Heirs of Arda
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. For anyone wondering why Amrothos is living in Rohan, either read "Wicked Games" or (if NC-17 slash is not your cuppa) then just accept that he is a very dear and close relation to Eomer. Other than that, all the continuity you should need is in the movies. That being said, this is basically book canon, but I filtered in a little of the movie continuity for extra flavor.

Rating: PG


Chapter 11

Year 15, 4A

Alphros, the noble son of Dol Amroth, stumbled backwards and collapsed into the arms of his friends. They shouted, pleaded and begged him to rally, to drive his sword through Kaeliz's black heart...but he was beaten.

Everyone could see it.

Eomer was grinding his teeth so hard he was giving himself a headache. As surely as if there were shackles around his wrists, he was bound and unable to do anything but watch. If only the stubborn, brave stupid boy would yield...

Amrothos was silent and still beside him. The only display of the anguish in his heart was the way his fingers were digging into Eomer's arm. His eyes watched the fight with something that could only be called serenity.

Eomer knew better.

Kaeliz raised his sword high and sneered at the crowd. Though sweating from the long fight, he was in the very best of health. His eyes were bright with triumph.

"It seems the fight has gone out of your champion," he mocked. "Perhaps there is another who would take his place?" He turned maliciously upon Eomer. "The King, perhaps?"

Eomer bared his teeth. "You would allow me to stand in Alphros' stead?"

Kaeliz bowed graciously. "For the honor of killing you, I will let the whelp escape with his life."

Eomer and Amrothos exchanged a brief look. The King gave Kaeliz a thin smile and then nodded slowly. "I accept your challenge...but as the challenged, I exercise my right to name a champion."

Kaeliz frowned in irritation. "Who...?"

Amrothos stepped forward and bowed floridly, a wide, friendly smile on his face. "That would be myself, my good sir. Amrothos of Dol Amroth, lately of Rohan."

Kaeliz spat on the ground. "I weary of slaughtering Princes."

Eomer shrugged and spread his hands. "Those are the terms. You have forfeited your right to Alphros' life. Now you may either fight my champion or you may die where you stand."

"You're a coward," Kaeliz sneered.

"Not in the way you mean," Eomer said with a hateful look. "I simply have a healthy fear of my wife and she has strictly forbidden me from dueling."

Some of the Rohirrim around him snickered at that.

Undone and frustrated, Kaeliz shrugged his shoulders and twirled his sword. "As you will."

Amrothos walked over to Alphros and knelt, looking into his eyes with an uncle's love. The young prince was simply crushed by his defeat, but the rebuke he was expecting to see in his uncle's eyes was not present.

"May I borrow this?" Amrothos asked, gripping the hilt of his nephew's sword.

There was a brief moment of quiet and then the young man looked away and loosened his grip. Amrothos took up the sword and then dropped it. "Ah, a bit slippery from sweat..." He knelt and picked up the blade again, giving it a few lazy swipes.

"At your leisure..." he murmured to his opponent.

Kaeliz came at him, not playing this time. He stabbed and cut with his shocking speed, snarling hatefully in his own language.

Amrothos slipped out of the reach of his blade, looking aghast. "Really, now, such language is hardly appropriate. You never even met my mother..."

Kaeliz pressed him remorselessly, blade singing in the air as he sought to cut down the grinning prince. But for all his speed, Amrothos was quicker.

The prince slipped aside and tripped him, causing him to fall face-first into the dirt. The warlord returned to his feet in a towering rage. He launched a brilliant series of swipes and lunges, the very sort that had overwhelmed Alphros like a storm would do to a small skiff.

But Amrothos parried each one easily enough, his entire posture relaxed. His lack of concern was driving his enemy to even greater levels of outrage. As hard as Kaeliz came at him, though, he was always able to dance away.

He spun around the warlord and slashed out expertly. The sharp blade severed the tendons behind Kaeliz's knee, bringing the mighty man down to his good knee.

Amrothos stepped back, grinning coldly now. "You are quite talented, really. I suppose it would have only been fair to tell you I was trouncing my brothers in the practice yard when I was eleven..."

Kaeliz threw himself at Amrothos, and the prince this time did not step away. He knocked aside the sweeping sword and then plunged his blade into the man's chest.

Kaeliz collapsed on him, coughing up blood. He spat out something in his own tongue, the triumph returning to his eyes for just a moment. Amrothos shoved him away and turned away, not wishing to watch his death throes.

