By DarkRiver (darkriver@cyberdude.com)
Author's Note: The characters herein belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, not me and appear without the author's permission, of course, since he's all dead and stuff. This is set in the same continuity as "Sunset Ride" and "Wicked Games," though a few years later. Feedback is welcome!
Rating: PG
15, 4A
Edoras shone like a pearl amidst the grasses. Great pains had been taken over the preceeding weeks to clear the streets of refuse, to rethatch roofs and to scour the animal leavings from every road and corner. The bright pennants of green were all new, dotting the skyscape with flashes of color. Even the people were wearing their best this day.
Not for the King of Gondor was this done, for all knew he was not overly fond of such overt courtesies. It had been done, because on this visit, the Lady Arwen, Gondor's flower, accompanied her husband. Ever since the messengers had arrived in midwinter, alerting the King of the Mark of the planned trip, the city had been in a flurry of preparation.
Now the King and his family awaited the arrival of Gondor's Royal party, standing before their city with a wide array of honor guards about them.
Eomer was wearing his best buckskin trousers and a shirt his beloved wife had sewn him. His long hair was neatly combed and corralled into even plaits. He was unarmhed and unarmored, in a gesture of friendship and welcoming to Elessar and his Queen.
Lothiriel stood beside him, her gown of a pale blue. She held little Finduilas in her arms, which was somewhat of a chore, given the child's determination to explore. The pack of Royal daughters huddled close to their parents, all in fine dresses and cloaks to ward off the chill. Hanild was the oldest, just a year younger than Elfwine, then Theodora, then Eltheriel and finally Wynohael, who was only four.
The boys were there, of course, fidgeting and fussing with the finery they'd been stuffed into. Both cousins had shot up an inch over the winter, and with Erkenbrand's merciless training, were putting on muscle as well. Eldarion looked much the same, the elven blood from both his parents' heritage slowing time's hand.
The Gondorian party was huge -- larger than usual with all the terrible events transpiring of late -- with a full column of armored warriors flanking their sovereign. They came up on the city at an unhurried canter, shadowed by the looming clouds above.
"You're late," Eomer said. "We thought you'd gotten lost."
His wife nudged him hard in the ribs, and he grinned.
Elessar gave him a good-humored glare. "Don't you pick a fight with me, right now. I've been mired in this marshland you call a country for a month."
"Marshland?" Eomer protested.
Elessar dismounted, grinning. He helped Arwen from her horse, whispering something in elvish to her. Her laughter was like the ringing of a dozen tiny bells. Eomer felt a familiar sensation of awe as the Queen threw back her hood and gave him a winsome smile. "And how are you, Eomer?" she asked.
He bowed deeply. "As well as can be hoped, your highness."
She graced him with a smile and turned to Lothiriel. "You are looking quite well, considering what you must endure." Her playful glance flashed to Eomer.
The Queen of the Mark laughed. "As do you."
Finally pushed past his somewhat limited patience, Eldarion surged forward and leaped into his mother's arms. "I've missed you."
"Hmmm, well, your fondness for me did not keep you in the White City, did it?"
He went deep crimson. "Well...I..."
Smiling warmly, she leaned down and kissed her son on the cheek. "I've missed you too, shooting star."
Elboron and Elfwine giggled. Eldarion shot them a warning glance. They mocked him with their eyes in response.
The Royal Party was led into the city at a casual pace. Up the winding avenues they traveled, smiling and speaking to some of the people who had come to watch. There was a great deal of murmuring and many awe-struck glances as Arwen passed.
Once inside Meduseld, the guards accompanying Elessar's party were led away by Eomer's chamberlain, off to rest from their long travels. Elessar and Arwen, Eomer and Lothiriel and the children all repaired to the audience chamber.
"Before I forget, I have a message for you, Master Elboron," Elessar remarked, pulling a neatly-folded piece of parchment from his pocket. He handed it over, the seal of Ithilien proudly showed upon it.
Elboron snatched it up, remembering belatedly to bow and utter a quick 'thank you.'
