Erendis: A Love Story by oshun

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Winds That Blow Against a Star

I want to extend my most whole-hearted thanks to Dawn Felagund for her thorough and insightful Beta, and to IgnobleBard for his ongoing willingness to read my scribblings no matter what they are.

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“You should have come with us this morning,” said Núneth, her voice sharp with irritation, insistent upon shrugging out of her cape unassisted before finally handing it to her lady’s maid. “Thank you, Eirien. That will be all.” Erendis sighed at her mother. She would never learn how to behave with servants.

She was in no mood either to explain to Núneth why she had not wanted to watch the farewell ceremony at the docks. “He did not expect me to be there, Nana. Quite the contrary.” We said good bye to one another, alone last night, she thought, with lovely kisses and well away from prying eyes.

A veteran peacekeeper between the two women in his life, her father gave a resigned shrug before quickly adding, “We can tell you all about the ritual. It is an interesting custom. A blend of Eldarin and Númenórean sensibilities, melded with nautical myths and superstitions, and that unique devotion that all seamen seem to have to Ossë and Uinen.” Her mother rolled her eyes as he droned on. “The ceremony itself is simple, a middle ground between formal rites and a personal entreaty. The Queen herself carried the sacred bough . . .”

“The oiolairë,” Erendis interjected.

“Yes,” he said. “She did not actually present the oiolairë to Prince Aldarion, but she boarded the ship to fasten it onto the prow herself.“

Núneth huffed with impatience. “He looked terrible, Erendis!” she snapped, the implication behind her tone being that her daughter was somehow responsible. Beregar shook his head in wry amusement at the two of them.

“Nana, I am quite certain that he did not look terrible,” Erendis said. “He never looks terrible,”

“Well, I, for one, have never seen him look worse--down-at-mouth, preoccupied. . . .”

“Did he look terrible, Ada? I’m sure he didn’t.”

“No, darling. He looked serious though, solemn even. It was a solemn occasion, calling upon the Ainur in the presence of the entire Court, while taking leave of his family for who knows how long, and with the King not well pleased with him. Yes, Aldarion looked serious. But hale and well.”

“See, Nana! I told you.” Erendis realized she was clenching her fists in the soft cotton skirt of her lovely new morning dress with the effort of trying not to sound snappish. “Are you going to sit down now and have some breakfast? Everything is ready. The tea’s going to get cold. There are warm cinnamon buns—at least they were warm—and lovely poached eggs, sprinkled with toasted bread crumbs, fresh pepper, and grated cheese.”

She glanced at the fruit plate where halved oranges with crimson flesh glittered in the sunlight like rubies. In her current mood, the beauty of them brought tears to her eyes. “And look at these marvelous blood oranges. Anardilya sent us an entire basket yesterday.”

Her voice broke on the last few words. Why did she have to mention him again? Her stomach roiled at the thought of eating, but she would be happy to endure the meal if only it would still her mother’s hectoring.

“Do you want milk and sugar, Nana?” she asked, as sweetly as possible. Her attempt at controlling her voice resulted in a childlike high, thin pitch.

Her mother looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Only sugar, thank you. So, you call him Anardilya now? I never heard you use that before.”

“Because I haven’t. He asked me to call him that, but I have tried to use it only with him.” Her lower lip trembled.

“There. There, darling.” Núneth patted her on the hand. “Are you angry and upset because he did not ask you to marry him?”

“What makes you so sure that he didn’t?” Erendis snatched her hand away and picked up her napkin, shaking it out with sharp snap.

“Well, did he?” Her mother’s eyes and mouth popped wide open, making her look like a dyspeptic frog.

“No. He did not. Good thing too. Because, if he had, I would have refused him.”

“I sincerely doubt that, darling. Prince Aldarion could charm the pants off . . .” Núneth gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Beregar snorted, stifling a chuckle while rolling his eyes at their daughter. Erendis shot him a wicked smile.

“Both of you are horrid,” Núneth sputtered, looking from her husband to Erendis and back again. “He wouldn’t dare? Surely you wouldn’t . . .”

“No, Nana. He did not. I am not at all sure that I wouldn’t have though. But he was far too honorable to try.” Or self-protective, she thought to herself.

Sighing, Núneth said, “Well, that’s a relief at least. Did he tell you that he loved you? Did he ask you to wait for him?”