Eomer smiled at him, having known without a doubt that Amrothos' skill was far beyond that of the warlord. He saw concern in the prince's eyes, though, and he felt a cold worry begin to gnaw at him.

"What is it?"

Amrothos was picking distastefully at his blood-spattered clothes. "He said...that he was stealing your future as surely as you have stolen his." He frowned, trying to make sense of it.

Eomer was a father and so it did not take him any time at all to translate the words. He went white, looking north and east, as if he could bridge the miles between him and Edoras.

"Win..."


Aldurn leaped off his exhausted horse and ran full-out into the keep. His long legs took the stairs two and three at a time. By the time he reached the floor where the princes dwelled, he had his sword out.

He was braced for the worst...fully expecting to come upon the corpses of the two boys and no sign of their killer. Such a failure to protect Elboron's friends was a sickening possibility to consider.

He heard the sounds of a scuffle and then silence. Wisdom told him that he should slow down, approach with caution, get a sense of what he was walking into. However, panic was ruling him and he crashed into the room without hesitation.

His limited faculties took in the scene. Two prone yet moving princes, a figure looming over them with a knife... He reacted on instinct.

Even Jijinn's reflexes weren't enough to save him from the hurled blade of the enraged rider. It took him in the chest and sent him hurtling from his victims.

There was a moment of still silence and then Aldurn walked over to the assassin to retrieve his sword. He stared in horror to see it was nothing more than a child, unable to grasp what culture would turn a boy into a killer.

Then Elfwine was stirring, getting slowly to his feet with a pathetic groan. "Aldurn...?"

"I was passing by when I heard a commotion, highness," he said, using his pre-planned lie. He moved to help Eldarion up -- the son of Elessar was holding his head and wincing.

Elfwine walked over to the still body of Jijinn, staring coldly. "Aldurn, rouse the guards. I want his accomplice -- Akim or whatever his name is -- brought to me in chains. Mostly alive." The prince shuddered violently.

Aldurn's brow furrowed. "Highness..."

"Didn't you hear me? Now! He'll escape! He'll go back to his people! They'll send more killers back here!" he shouted hysterically.

Aldurn's gaze fixed on the prince's bleeding hand. He turned back to Jijinn and snatched up the assassin's knife. The sticky green substance coating the cutting edge confirmed the worst of his fears.

"I'll do it myself," Elfwine snapped. "Ferth!" he called, stepping towards the door. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he folded.

Aldurn leaped forward and caught him just in time. "Ancestors..." he murmured. "Dar, hold him..."

Eldarion, dazed and still not sure what had happened, stumbled over and sat cross-legged beside their guard. Aldurn settled the Prince of the Mark in his lap and then went over to a wooden chair. His heavy booted foot came down on the fragile thing and broke it into pieces.

He returned with a piece of the wood and knelt. "You weren't cut?" he asked Eldarion.

The prince of Gondor shook his head. He was now aware of what was happening, as his ashen face attested to. He started murmuring to Elfwine in Elvish.

Aldurn put the wood between the delirious youth's teeth. "Bite down, lad," he ordered. When Elfwine complied, he took up the boy's knife and grabbed his arm by the wrist. Quickly, he sliced open the puffy wound made by the poisoned dagger.

Elfwine screamed and fainted.

Tossing the knife aside, Aldurn brought the wound to his mouth and sucked out as much of the poison as he could get. He feared he was already too late, but he would not surrender the prince without a fight.

Afterwards, he bound the prince's hand and felt his forehead. He was burning up.

"I think I've bought him time...but I don't know how much."

Eldarion fretted and then his eyes brightened. "I can help. Athelas...there was some growing on the howes..."

Aldurn shook his head. "I don't--"

"Take care of him, I'll be right back."

He handed his friend off to Aldurn and bolted out of the room. The rider watched him go, confused. He picked up his fallen prince and moved him to the bed, placing him under the covers. Inside, his heart twisted with fear.

Only now did he really have time to think about things...about his reaction to his charges being in danger. A cynic could argue that their lives made him useful to Orthael, but he knew that was not the case. The idea of an assassin, here, preying on the two princes...

It had made him angry.

"I guess I've made my choice, Boro..." he murmured, feeling something like relief wash over him.