Dearest son,
I am sorry that we have not as yet come to visit you, and that it may yet be some months before we may. Your father is not feeling well, and would not be up to such a journey. Also, with so much unrest on our borders, we simply cannot get away.
We send you our love and promise to come see you as soon as may be.
Love,
Your Mother
Elboron felt a vast surge of disappointment at the words, missing his mother so deeply. Even worse, he had no idea what complaint his father could be suffering from that would make him unable to travel. Faramir was indomitable. Elboron had never known him to even be sick.
He sat beside his friends, letting them read it in turn. They gave him supportive glances, not sure how he was handling the news.
"Shall we get Fellfang and go for a ride?" he asked finally, forcing a smile.
They nodded to him, eyes brightening at the prospect. "Can we?" Eldarion as their parents.
Arwen smiled adoringly. "Be back in time to be cleaned up for supper, dear."
Lothiriel nodded as well. "Try to stay within the Mark," she told her son pointedly.
Elfwine blushed and nodded. They bowed quickly and exited the hall, trailed by their bodyguard -- a new stipulation Eomer had added. It was not a glorious duty to pull, but still there had been a volunteer.
Aldurn followed his charges silently and at a distance. They were happier if he was less visible, and when they were happy, they didn't try to escape his eye. Both of his masters were extremely interested in the boys' comings and goings, and so he would do what he needed to do to endear himself to them.
After the boys had left, there was amiable talk of herds and expanding settlements and other such mundane subjects. Only once Elessar was rested did he broach the subject most prominently on his mind.
"You still intend to march into Harad?"
Eomer's expression shifted from one of slight bemusement to a hard, determined stare. "Yes, I do. My eoreds and a brigade of Elphir's knights will ride out to Kaeliz's city. It is time that he was made to pay for his crimes."
"Well, I certainly agree, but I wish you'd allow me to send along some of my men." Elessar's tone was almost petulant.
"This is a...personal matter, Aragorn. My wife's kin were treated most brutally by that barbarian. I want him to understand the King of the Mark looks after his own."
"I will, of course, yield to your claim in this. Just be careful. It would be awfully embarrassing for you if I had to come riding to your rescue."
Eomer laughed. "Yes, it would. But I don't anticipate this will even last the summer. The Haradrim are not so numerous or so intractable as the foul folk."
"Very well."
"And how long do you anticipate being in the north?" the King of the Mark asked.
Elessar looked to Arwen, who was speaking quietly to Lothiriel. "not uncommon, elven blood sometimes breeds true. Our daughters are, by contrast, quite human in appearance." Gondor's queen smiled briefly at her husband and went back to her conversation.
"We think a month, at least. It will largely be at the Mayor's discretion."
Eomer nodded. "Do bring me word on how Samwise is doing. And Pippin and Merry too, of course. I have heard nothing since that letter about Frodo."
A flash of regret came over Elessar at mention of the Ring Bearer. Frodo Baggins, the Hobbit who had saved them all and yet had not been able to find his own peace...his name brought a feeling of terrible failure to the Gondorian King. Though he did not know what he could have done, he would forever feel that he should have somehow saved Frodo.
"I am sure they are doing splendidly," Elessar finally said, moving past the moment. "But I shall inquire for you."
Eomer nodded and turned the chat to his planned campaign, a subject Elessar was keenly interested in and supportive of. The King of Gondor had much advice and wisdom to impart, and Eomer was quite grateful for all of it. He intended this campaign to be quick and decisive.
"Where do you runts figure you're going?"
The boys stopped before Hama, looking both worried and frustrated. "We want to go riding," Elfwine informed, trying to not waver.
Hama laughed. "Do you? Well, sad news, lasses. You see, my father was asking me about your lessons and I had to tell him you had not reported for lessons in months. That genuinely upset him, so I am now under orders to not let you have the use of any horse until you're properly trained."
Elfwine's eyes went wide. "That's not fair!"
Hama laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, poor Whiner."
"You're making it up, aren't you?" Elboron snapped.
"Oh, you wish I was." Hama's eyes glittered with triumph. "I'll see you girls tomorrow afternoon."
Crushed, the two boys let their shoulders dip. Not understanding, Eldarion followed along as they walked from the stable yard. "Who was that piece of dung?"