“No. And, again, no. It is a long and perilous voyage and he has no wish to wed in the foreseeable future. He has interests, Nana. Ambitions beyond those of his father. I can understand that, even if I do not share them! Have a little respect, if not for me, for him. He will be your king someday.”

Núneth stared at her, refusing to speak and narrowing her eyes, growing increasingly annoyed with her daughter. Erendis did not have the nerves to endure a staring contest with her mother that morning, so she reacted first.

“Is this the sort of thing you gossip about among the Queen’s Ladies at Court? I certainly hope not!” If only her mother would just leave her in peace. He was gone and he had not said he loved her and had explicitly asked her not to wait.

Erendis tossed her napkin onto the table, before she jumped to her feet, her chair shrieking in protest as it scraped against the marble floor. Not looking back, she flounced out of the room. But it was not even a good flounce—appearing more petulant than dramatic—and brought her very little satisfaction.

Her mother called after her, “I gave birth to you, young lady. I do not have to tolerate such . . . “

She heard her father’s soft voice, almost a whisper. “Hush, sweetheart. Let her go. This is her first love; her first heartbreak. That is no small thing.”

o0o0o0o

Before he left, Erendis could never have imagined how long one of Aldarion’s trips to Ennor might last. It occurred to her at numerous points that she and Aldarion counted the days differently. Seven years to a woman of the House of Bëor, was entirely different from seven years to a man of the line of Elros. She would grow old and infertile while he still had years stretching before him and comparatively limitless choices as to how he might spend those days. And that was only the beginning of their differences.

During the long absence of Aldarion, Erendis traveled to the Westlands and back again at least six or seven times. But far from loathing her time in the capital, she found she had learned to enjoy the City of Kings. She grew fonder of Queen Almarian, probably because they shared a helpless fascination with her wandering son. Although they never spoke of him, Erendis felt that being around one another somehow made him feel neither so far away nor so long absent.

Meanwhile, the elder of Aldarion’s sisters, Princess Ailinel, knew everything there was to know about how to gain access to the collections housed by the Library and the most notable minds of the Academy as well. In regard to the latter, it was not entirely common, but neither was it unheard for women to study there, although more often than not in the fields of arts and letters. Less frequently did women study the sciences. Erendis, not surprisingly, was fascinated by forestry and conservation, as well as animal husbandry and veterinary science. She was not ashamed to admit either that her interests were more practical than theoretical.

Although Aldarion would insist in later years that Erendis never tried to understand him, she always believed just as strongly that she did try. She studied maps of the Númenórean coastline marveling at the wealth of protected natural harbors and bays that made her island birthplace a mariner’s dream. With that knowledge, the temptation to take to the sea was easier to understand if no more palatable to her.

She read the diaries and chronicles of the increasing number of sea voyages from Númenor to Middle-earth over the last one hundred years, after reading the accounts of exploratory voyages all around the entire island throughout the century preceding those. She learned the older history, reading multiple versions of the voyages of Eärendil and comparing the earliest of the children’s tales of Círdan the Shipbuilder to the more recent versions, all of which seemed largely mythological. She wondered why someone did not simply interview Círdan and write a strictly factual account of what he knew. She could imagine doing that herself if it did not require crossing an ocean.

As much as she found sea tales deeply disturbing--weeks on end with no land in sight, ships lost never to be heard from again--she was drawn over and over to the Eärendil histories. In tale after depressing tale, certain elements were repeated without much variation. Eärendil would sail away leaving his wife behind with their two tiny children. Finally, the annoying man would build his much lauded Vingilótë, and set off to explore the forbidden seas to the west of Middle-earth. Could anything have been more predictable than that the horror of Arvernien would follow in his absence? Had Elwing begged him not to leave her? Did she believe the Silmaril had been forgotten? Did Eärendil? How could they have?

The men who write history, of course, had never seen Eärendil as shortsighted, or an irresponsible husband or neglectful father, but had made him into the ultimate hero. Nothing less than the savior of Middle-earth. And what of Elwing and those abandoned little boys? Some versions said that Elwing finally got her purported happy ending, sometimes a bird--a hideous gull no less--sometimes a woman, never to see her infant sons again. And it seemed unclear to Erendis whether the man transformed into a godlike star-bearer still made love to the woman-turned-bird? And, if so, was that enough to make up for the loss of their children and any semblance of a normal life?

