Alcarwë's right eye had a pupil shaped like a keyhole. Part of the pale grey iris was missing. He had not been born with this missing piece, but had lost it in Alqualondë. At the same time, he had gained a scar, now faint and pink, which ran down from his eye in a straight line to the middle of his cheek. Both the scar and the keyhole-shaped pupil had been given him by a Telerin boatman armed with a fishing lance. The man had died for his trouble.
The keyhole eye still worked, though marginally. Alcarwë could see light and colours, and indistinct shapes. He had grown accustomed to it. He no longer registered the blurriness. But at times when he needed clear vision, it had become second nature to cover his right eye with his hand so as to use only the good left eye unhindered. He did this both for reading and for spying over the lake and its crude town from his upstairs window.
"The King has lowered his flag," he said to his brother Canamírë on a clear spying day. The sight in his left eye seemed to have grown exceptionally sharp to compensate for the ruined right. Canamírë could see no flag on the opposite shore.
"I wager the blue and silver will be flying come tomorrow," Alcarwë continued. "You just watch..."
"So you do think Nolofinwë will take the crown," said Canamírë.
Alcarwë nodded, stepping back from the window and pulling the shutters closed. "I know he will. The King and he have been telling everyone it's for the greater good. How so, I cannot say, but I believe they plan to go through with this. Tomorrow we will have a new king." As he spoke, he picked up his cloak from the back of a chair and fastened it around his neck.
"Now you plan to go to the south shore and protest this transfer of power?" Canamírë asked.
"No no," said Alcarwë, and he grinned. "I go to facilitate it and offer my good wishes."
Canamírë was lost, as happened too frequently while discussing politics with his brother. Alcarwë, he always suspected, knew things that lesser beings could never hope to understand. It was what made him so annoyingly successful.
Alcarwë explained. "There are too many here still faithful to the memory of Fëanáro," he told his brother. "Nolofinwë must know how foolish it would be to try to claim absolute power. So, to soften the change, he will have no choice but to name to high positions a number of those who would continue to support Maitimo as the true King. However... don't you think that he would like to, with the same appointments, choose those who also show him admiration?"
"But you do not admire him," said Canamírë.
"No," said Alcarwë, and he shrugged. "But I have promised more to gain less in the past."
Oddly, the words brought a wispy thought of Hanessë to Canamírë's mind.
Eleven days later, at a public celebration on the lakeshore, Alcarwë was named Reeve of the North Colony by the New King. The path of his life took a sharp turn for the better. Canamírë's, at this time, did not.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.