"Hama," they both said.
Elboron kicked an unoffending stone down the path. "We have to tell your father, Win."
"I doubt he'll want to hear it. He's still mad at me."
"Hear what? Come on, I haven't been here but a few months," Eldarion whined.
Elboron glowered. "Hama is full of shite, but he's got authority and he uses it to embarrass Win and me."
Eldarion stared at them. "You let him get away with that?"
A large figure appeared out of one of the smithies, looming over them. They stared up at Erkenbrand with trepidation. "Did we miss a lesson?" Elfwine squeaked.
Their trainer grinned and shook his head. "No, believe me, I won't let that happen. I just overheard the little snot back there and I wanted to hear the answer to Dar's question."
Elfwine shrugged. "It's not a matter of letting him get away with it..."
Elboron did not offer him any help. "I told him to tell his father when I got here."
"He can't do that," Erkenband rumbled. Elfwine looked up at him in surprise. Erkenbrand shrugged his massive shoulders. "Just like I couldn't knock the disrespective turd on his ass. This is something you have to deal with, Win."
"I don't know how," Elfwine sulked.
Erkenbrand's look was typically unsympathetic. "You cannot allow him to disrespect you. It is an insult not only to you, but to your father, to your forefathers...to the whole of the Mark."
Elfwine cringed. "What am I supposed to do? Challenge him to a duel?"
Erkenbrand's face split into a grin. "Well, that's what I would do, but your father would probably not approve. I can't tell you what to do, you have to find that for yourself. Your friends can be behind you, but this is something you alone must contend with. Soon."
Elfwine bowed his head. "Yes, sir."
"Good lad," he said, gripping the boy's shoulder. "Now, go off and amuse yourselves before I put a practice sword in your hand.
The boys smiled and made their way out of the yard.
"What are you going to do?" Elboron asked for what was probably the hundredth time.
The day had passed in idle play and dinner had been an unbearably formal affair. They'd been forced to endure an hour of minstrels before their parents had deigned to release them. With a trencher full of stolen sweets and free of their formal attire, the three flopped in their room.
"I told you, I don't know, dog-breath!" Elfwine curled his arms under him and sulked.
Eldarion fidgeted with one of his braids. "I still say you should beat him. He deserves it."
Elfwine glowered at nothing. "I can't. It's not proper."
"Proper?" Elboron protested.
Elfwine rolled his eyes in that superior way of his. "A lord must never abuse the trust and faith of his men," he said, sounding like he was quoting something.
"Horse dung," Elboron retorted.
Eldarion nodded his agreement. "He's abusing your honor."
Elfwine struggled with it. "I know, but that's because he doesn't respect me. You don't get respect by beating on people. You just become a tyrant. And it wouldn't be fair, besides. He couldn't fight back. If he hit me even once, Aldurn would be honor bound to cut him down." They stared at him. "It is high treason to raise your hand to a member of the Royal house."
Eldarion and Elboron exchanged looks. "I suppose no one's informed Erkenbrand," the Ithilien Prince said with a smirk.
"Well, like anyone would dare to swing a sword at that giant," Eldarion replied.
Grinning,, they munched on bits of pastries. "So, what's the answer?" Elboron finally asked.
"I have to gain his respect."
"Oh, well, nice that you've got it all worked out then," Eldarion said with a smirk.
Elfwine gave him a sarcastic smile.
Eomer handed Elessar and Amrothos their drinks and then settled in his chair, looking amused. His fellow monarch took it with a grateful bow and then moved to his place at the Strategem table. Dressed now in less formal (and therefore more comfortable) clothing, the King of Gondor looked much more natural. The finery of court had never suited him, in Eomer's eye.
Amrothos had his customary confident smirk on his face as he faced off with Elessar. The youngest son of Imrahil had long ago moved past awe and towards friendship with Aragorn.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Aragorn?" Eomer asked.
Elessar smiled. "Incomparable stubbornness."
Amrothos arched his eyebrows at Eomer. "Just because you're afraid to face me anymore."
Eomer's responding look was direct. "Only because you refuse to play without wagering and I hate losing a bet."