At that point, she might break down and cry, finding herself unable to read any more of ships and the sea for weeks to months. As often as not, following one of those nights, she would decide to take a delayed and much-needed trip to the Westlands, leaving the city and thoughts of Aldarion completely behind her.

But Erendis was always welcomed back in court by the Queen and her daughters whenever she was ready to return. To her credit, Aldarion’s sister Princess Ailinel never found Erendis’ choices of subject matter for practical study the least bit odd. Her flightier sister did, but in no way discouraged the other two women when they whiled away long afternoons talking about such questions as native forests and conservation.

One day before the start of festivities for the winter holidays in the seventh year of Aldarion’s absence, Erendis looked up to see Almiel pause in the doorway of the palace solar. She watched as Erendis and Ailinel poured over a scroll containing a study on the palliative effects of moderate grazing of herds of domestic sheep on soil erosion versus the negative effects of overpopulation by the wild long-horned variety. Hunting apparently, in this case, helped reduce the native population and aided in the preservation of valuable top soil.

“Well, nothing is ever simple is it?” Erendis said, the gaiety of her tone ever so slightly tinged with frustration. The more she learned the less she knew.

“So, back to the Library? Or does this proposition call for investigation in The Wild?” Ailinel asked. “I have long wanted to visit the Emerië with you.” Erendis could not resist a smile at the thought of considering the gentle slopes and homely cottages of the foothills of Emerië, with its crops of olives, grapes, and melons, in addition to its sleepy herds of sheep, as The Wild.

The little princess, instead of making one of her usual good-natured jokes about how she was too preoccupied with the upcoming masked ball to debate with the two of them over treatises on soil erosion or dangers of deforestation, said, “Do not be too hasty to make plans. I know something you don’t know. Ada just confirmed which three very interesting ships landed in Rómenna late yesterday.”

The two older maidens shrieked and jumped to their feet, sending a scroll careening off the table, unwinding as it rolled across the marble floor.

“Almiel! Almiel!” screamed Ailinel. “Don’t be cruel? Has Palarran landed? Is Anardilya on his way home?”

Erendis clutched at the arm of her chair and plopped back into the seat. She felt faint and thought for a moment she might black out. “Oh!” she squeaked, feeling all of the blood rush to her face. He really was coming home.

“He’s probably arriving with grandfather tomorrow afternoon or early evening,” Almiel crowed triumphantly, before she noticed Erendis’ discomfort. “Oh, look at you, Erendis! Aww! I am so happy you did not go to the Westlands for the holidays. He’ll be so pleased to find you here.”

“If he even remembers who I am!” she stammered. “He’s never written.”

“Oh, please!” Almiel said. “First, even Ada has only heard from him less than once a year and, secondly, you told me yourself that he did not want to force you to wait. Of course, he will be happy to see you. He always looked at you like you’d just hung the moon and you are so much more beautiful now. Now stop your blubbering before you make your eyes all red and swollen.”

And, so it was in the mild midwinter, fully seven years after Aldarion had left, that he and his venerated grandfather Vëantur traveled from Rómenna to the holiday court in Armenelos for the celebrations of Mettarë and Yestarë.

o0o0o0o

Erendis stood at the entrance to the grand ballroom. Her dress was perfect, long and elegant, the finest of bleached white wool with a high waistline and see-through gossamer sleeves barely covering her shoulders. Its square neckline trimmed in bright blue satin ribbon set off her long neck. The simple flowing line of the dress made her look taller. A handheld peacock-feather mask completed the picture. She knew she looked beautiful.

And yet, she still felt young, silly and anxious. Intending to look around the room and spot Aldarion so that she could observe him from a safe distance, she glanced to her right, only to see his bright shock of hair and flirtatious smile. It was ludicrous to think of trying to hide Aldarion behind a simple half-mask of dark silk.

He was at her side within an instant, his warm hand enclosing her bare upper arm exposed between her sleeve and her long fingerless evening gloves.

“Lady Erendis,” he said, bowing ostentatiously low and kissing her hand. He had the sheer audacity to dart his tongue between two of her fingers. Only Aldarion would dare. There was nothing she could do to react that would not cause a scene, so she capitulated and smiled. He hadn't changed a bit and she loved it.