Eldarion returned quickly -- no one could run faster than the slender youth -- sweating from exertion. He went over the ailing prince and slipped a small clump of what looked like a weed to Aldurn under the prince's bandage.

"That should slow the poison even more. He needs a healer, though."

"The Lady Lothiriel is days away, and Queen Arwen is probably still in the far north..."

Eldarion nodded, fretting anxiously. "What about the Dunlendings?"

Aldurn made a sour face at the mention of the barbarians. "What about them?"

"Educh. His village probably has a healer."

Aldurn did not think much of Dunlendings, but he had to admit that it was possibly their best chance. "We don't dare waste time sending for them. Go get some horses ready. I'll bring Elfwine..."

Eldarion nodded without hesitation and ran out of the room once more. Aldurn wrapped the Prince of the Mark in his blankets and carried him out. It was fortunate that most of the castle was asleep -- he didn't fancy trying to explain himself to any guards or servants who spotted him.

Chest tight with worry, he went to the stables, the heart of the Mark dying in his arms.


Beregond had stood watch outside Faramir's door almost every hour of his illness. He had only taken food when it was brought and forced upon him, and gone to rest when Eowyn had threatened him with an armed escort.

Elboron could see the exhaustion the man hid behind his serene mask. He could see it, because every day as he approached his father's sick room, Beregond looked a little more chipped around the edges.

The boy was awed by the display of loyalty. He wondered if he would ever be able to inspire men in such a way...but he knew he was a pale shadow beside his father. Faramir the Hero, Faramir the Legend, Faramir the Scholar...

He was just Elboron...which was quite enough for now, but he feared the day when his father would look at him with disappointment.

However, a small part of him would gladly accept being looked at in that way just to have his father look at him at all.

He passed into the stifling sick room and stopped dead. His father, gaunt, pale and ravished by illness, was sitting up and holding Eowyn's hand. Elboron was shocked motionless for a moment before darting over excitedly. "Da!"

Faramir gave his son a weak smile. "Finished leveling Rohan already, have you?" he rasped.

Elboron huffed and rolled his eyes, feeling like he had wings. "I actually remembered there were some towers here I left standing..."

Faramir chuckled and hugged his son to him. "I've missed you, boy."

"Missed you too, Da," Elboron said, hugging him tight and trying to hold back the tears stinging his eyes. "When...?"

"Just a moment ago, and please let your father breathe, dear," Eowyn told him fondly.

Elboron reluctantly let his father go. He stopped being embarrassed by his own fit of emotion when he saw Faramir wipe at his own eyes. "Are you all better, Da?"

Faramir nodded with a somewhat lopsided grin. "Of course, son. I'm ready to go fishing or whatever you want to do..."

"Pig swill," Eowyn argued. "You're not getting out of that bed and don't even think otherwise."

Faramir sighed mournfully. "Your mother is still against us having any fun, I see..."

"I'd just rather not pick you up from the bottom of the stairs you'll undoubtedly fall down in your condition."

Elboron was almost vibrating where he stood, he was so excited. All the worry, all the fear, all the anxiety was gone. His father was getting better and all would be well. For the first time in weeks, the future was not something to be dreaded.


The hunt had been bountiful. Educh's people would eat well for some time, something they could not always count on. The village was in a celebratory mood, everyone pitching in to dress the carcasses and ready the meat for the smoking huts.

Even the chieftain was assisting, blood up to his elbows from the work. His daughter, Magda, was taking the meat he passed to her and coating it in herbs, happy to be helping her father.

A commotion brought his attention around. A Rohirrim rider was entering the village...and while his eyes weren't good enough any more to make out the face, there was only one adult Rohirrim that would be allowed to make it to the village alive.

And, to prove his theory, another rider, smaller, came into view behind the first. Educh frowned, his heavy brow knitting together. An unannounced visit was peculiar, but not extraordinary. However, Aldurn was carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms, and that could not mean anything good.

Wiping his hands on a rag, he went to meet the rider, Magda trailing after him. The one behind was Elfwine's friend, Eldarion, so he could only assume the Prince of the Mark was in the blanket.

"What happened?"

"The prince has been poisoned," Aldurn said perfunctorily. "There are no healers of any use left in Edoras. Can you help?"

Magda let out a little gasp. Educh turned to her. "Fetch Uktha, girl, now."

