A/N: Because I still need my Hurin fix and I promised this something like five and a half years and sixty fics ago, the third in the "Reflection" trilogy. Like Ecthelion's and Denethor's, it can work as a standalone piece, but you might get more out of it if you've read some of the other Den/Fin Files concerning the boys or Denethor's sisters. There's nothing connecting too in-depth, though, besides maybe dragging the metaphor further than it needed to be. Fortunately, I don't own them. (My Eowyn Muse is already trying to smack me one...)
It is the way of our line, I suppose. The heir must stand in shadow to another, must be outshone by one greater than he. It was so for me, following at my elder brother's heel and pestering him and our parents about every little question that popped into my head until I was old enough to learn only from looking.
As grave and composed as my father was, I could never imagine him tagging after his sisters or my grandfather. Yet perhaps he didn't have to, for much like my brother, my aunts took it upon themselves to introduce their younger brother to the wider world about him, and whether or not my father necessarily enjoyed this education, there is little doubt that it was pressed upon him twice as firmly as my own. Hurin stubbornness was not a feature my aunts ever lacked.
Nor did my father lack this trait. When the one who would outshine him, and his sisters, and all the rest of us combined arrived, I cannot believe that he did not feel the same awe that we did. My father, like my brother, simply dismissed the feeling as unworthy of the steward's heir and eldest son, the captain-general of the guard, and a capable man in his own right to feel for a stranger. In their pride, neither of them was used to opening their hearts to humility. They might consider the man their equal, barely, grudgingly, but none could claim to be the better of Denethor or Boromir of House Hurin. They would rule, they would make Gondor great, and no country could be better than Gondor.
I still hold the last true. Perhaps it was nought but their unbending pride that helped to keep her great when the shadow threatened to overcome us. But when the sun shines into a man's face, it is only right to lower one's head. Elessar came not as a burning conqueror, but as one who could enlighten a land left too long to struggle against the dark. The clouds of Mordor had left their weight on our shoulders, their shadows blackening the White City. Only strong men like my father and brother could bear that weight, but it took a different sort of strength to welcome the cleansing winds of change, the renewing light of the king. I do not count myself particularly mighty, but there is a strength in that humility, as my brother and my wife and my king insist.
I see its strength more in others than in myself. My son does not challenge Eldarion on his ancestry, does not begrudge him the throne or his elven lineage or skills with sword, bow, beast, and man. On the contrary, Elboron is generally content to follow at his crown prince's heel, allowing Eldarion's (rather impudent at times - but I am my father's son!) smile to be the first one to light up the court. It is the king's son who leads, and my son who stands behind him. Where Eldarion leaves the first impression, the strongest impact, it is Elboron who gentles ruffled tempers and stirs embers of loyalty that the king's son strikes up. Eldarion has the vivid dreams for the country's future, but Elboron is the constant that helps him find the ways to bring those dreams to life. I do not know if they will someday rule together when their fathers pass on, but the heirs of the king and the steward do credit to their fathers and their futures. My Elboron has no need to envy his crown prince, for even if he must come second in the rule of the land, he will not be second in the heart of his friend, his prospective king, nor in that of his father.
We are past the age of unbending legends, as greatly as I held them in awe. I have bowed to my king and must remain the foil to he who is called the Elfstone. My heir shall never rule Gondor as his grandfather did, trading the iron of those who stood against Mordor for something more malleable to support and reflect the glories of his own king. I cannot say that Elboron is any less precious for possessing a silver tongue in place of a steely heart. Polished with care and affection, my son's heart reflects the glories of their shining potential to all who would look upon him, and my own hope for our country increases threefold. There was, is, and never shall be an equal of Gondor under the hand of her steward and the light of her king.