“My lord.” She curtsied, utterly unable to stop a grin from overtaking her face, scarcely suppressing a laugh.

“You waited for me!” he insisted, all innocent wide eyes, so pale and bright against his wind-burned cheeks.

“In your dreams,” she lied, giggling as she allowed him to pull her into his arms, in front of all of Armenelos.

“Out. This way.” He steered her in the direction of the double doors at the end of the ballroom. “We can talk more easily on the veranda. I’m so happy to see you. I am so glad you waited. I asked Amil outright if you had married someone else. I was thrilled when she told me you had not. She loves you, you know.”

“And why wouldn’t she? You know everyone is watching us,” she said still grinning, although the slightly higher register of her voice revealed her humor to be forced. She did not like being studied by these people.

“If you are trying to discourage me from kissing you, it is not going to work. I have waited so long and have been afraid to hope. Your beauty breaks my heart.” That he was as happy and relieved to see her as she was to see him was obvious from the tender break in his deep voice. “That smile of yours. Not exactly discouraging. And still the most beautiful woman in the room. I have a gift for you, my darling girl. I was going to give it to you even if you had already married the stuffiest old fart in Armenelos. ” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue sapphire, not overly large, but stunning in its perfection, dangling on a mithril chain. "May I put it on you?"

She could not speak or she would cry, so she only nodded and gulped. "The blue is perfect," he said, pleased with himself like a boy who is sure he has done the right thing. Placing an arm around her, he guided her toward the veranda door, pulling it closed behind them. She could see around his shoulder that three footmen clad in the king’s livery closed ranks in front of the door warding them against the casual observer.

It ought to have been too cold to stand for long outside in the crisp rain-washed air, mild for midwinter but too chilly for Erendis’ thin festival gown. In the summer vines shaded the porch from the worst of the afternoon sun. On a winter evening there was nothing to keep out the wind. But the heat radiating from Aldarion’s strong body, the closeness of his embrace, and the warmth of his kisses prevented her immediately noticing just how cold it was.

Everything about his kisses felt at once familiar and strange. She involuntarily released a little humming sigh in appreciation of how right it felt to be in his arms again. A few kisses later she shivered and laughed.

“You’re cold! Here take my cape.” He unfastened the largely ornamental garment, a rich mariner’s blue trimmed with the golden braid of an admiral, and wrapped her snugly in it. She relished that it was still toasty from his body heat. “There!” he said satisfied. “You look like the sweetheart of a very considerate sailor.”

“Last we discussed the matter, I was told by a most inconsiderate sailor that it would be unwise to wait for him.”

o0o0o0o

Their happiness at seeing one another again, the joy they found in the time they spent together should have been enough, despite the disagreements and arguing, if it had not been for the nagging and intrusive questions from others about marriage and betrothal. They could scarcely cross his father's court without all faces turning toward them, speculative whispers only barely constrained until the couple were out of earshot. Aldarion's parents began to make open allusions to his marriage in the near-future, her parents going along with the suggestion almost giddily.

Their physical intimacy drove both of them a little crazy. They adhered to what the cheeky Almiel liked to call, tossing her blond curls, "the everything-but-the-real-thing style of loving making," which at first enthralled them both. Eventually, it began to feel sad and frustrating, not enough and slightly tawdry. She thought if it were anyone but Aldarion she might not have resisted. But the last thing her pride would allow her was to become the mistress of the heir to the crown of Númenor.

What had begun so well that first night deteriorated in the months that followed, until they no longer saw one another every day but at most once a week and, finally, only once a month or less and then never except in company. Aldarion took to spending most of his time in Rómenna. It pained her already battered heart, but still she could not hate him for it. She thought she resented the King more, while Aldarion more likely than not saw both her and his father as in league against him. What woman wants a man to choose her because his father insists that he needs a wife?

Word of the rupture with his father over Aldarion’s next proposed trip spread throughout the city. In all of Erendis’ years in and around the court in Armenelos, this was the only incident which manifested the depth of the estrangement between Aldarion and the King that she had witnessed first-hand. His sisters wept openly at a tea party which included Erendis and other close friends. She was filled with dread over what Aldarion’s recalcitrance might mean.