His daughter trembled, staring at Elfwine a moment, and then she dashed off. Educh held out his hands and after only the slightest hesitation, Aldurn handed over his burden. The chieftain looked at the pale face of the prince and was taken back to the days when he'd held his own son in his arms, rocking him in his fevered sleep.

Kalicht was long gone, though, but there was yet a chance for the son of Eomer.

Aldurn slid wearily from his horse and took the reins of Eldarion's mount. "Go on, I'll take care of the animals."

The heir of Gondor gave him a grateful look and followed Educh towards a hut at the other end of the village. Uktha met them there, Magda at her side. The healer was an older woman, thin as a reed and slightly hunched. "Bring him in."

Educh stepped into the small dwelling. He laid the boy down on a pile of furs and stepped back anxiously. "You have to save him..."

Uktha smiled gently at him. "If it is within my power. Now, my chieftain, go. The children can be of some use, but you will only be in the way."

Educh nodded, quite accustomed to being banished by the healer. He slipped out of the hut and went to find Aldurn. He was helpless to reverse the poison, but he would at least get the story on how this happened.

It did not occur to him how odd it was that he, a leader of the Dunlendings, should care about a Prince of the Mark so much.


Every day, his father grew stronger. By the end of the week, he was taking short walks with Eowyn and Elboron. By the end of the second week, he was seeing to a few official affairs and taking meals in his feasting hall.

Elboron was so relieved and so happy he was almost uncontrollably giddy. Bergil despaired as the young prince tore through the halls at full speed, playing tag with his childhood friend Thormir.

The house of Faramir slowly returned to normal.

As autumn wrapped around Ithilien, Elboron's thoughts turned back to Rohan and the friends he had left behind. It was awkward, really, because he didn't want it to appear that he was anxious to leave his parents, but the fact was...he missed Elfwine and Eldarion something awful.

He struggled with this as he walked with his father in the gardens. Though far from the towering figure of his legend, the light was back in Faramir's eyes. "I think I might be well enough for a fishing trip soon..." he suggested to his son.

"Really?" Elboron asked excitedly.

"Very possibly." Faramir wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. "I can't get over how you've grown."

"Less than a hand higher than the last you saw me, Da..."

Faramir shook his head. "Not just speaking of that, son. You're carrying yourself like a man, now. I guess being a hero of Gondor has gone to your head," he teased.

"Da!" Elboron whined, blushing.

Faramir laughed, mussing his hair. "Your mother is forever cooing over those plaits of yours. She's very happy to see you celebrating your Rohirric heritage."

Elboron snorted. "Bergil isn't."

Faramir smiled wryly. "Bergil is oddly different from his father."

"He's a horse's ass."

"Language, Boro," Faramir reprimanded him lightly.

"Sorry, sir."

Faramir shrugged the matter away. "I understand you two have been fighting a bit more than usual..."

"Who said that?"

"Bergil."

Elboron gnashed his teeth. "It's all his fault anyway. He wants to turn me into some sort of parade horse and he keeps insulting Mother's people. And he..." The young prince looked down.

"He what?" Faramir asked gently.

"He keeps talking about how if you... That I could..." He kicked a stone into a bush. "He keeps talking about how you won't live forever and I need to be ready."

Faramir nodded. "Well, he's not wrong."

"I know...but I wish he'd shut up about it."

"Son, I hope to be around for a long, long time. But one never knows..." He eyed his son askance. "Are you ready? To lead the city?"

"I..." He flinched from his father's piercing gaze. "No."

"There is a lot I need to teach you," Faramir told him. "So...I don't think I can let you go back to Rohan just now."

"But, Da!"

"Now son, you've had a couple of years of reckless fun. But it is time you learned a little about this city and how it works."

Crushed, Elboron walked along in sullen silence.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked the boy.

His son shook his head. "No, sir."

Faramir knelt before him so he could look into his eyes. "I know you miss your friends. Perhaps they could come here to visit?"

Elboron's face lit up. "Could they?"

"I suppose it is only right that I give Eomer a rest."

Elboron laughed and hugged him. "Thank you, Da."

"All right then..." Faramir said, hugging him back. "Just promise you'll listen to Bergil in lessons. Agreed?"

"Da..."

"Boro."

The young prince made a face. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Let's see what the kitchens are working on then, yeah?"

Elboron beamed happily and nodded, following his father back into the keep. The prospect of having his friends here filled him with excitement. No doubt, they had done nothing but lay about Meduseld without him there.


