Eldarion

His son wore the same princely crown that he once wore when he was not a king and his father was alive.

He shared the same look of a Númenórean; grey eyes, tall and black hair and beard. He was handsome and his manner was charming. Only those who were close to Eldarion's firstborn son knew him for whom he was. He was cold, calculating and ambitious. It was a dangerous mix.

He inherited Elven features that only sharpened his cheekbones, made him taller and more gaunt looking. But his charm and guileless manner gained numerous supporters. Eldarion dreaded to think what would happen once he holds both crown and sceptre.

He looked away and sighed softly.

Forgive me, father. I did not raise my son the way you raised yours.


Author's Note:

I was asked what I thought of the generations coming after the War of the Ring. Here is my answer. :)