When his mother approached her, she agreed to her request without a second thought.

o0o0o0o

Almost hidden by the early morning sea-fog, Erendis could see the masts of the ships in the harbor of Rómenna, peaking over sturdy stone walls, over buildings of brick and gabled wooden houses alike. The morning mist gathered in the lavender shadows, blurring the sharp stone corners and peaked windows of the buildings along the harbor way. She turned a corner and looked down a cobbled street, her first clear view of the harbor.

There lay the Palarran, the magnificent lady, Aldarion’s darling, proud and grand, against whom she had fought for his affectation for the entire last period of her life. Palarran’s tall masts and deep bosom dwarfed the lesser ships around her and many of the quayside structures as well.

Rumors had spread quickly that the King had forbidden Aldarion to leave on this new voyage. Despite her own antipathy toward yet another extended trip, the thought of Aldarion’s disappointment and frustration touched her heart. As much as she hated Aldarion’s leaving, with an intensity of dread equal to that of his father, she loathed the thought of anyone, even her self-centered and distractible sometimes lover, being bound to a life they did not want.

So, Erendis carried the sacred bough of oiolairë, which the King had forbidden Aldarion’s mother or sisters to bring to him, clutching it to her chest as though it were a prickly infant. She would give him his hallowed branch and pray him off, and good riddance to him. Even if he made the crossing and returned in half the time he had allotted, and he always took more time than he promised, never less, she would still be miffed when he returned.

“Thank you so much for doing this, my dearest friend,” he said, his lack of guile nearly as annoying as outright dissimulation would have been. “When I heard that you were coming and bringing me the bough, I could hardly believe it. I’m speechless.” The tip of his nose turned red with emotion. She was not sure if she wanted to slap him or tell him she would come with him. If only she could, but the thought made her feel queasy.

“I will have you know, sir, that I do not like aiding and abetting your absences at all.”

Then only did he give her a knowing smile. “Thank you for reminding me. I had almost forgotten your attitude about my trips. Now give me a kiss that will last me three years.”

“I thought I had heard you said two years this time!”

“Whoever gave you that idea? My mother? I never would have said two! Maybe I said I would stay two years, but then there is the time spent getting there and back again, and weather, and other things. All sorts of things.” His smile grew wider by the second.

“You fool!” She tried to yank herself free of his embrace while his arms tightened around her. Finally she relaxed, resting her head upon his chest, listening to the beat of his intrepid heart. “Oh, how I love you, bloody fool! May the Valar speed and protect you and bring you home unharmed!”

“I’ll count the days until I return to you. The entire time I am gone, I will long for your company every day,” he said. She could hear the laughter in his voice that she couldn’t see with her nose squashed against his scratchy woolen cloak.

“You’re an awful, shameless liar!” she mumbled into the cloak, still trying to break his iron grip. When he unexpectedly released her, she staggered backwards, nearly tripping and falling on her arse. His eyes flashing with mirth, he caught her.

“You wound me,” he said, touching the sprig and sniffing. “Smells nice. The scent doesn’t reach one on board. It’s powerful. It smells like power, don’t you think? I owe you more than I can ever express for this. I do not know if the gods need bribing or not." He made the sailor’s sign against evil on his forehead and his lips. "But I do know that I need no naysayers left behind me here in this City and the viper’s nest of my father’s court, reminding those who would speak against me that I left without my King’s permission or the blessing of the gods.”

“Everyone will know you sailed with the bough and that we said the proper prayers. But the Valar and the Maiar are not gods. Eru is the only god and he doesn’t speak to us. The Valar are guardians, guides, nearly friends perhaps.”

“Invisible friends with unknowable ways.” He smirked at her and studied her face, trying to gauge her reaction to his blasphemy. He did so love to wind her up. She schooled her features, not about to give him a clue. “Ah, well. I am no philosopher, am I?” he drawled. “Who am I to unravel the secrets of our existence, much less our relationship to the Valar. I know whom I respect and like the most among them though. That would be my Lord Ulmo, along with Ossë and Uinen, of course.”

“You don’t fool me. You serve no one but yourself, my lord.” She frowned at him, trying to conceal her amusement, but she could not hide a truncated laughed that transformed into a snort. “You are a blackguard and a scandal to your people. I suppose I do still love you, which doesn’t ever change anything.” They laughed together. He stopped first, looking at her with an expression of great tenderness. He would break her heart. She knew that as well as she knew her own name.