"Even to me?" Amrothos asked innocently.
"Especially to you," Eomer retorted with a laugh.
Elessar grinned at the both of them and moved his first piece. "So, Eomer, has my son been behaving himself? Aside from that incident with the Dunlendings, of course."
Eomer rolled his eyes. "Amrothos and Erkenbrand have been keeping them too busy for mischief, thankfully."
Amrothos frowned a bit as he chose his move, but he said nothing.
Elessar caught that look and exchanged a concerned look with the Prince. "Mischief and boys are rather inseparable."
"As long as that mischief isn't about to wipe out the next generation of western leaders," Eomer argued.
Elessar countered Amrothos' play and took up his pipe. "It just occurs to me that if Boro and Win had been under such scrutiny a year ago, all three of us would not be here."
Amrothos nodded, sparing a glance at the agitated King of the Mark. "That is true."
The King glanced at the both of them, sensing a verbal flanking maneuver. "Why don't you just say what you want to say."
Amrothos smiled. "You're smothering them."
Elessar lit his pipe and took a few puffs. "You are, Eomer."
"And I suppose we're forgetting that they went all the way to Dol Amroth without telling anyone and only by sheer luck avoided death by Umbarian spears?"
"Not by luck, my friend," Elessar objected. "They showed resourcefulness, intelligence and courage. I'm not sure it's wise to discourage those qualities."
Eomer ran a hand through his hair. "You think I should encourage them to endanger themselves?"
Elessar grimaced and looked to Amrothos. The Prince positioned one of his Knights to take one of his opponent's pikemen. "I think you need to give them more trust," Amrothos murmured.
"They walked into a Dunlending village!" Eomer snapped.
"They had a friendship token," the Prince argued softly.
"And that is supposed to have meaning?"
"Friendship tokens are integral to their culture," Amrothos countered. "They were safe."
Eomer sighed wearily. Elessar gave him a supportive smile. "Win spent his time in the library before Boro arrived, so this is all new to you. I've been put through much worse by Dar. He doesn't exercise nearly the good judgment that Boro or Win do. I'm rather hoping that will somehow rub off on him."
"So, you think I should just let them run loose?"
"No, you've put a guard on them and I think that's wise," Elessar told him. "But Gandalf once told me that a life is a tapestry made up of the threads of choices. You can guide a person in the weaving, but ultimately, the pattern must be theirs to decide upon."
"I see. So...what do I do, then?'
"Teach them to take care of themselves...and each other," Amrothos put in.
Eomer looked dubious. "You really think that's wise, considering the strange events we've seen?"
"They have to make their own way, my friend," Elessar told him, smoking and focusing on the the board. "Otherwise, they won't be strong enough for the burdens of their heritage."
Defeated, Eomer nodded slowly. "Well, we'll give it a try then. But I do not think it wise." He smiled anew and took up his drink. "Now you'd better focus or Rotho will have you in two moves."
Elessar laughed and the tension left the room. Eomer watched, distracted by worries for his son. But some part of him knew his friends were right, as much as it would cause him headaches for years to come.
Hama was doubled over laughing. Elfwine, where he once would have been close to tears at his humiliation, picked himself off the ground and dusted himself off with a cool expression. His horse, Windfoot, was picking at a shrub and giving him apologetic glances. Elboron and Eldarion, having been told not to interfere, held back, looking furious.
"Maybe I should tie you to the saddle, Winer," Hama said, gasping.
Elfwine approached him, eyes hard. The stablemaster's son barely paid him any mind, still laughing uproariusly.
The Prince shoved him over until he was flat on his back. Hama went from mirth to fury in seconds, rising to glower at Elfwine. "If you weren't the Prince..."
"But I am," Elfwine said coldly. "And it's time you were reminded of that."
"Hiding behind your father?" Hama sneered.
"If that's what you want to call it. I can't make you respect me, but I can make you obey me. You know this."
Hama bared his teeth contemptuously. "So, because you can't stay in your saddle, you blame me and send me off to the flogging post?"
Elfwine leaned in close. "That used to work, Hama, but you see, my cousin has shown me that the problem isn't me. It's you."
