Ring would always hold sway over me. {There is immense kindness in that.} How can I not give you the same support? The same response? I see much good in you.

All you see are echoes of the ellon who died on the sands of Alqualonde, Aragorn.

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