“Well, I’ve foiled him in this,” he said, meaning his father. “With your help--for which I am very grateful. For all of Ada’s blustering and throwing threats and prohibitions in my path, I am still his fair-haired only son.” He grinned, provocatively biting his lower lip. “He should remember that I am beloved by our people in my own right.”

“You could be. Perhaps someday you will be. At the moment, you are well tolerated and indulged. A bit like an eccentric child.”

“Even you cannot understand, with all of your fine intellect and way with words. I am the one who is thinking of our future. I look beyond this treasured, protected island. An island kingdom cannot flourish without ships. Anyway, I will return soon and we can talk more then. I know I have not treated you well recently and owe you several explanations. I will return and serve a dutiful apprenticeship to my father and my king, once I complete this last and most important errand. Then, perhaps, I’ll even father an heir and some spares for Númenor. If only I can find the right woman.”

A lump swelled in her throat. Oh, he thought he was so humorous, but he did know how to cut to the bone. She smacked him on the upper arm and swallowed to relieve the scratchiness of her throat.

“Lying again! Last and most important trip indeed! There will always be another. Meanwhile, don’t expect me to wait here for you forever. Two years. Not a day longer!”

“Three years, dear lady. Grant me three at least. You could end this debate once and for all by marrying me and coming with me next time.”

“You’ve never ever asked, you know. Do you realize that you actually shuddered just now when you said that word ‘marry’?”

“Did not. Three years then?”

“If I grant you three, you will take four. You’ll take four anyway. Honestly! I’ll be lucky to see you in six.”

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you coming today. I would have hated to have left with no one who really cared to see me off. And the bough! You have no idea how superstitious sailors are. Thank you. I do love you. I do. I do.”

He kissed her and she wondered why she liked the taste of sea salt on his lips, on his skin, when she hated the scent of it in the briny air and so feared the wide ocean. Because it will take him from me, she thought.

“I miss you already, my darling,” he said. “But you know what they say about time and tide.”

“Indeed. I do. You have told me often enough.” Her voice sounded rough and nasal from the unshed tears. The gulls screamed and the wind whipped her hair across her face catching in her mouth and on the aromatic branch of oiolairë. The bough smelled sweet, fresh as the pines in her beloved forests, but blended with an indefinable floral scent.

“Tell me that you want me to come back to you and not that you simply brought the sprig to comfort my mother.”

“Stupid man, of course, it was for you. You and I play a different game, Anardil, with different rules, in a different field. I never asked you for love eternal. I ask that you love me as much you can for as long as you will and show it by not rushing off for years at a time. At least not without some basic courtesy or pretense of compromise. Is that really so much to ask?”

“I don’t know,” he raised his voice against the wind. “Maybe we fell in love with the wrong people.” He heard a whistle and turned to look at the ship. A line of valiant sailors leaned over the side watching with them great interest and broad smiles. They had spotted the sacred bough it seemed. “It’s time. I should have been aboard already. Come with me. Make this trip with me. That is a brilliant idea! Wouldn’t you love to see Lindon and dance with a handsome Elven king? It’s not too late. A bit unconventional perhaps, but forgivable . . . ”

“No!” she said, laughing at him, while her heart felt like a lump of ice in chest, easy to ask when he knew she’d refuse. I should say ‘yes,’ she thought, just to see the terrified look on his face.

He kissed her again. “I still cannot believe you brought this to me. Perhaps I have underestimated you.” He sniffed the bough. “You are right when you say that it is more than I deserve. But I love you for it and I will never forget what it must have cost you.”

“Oh, I almost forgot that I have to go onto that ship with you.” She grimaced involuntarily. “That’s the tradition. Your mother says I must fasten it onto the prow myself.” The prow was high and hung so far out over the water. She had not taken that aspect into serious consideration.

“Well, then we better do that quickly, because time and tide . . . “

“Wait for no man,” she finished for him, laughing. “Don’t let me fall into that water. It looks filthy. Disgusting beyond belief.”

“Harbor water is never clean. But don’t worry. I’ll not let you fall. I’ll hold onto to your skirts!”

_____________
Oiolairë = the Bough of Return
Palarran = Quenya, meaning Far-wanderer, name of one of the famous ships built by Aldarion