"And what does he know?"
"He is the son of my aunt, a shieldmaiden of Rohan. He knows quite a bit. Though not as much as you. I need you to teach me...and teach me right. No more games, no more trying to make me look like a fool."
"And if not?" Hama asked defiantly.
"Let me put it this way, if my father sees I am not improving, who do you think he will blame? The student or the teacher?"
Hama's eyes tracked over his, reflecting both anger and resentment...and a little bit of respect, as well. He snorted in derision and shrugged. "And when you keep failing? Is that going to be my fault?"
"I won't fail," Elfwine said with more conviction than he felt.
"Fine." He whistled for Windfoot. "But you're still not getting any special consideration."
Elfwine managed a smile. "I spend my mornings being knocked around the practice yard by Erkenbrand. I'm quite used to not being given special consideration."
Elessar and the royal party took their leave the next day. All of Edoras turned out to watch the procession, cheering and waving as the King of Gondor and his Lady depart. Eomer and Lothiriel rode with them, talking idly with their friends.
Life returned to normal.
Hama did indeed stop sabotaging their lessons, but the derision and abuse intensified. He gave them lessons that verged on the impossible, and excoriated them whenever they didn't do it exactly right. Having been cowed into cooperating, the stablemaster's son was looking to exact a heavy toll for it.
It wasn't pleasant, but they were learning.
Erkenbrand's teachings were having a dramatic effect on them. Their muscles were hardening, their grace was improving and their confidence was soaring. Sometimes Eomer would come and watch, and Elfwine knew he was pleased.
As spring reached its peak, Edoras was again invaded -- this time by a phalanx of Amrothian Knights. They were commanded by Erchirion -- Elphir had been convinced to stay behind. Alphros was with them, though, in his father's place.
Elfwine and Elboron greeted their older cousin warmly and introduced him to Eldarion.
That evening, after dinner was finished, Alphros was prevailed upon to give them a story. With a somewhat bashful smile, Elphir's son took the stage -- which was just the square between the three massive dining tables.
"Imrahil on the Seas," Alphros began.
Though famous, none of the boys had ever actually heard it before.
He paced the area before the royal table, a glint in his eyes and a cup in his hand. "It was the first year of a new age and peace was supposed to have been purchased with many lives of men. The Dark Lord had been cast down forever, the easterlings had been pushed back into the forgotten reaches of Mordor and King Elessar had restored the throne of Gondor.
"But peace had not come to the hearts of all men. Herusalin, dread King of Umbar, was filled with great rancor and much bitterness over his fortunes after the war. Much he had been promised by the Dark Lord, and much he had lost in the gamble. From the very day of defeat, he poured all his resources into one goal -- crushing Dol Amroth and taking command of the western sea ports.
"It was a quiet moment at dusk, that day in Dol Amroth, when war came once again. White sails of friendly merchant ships on the horizons became the black sails of Umbar. The alarm went up, but not in time. Before ships could be organized into a blockade, the war galleons of Umbar made port in Dol Amroth.
"Prince Imrahil looked out from his palace and saw his city burning and his people dying. He summoned his knights to him, he ordered his the women and children of his house into the safety of the cellars and he took up his sword once again.
"Few knights came to his call. Most had fled in panic, young and inexperienced as they were. Only those left who had fought with their Prince at Pelinor and the Black Gate rallied to their lord. They, he and his sons marched into the burning city to meet the great host that had come to destroy them."
Alphros' eyes were afire with the imagery of it. "Impossibly outnumbererd, Imrahil bravely did battle in the streets...even as all around them the people fled. Many noble men fell around him, each having won great glory for themselves.
"And then the miracle happened. The people who had fled in panic returned! Seeing their Prince covered in many wounds and struggling for his very life emboldened them. With sticks, with discarded spears, with rocks...anything they could get in their hands, the entire city turned on the invaders.
"The craven men of Umbar were thrown back in despair."
Amrothos smiled, winking at the boys who were wide-eyed in riveted attention.
