Homesickness
Ithilien, Autumn 20 F.A.
The Prince took the ferry from Harlond, and rode slowly up into the Royal Hills. The day was lengthening, and the sun was behind him. For a moment, he stopped simply to breathe again the scent of his own country, taste the sweet air of home. The whole household was waiting to welcome home their Prince, their father, their love. Back in their arms, he could not understand what had ever kept him away.
Over the next few weeks he found there was surprisingly little for him to do. Éowyn had ruled the princedom; Arwen the City and the realm. Instead, through the late autumn and early winter, he sat with his notebooks and sketches, and put them into order. Morwen and Léof helped. One liked stories; the other liked adventures. By spring the book was ready. He had always thought that his first would be poetry – something of that sort. Not this.
Then an embassy arrived from Harad, bearing a complicated tale of rivalries, intrigue, and the imminent ousting of allies. The council pondered the news. Someone would have to go and see first-hand, it was decided, to suggest to all concerned that Gondor did not care for such an outcome. The King, newly returned from the north, was not eager to travel again so soon; others did not speak the language, or had insufficient knowledge of the intricacies, or simply must remain within their fiefdoms. Who could be found?
The Steward thought of spring in Minas Tirith, the white sun upon the stones and the gardens blossoming; and summer in Ithilien amidst the shady woods and icy falls. He thought of peaceful hours at his desk, reading and writing, his family close to hand. He thought of the pattern of his days; the papers and petitions, the missives and meetings; the road back and forth between city and home. He considered his long recent journey; swans over Greyflood; vast and misty mountains; a library unlike any other; the old stones of Eriador. Standing in Annúminas at Midsummer with the King of the West. Camping under the stars with Strider. And then he wondered exactly how well he spoke that sunburned language of the south, and whether he dared put what he knew to the test.
"Send me," he said, to everyone's surprise, and his own not least. "I'll go."
Altariel, 7th April 2019