Elfwine moaned and cracked his eyes open. He was miserably warm but try as he might, he could not kick the blankets off. Worse, he could not tell where he was, other than that it was not his room in Meduseld.

"Stop, stop," a soothing voice told him pressing him gently back down.

His blurry vision focused somewhat on the face floating before him. "Magda?"

She smiled at him and nodded, mopping sweat from his forehead. "Stay quiet."

He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Eldarion was asleep nearby, curled up like a cat. "What... How...?"

"Your guard brought you here. The one who attacked you used poison."

"Poison?" Elfwine asked in a panic.

"Yes, please, do not worry. Uktha, our healer, she defeated the poison. You will be fine."

Elfwine propped himself up on his elbows, blinking at her. "I feel weak."

"You almost died," she confided with wide-eyed horror. "If not for your friends and for Uktha..."

He shivered. Death had never been so close. "Aldurn...I need to speak with him."

"He returned to your city to tell them what happened. He left instructions for you to stay here."

Elfwine winced and held his aching head. "I can't say as I want to argue..." He pursed his lips. "Um...where are my clothes?"

She blushed and pointed to a neatly stacked pile off to the side.

"Ah. Well...I need to..." He colored and struggled with his clumsy tongue, unsuccessfully.

"You need to...oh! Yes. Here..." She retrieved his tunic and handed it to him and then turned her back.

"Thank you," he murmured, untangling himself from the blankets and struggling into the tunic. He wasn't too steady on his feet, but he could not ask Magda for help with this. He nudged Eldarion. "Hey..."

The son of Elessar woke and smiled up at him. "Win!"

Elfwine smiled at the relief on his friend's face. "I need to take care of business. Can you help me outside?"

"Oh, yes, certainly." He scrambled to his feet and put Elfwine's arm around his shoulders.

Together, they staggered outside into the cool night air. Elfwine breathed in deep of the fresh air. His eyes turned to the bright stars overhead. "I can't believe it..."

"Me either," Eldarion agreed. "We were all scared witless."

"What happened after I fainted?"

Eldarion sketched out the details of what occurred, speaking in awe of Aldurn's decisiveness.

"I just..." Elfwine looked down. "Why would anyone want to kill us?"

Eldarion shook his head. "Might it have anything to do with your father and the battle he's in?"

"Perhaps. I mean, likely, yes. It would be an odd coincidence, him being in Harad and us being attack by a Haradrim assassin." He moved off behind a tree and saw to his business.

"I can't imagine...turning a boy into a killer. What kind of a people would do that?"

"Monsters," Elfwine said. "They clearly place no value on life." He came back after a moment and leaned on his friend again.

"Perhaps. Still don't know why the Haradrim would want us dead."

Elfwine stopped and muttered a curse. "I'm so stupid..."

"What...?"

"Boro and I, we rescued the princes of Dol Amroth, basically upending the plans of...what was his name...Kaeliz. Yes. I'll just bet this was his idea..."

"If that's so, I hope your father kills him extra dead, then."

They went back to the hut and Elfwine slipped back under the furs. He smiled gratefully at Magda. "Thank you."

"I am happy you are well."

He felt an odd fluttering in his stomach. "You look tired. Why don't you rest?" the Prince of the Mark suggested.

She looked to Eldarion and then shook her head. "I do not wish to leave you..."

"You need your sleep as well," Elfwine told her gently.

She nodded and smiled briefly. "Yes. Your friend can watch your sleep." She moved over to him and kissed him on the cheek, blushing. Then she scampered out.

Elfwine went very red. He threw a glare at the grinning Eldarion. "Not a word."

His friend laughed and affected an innocent look. Elfwine closed his eyes, seeing Magda in his mind. As much as any medicine Uktha had given him, that kiss had made him feel much better. Guiltily, he realized that he was in no hurry to return to Edoras after all


Aldurn returned that evening, bringing along a horse for Elfwine to ride home. By that time, the boy was feeling somewhat stronger, walking about a little.

The rider saw this and smiled widely in relief. "Highness," he said and bowed.

Elfwine smiled wanly and nodded. "I owe you my life..." Uncomfortable with those words, Aldurn shrugged them aside. "Return the favor by barring Erkenbrand from taking my head? He was not pleased to hear I'd brought you to the Dunlendings."

Elfwine laughed softly. "I'll speak with him." He sighed and looked around at the village, his gaze landing finally on Educh. He bowed low, solemnly. "The Mark owes you a great debt, and so do I."