"On the docks before his ships, Herusalin was met by Imrahil himself. The two bitter enemies crashed against each other with such ferocity as has never been seen. Wounded and weary, Imrahil's strength was greatly diminished...but he did not falter.
"Herusalin managed, in the end, to get back to his ship. Barely half of the army he had bought against Dol Amroth made it out of the city that day.
"But Dol Amroth had suffered greatly as well. Imrahil blamed only himself, saying that his lack of vigilance had left his beloved city vulnerable. And on that day, he swore that his people would be safe from the depredations of Umbar ever more. He left the city to his eldest son and boarded his great ship of war and sailed off to the high seas.
"No one has seen him since, but rumors continue to be heard of a huge vessel seen on the horizon, and of pieces of Umbarian ships washing ashore. Dol Amroth sleeps peacefully, knowing Imrahil watches over her. "
Alphros bowed and there was applause. As one, the boys were on their feet, clapping excitedly. The hall erupted then in loud conversation, warriors arguing the merits of the story or just trading boasts of their own. It was the brave talk of men about to ride off to war.
"I'll be gone at least through the summer," Eomer told his son.
Elfwine nodded, helping his father into his armor. "Yes, sir."
"You'll mind your mother?"
Elfwine sighed, working at a particularly difficult buckle at the side of the breastplate. "I promise."
Eomer nodded slowly. "Good. And you'll not slack off at your lessons?"
"I promise," Elfwine said despondently.
"A little tighter, son. Armor isn't meant for comfort."
Elfwine tugged hard and buckled the strap. "I don't understand why you have to go," the boy said quietly.
"I'm the King, my place is with my men."
"But why go at all?"
"They hurt your uncle. They hurt Elboron as well. Our honor requires that we punish them."
Elfwine was quiet as he considered this. He strapped on his father's grieves and then went to get his sword. "Isn't there something in honor that says you should stay with your family?"
"Win..."
"Sorry sir, I know it's not my place, I--"
"Win."
The boy went quiet again, running his hand over the scabbard before picking it up. "It's not as heavy as I remember it."
Eomer cocked his head to one side. "You've gotten stronger. You're growing up."
Elfwine turned and walked slowly over to his father. "I suppose I am, sir."
Eomer gave him a compassionate look. "I know I'm not the best father one could hope for."
"Sir--"
"Ah, no, just listen. I know we've had a lot of trouble understanding each other...especially since you took up the habit of secretly visiting foreign peoples as it suited you. But I'm proud of you, son, and more than anything I want you to know that."
"You are?"
"By your surprise, I'm gauging I've done worse at this than I'd feared." Eomer gave him a paternal smile.
Elfwine looked down at his feet. "I just...with my books and...not riding and... I just thought...I'd disappointed you."
Eomer laid his hands on his son's shoulders. "Not even for a moment."
Elfwine looked up with a huge smile. "Thank you, sir."
Eomer smiled back. "And when I get back, you and I are going for a ride...and possibly fishing, if you're of a mind."
"And Boro and Dar? Can they come too?" Elfwine asked as he belted on his father's sword.
"Assuming your mother hasn't locked them in the dungeons at that point, certainly."
Elfwine laughed. "I'll try to keep them out of trouble."
"Don't try too hard."
"Sir?"
Eomer's expression turned serious. "Upon further consideration...and after more than a little prodding from Amro and Estel...I've decided that I should trust you more. Aside from the fact that you endangered yourself and your cousin, risked exposing yourselves to a plague and then later walked unguarded into a village of people who would have, by all accounts, enjoyed sending you home in pieces...you've shown the sort of courage, intelligence and resourcefulness a Prince of the Mark is expected to have."
Elfwine felt like he might burst, either with joy or tears he had no idea. "Thank you, sir."
The King of the Mark nodded. "And I expect you to keep Aldurn nearby, to not stray too far without arms and to always leave word of where you're going. Fair?"
Elfwine gaped, nonplussed. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Eomer tested the fittings on his armor. "Well done," he complimented his son.
"Thank you, sir."
"I ought to be going, before the army rides off without me."
Elfwine nodded, still off-kilter. "Yes, sir." He bit his lower lip, fretting. Then he hugged his father, breathing in the familiar scents of oiled metal and leather and taking comfort in them. "Love you, father."
"I love you too, son," Eomer said with heavy emotion, holding his son tight.
Reluctantly, Elfwine released him. They walked together out of the keep and out to the stables. Hama stood close by the door, holding the reins to the King's horse. Elfwine stopped at the top step and watched his father from there.
Eomer paused and said something to Hama, who flinched and nodded, somewhat sulkily. At a swipe from the riding crop of his father, Haleth (who was sitting ahorse close beside), Hama knelt respectfully to the King and handed the reins over.
Lothiriel appeared from another door and glided elegantly over to her husband. "Next year, you stay home and I'll ride off to war, all right?"
Eomer and the men around him laughed. "My lady, if you were to do that, I would fear for any city in your path."
"You always know the right answer, my King," she said with a winsome smile. She kissed him sweetly and stepped back. "Don't take too much time in returning."
"Of course n--"
Just then, there was a flurry of motion as a small figure darted out of the keep and sprinted over to the King of the Mark.
"I'm going too!" Wynohael said, racing up to her father.
Lothiriel laughed and lifted the little girl up to her father's arms. Eomer settled her before him, grinning in amusement. "You are, are you?"
"Uh huh!" she chirped back at him.
"Do you have a helmet?" he asked.
"Uh uh."
"Then how will you keep that nose of yours from getting hurt?" he asked in wonder, grabbing it between two fingers and giving it a squeeze.
She giggled. "Da!"
"And what about armor? You have that, don't you?"
She shook her head, still giggling. "No!"
"Well, then how can you keep people from tickling you?" he asked, tickling her sides.
She shrieked. "Da!"
"Well, no one can go unless they have an armor and helmet, Wyny."
"But Da! I wants to go wif you!"
He hugged her and kissed her hair. "I wish you could, little hobbit. But your mother would miss you awful. You don't want your mother to be sad, do you?"
"No..." she said sulkily. "But won't you be sad wifout me?"
"Of course, little hobbit. But I'll know I'll see you again soon, and I'll be able to think of you here with your mother and sisters and brother and that will make me smile. All right?"
"Ahright, Da." She turned and kissed him on the cheek.
Eomer lowered her into her mother's arms, and for a moment, something passed between husband and wife, something visible in their eyes. Then the Queen led their daughter out of the yard and the path of the horses. Eomer turned to his son and gave him a nod and a smile and then trotted his horse to the head of the column.
Elfwine ran to a high window to watch the army ride forth. The horse and swan banners were held high, whipping in the wind. He stayed there, watching, until only the dust from the departing column could be seen.
"So, where does that leave us?" Elboron asked, wrestling playfully with Fellfang.
"Without even the beginning of that scroll on the Battle of the Five Armies that Amrothos assigned to us," Elfwine mentioned cynically. He paced the length of their room, fretting anxiously.
"We have months and months to do that," Eldarion insisted.
"Yeah," Elboron agreed.
Elfwine gave them an expressive frown. It confounded him that he was the youngest and yet he was also the only one with a sense of responsibility. "Uthumar had two sons, one became a farmer and the other died in the raid of 2604."
Eldarion groaned in unbearable boredom. "Yes, yes, we know! Uthamar, son of Ethamar, son of Halanor, son of Banna, favored bard of King Frealaf. But where does the trail go from there?"
"To a daughter, maybe?" Elboron asked.
Elfwine picked up an old scroll and read over it. "It says he had a daughter, but it doesn't give her name."
"That's rutting useless," Elboron complained. "What's the point of writing down historical figures without giving the names that go with them?"
"Don't ask me," the Prince of the Mark shot back.
"How common are woman minstrels in your country?" Eldarion drawled.
"Well...I've never heard of one, personally," Elfwine replied.
"So...the chances he passed the story on to his daughter are...?" Gondor's prince pursued.
"Next to zero," the Prince of the Mark conceded.
"So where does that leave us?" Elboron asked, bringing them full circle
Elfwine let out a disgusted snort and flopped on the bed. "Face it, we'll never figure this out. It's hopeless."
"Now, hold on. We're smart enough to work through this," Eldarion pressed.
"Dar, we're guessing Banna had the true tale of Helm, we're assuming he passed that story to his son and so on down to this Uthamar person," Elboron complained. "At any point, that story could have been passed to someone else. Or even been forgotten all together."
"No," Elfwine muttered. He glanced at his cousin with a tired expression. "A story like that would be a priceless family heirloom. There is no chance it would be forgotten or given away."
Elboron let out an exasperated sigh. "This is the worst guessing game ever invented."
"What if the daughter married and had a son? I bet Uthamar would have made him his apprentice," Eldarion mused.
Elboron groaned even louder.
"That's a good idea," Elfwine agreed. "But we have no idea who the daughter was, who she married or who her children were."
"But other than that..."
Elfwine smirked at Gondor's Heir. "Tomorrow I'll see what records we have of that time period in Uthamar's home village."
"Are we finally done for the night then?" Elboron asked hopefully.
"Unless you want to start on that Battle of Three Crowns scroll..."
"No," Elboron and Eldarion said as one.
It was the late watches of the night, and it was excruciatingly hot. Elboron sat up and wiped sweat from his brow. On one side, Eldarion was hanging half out of bed. On the other, Elfwine had wriggled out of the blankets and was snoring blissfully. Fellfang was soundly asleep at the foot of the bed, his head pillowed on Elfwine's ankles.
Elboron wriggled out of the pile with some difficulty. He made his way over to the window and opened the shutters. Cool spring air washed over him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The stars were shining brightly, and he watched them for a moment, remembering nights when he had sat and listened to his father tell him the stories of the stars. With a pang of homesickness, he walked away from the window.
He was thirsty and not ready to return to sleep. Thinking of cider that awaited in barrels in the kitchen, he threw on a tunic and padded out into the dark corridors. Stretching, he let his feet guide him through the now-familiar passages of Meduseld.
As he approached the stairs, he heard the heavy footfalls nearby. To his knowledge, there weren't any guards patrolling the halls, so he curiously walked in the direction of the sound. He realized he was in the same place the muddy boot prints had been -- the ones Elfwine still refused to accept had ever existed.
Intensely intrigued, he hurried along and saw something he had to take a moment to reconcile. There was a hole in a wall that had not been there before. A grinding noise precipitated stones moving back into place. Seeing this, Elboron acted purely on instinct. He darted forward and barely made it through before it closed off.
Beyond was a low, cramped space. He crouched and listened carefully, since whoever had opened the secret door had to be close by. Long seconds slid by, but he heard nothing and so he crept forward.
It was not so much a passage as it was a gap between walls and rooms. He had to wriggle around support beams and climb down rickety ladder-rungs to make his way through. Tense moments passed as he navigated the tight and dusty spaces, worried who it was that knew of this secret crawlspace that even Elfwine was unaware of.
He dropped into a tunnel carved from stone and realized he had made it below the keep. It was utterly consumed in darkness, so he had to feel his way along the walls. It began to dawn on him that he might not know how to get back...but he pressed on anyway. This was vital to the security of the Mark, and more importantly, it was a chance to prove his cousin wrong.
He heard voices ahead of him and eased forward to make out the words.
"...grows weary of waiting."
"My heart grieves. What would he have me do? Ask the King over a mug of ale?"
The voices were not familiar to Elboron. One sounded deeper and, if he had to guess, orcish.
"What you do is your choice. But your usefulness is being questioned. If..."
"If what?"
"Hold, I smell something..."
Elboron wasn't sure what the speaker was referring to, but it gave him an uneasy feeling. He edged away, trying to be as quiet as possible. He had to get to Elfwine and Eldarion and tell them that he had been right all along. Elfwine would have to believe him now.
He heard the crunch of footsteps approach. Before he could move, something cold and sharp touched his throat. Elboron froze, smelling something foul in the darkness near him.
Harsh words he did not understand were spat in his face. Similar sounds replied from where he had heard the voices before. The sword was moved to his chest and, to his horror, he felt the steel pushing forward.
"Help!" he cried, even though he knew he was all alone.