Educh waved that aside and wrapped the boy in a fierce hug. "The Prince of the Mark has true friends here. He must never forget that."

Elfwine smiled, wondering why his father refused to see the nobility of these people. "I will not forget."

He moved aside and looked into Magda's eyes, feeling his stomach twist up nervously. It was truly inconvenient there were all these people about, because he had some things he wished to say to her.

She favored him with a bright smile. "Will you come back soon?"

He nodded awkwardly. "I promise."

A huge smile graced her face. "I...want you to have something to remind you of me." She took his hand and pressed into his palm a single lock of her dark hair.

He stared in wonder at it for a moment. "Thank you..." He carefully tied it to his belt with a strip of leather. Then, on a whim, he took out Aldurn's knife and cut off a lock of his own hair, offering it to her.

The two of them stood blushing and looking around furtively as the adults smiled approvingly. Then, heart hammering in his chest, Elfwine leaned in and gave her a brief, chaste kiss on the lips.

An approving cheer went up from the crowd. Elfwine and Magda blushed furiously and stared intently at their feet. After a moment, Aldurn led the moon-struck prince to his horse so they could begin the journey home.


As autumn took over the Mark, Edoras once again became a swarm of activity. Queen Lothiriel arrived with an escort from Ithilien. Immediately, she took an accounting of all that had happened and, after seeing to her son, began the task of returning the house to order.

The army returned merely days later, road-weary and travel-stained. A very loud and long celebration was held, only after which did Eomer hear what had been done to his son. It took some persuading to convince him to not take the army back to Harad for more vengeance.

And the shock and disbelief showed plainly on his face when he was told that the Dunlendings had saved his son's life. Unwilling to accede to that, he chose instead to heap praise upon Aldurn for his quick-thinking.

Aldurn visibly paled at the honor.

Because it was necessary, Elfwine told his parents of Hama's indiscretion and the solution he had come up with. While Eomer seemed disappointed that his son had not ordered the summary wedding, he nonetheless approved his son's decision.

Haleth and Eothain, the stableboy's adoring fathers, were not so easily appeased. Elfwine did not ask, but it was obvious from the pained way in which Hama walked afterwards, he'd received a thorough lashing for his mistake.

And then King Elessar's party returned from the north. They paused in Edoras for a brief rest before the final stretch to Minas Tirith.

Elfwine and Eldarion made themselves scarce, a little worried that Elessar might get it into his head to take his son home after recent events. It was bad enough Elboron was staying in Ithilien, but if they two were separated from each other as well...

Locked in their room with a trencher of food, they returned to the business of the tapestry they had found. Elfwine was doubtlessly more fascinated by the find than Eldarion, who flopped on his back and sighed often.

"Yes, but what about the hammer?" he asked impatiently.

Elfwine threw a slice of apple at him. "Will you stop it? This takes time. These symbols aren't very specific."

Eldarion groaned. "Why couldn't your ancestors just leave a treasure map like regular people?"

"This is a treasure map, goat-face. Look at it. I can't believe this isn't hanging up somewhere..." He shook his head. "Besides, if it were that easy, the enemy would have it and then we'd all be in deep trouble, right?"

Eldarion snorted. "We still don't know how much is real and how much is legend."

"Well, I think we're close. Does that help?"

"I'm just--"

There was a knock on their door. Elfwine rolled up the tapestry and tossed it to Eldarion, who stuffed it under the blankets. "Yes?"

Eomer stepped in, looking a bit harried. He smiled at the two boys. "How are you feeling, Win?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"You realize I will keep asking you for some time, correct?"

Elfwine sighed, smiling despite himself. "Yes, sir."

"I was speaking with Aragorn..."

Both boys stared at him with their hearts in their throats. "Yes?" Eldarion asked weakly.

"How would you two feel about spending next year in Minas Ithil with Elboron?"

Their faces lit up. "Really?" Elfwine asked excitedly.

"Faramir sent the invitation back with your mother," he told his son. "But I wanted to speak with Aragorn before saying anything."

The boys exchanged huge smiles. "That would be wonderful," Eldarion said.

Eomer nodded. "It's settled then. Erkenbrand will be going along to keep up your combat training. But Faramir assures me he has scholars to spare for tutoring you."

They nodded, willing to accept any conditions for the chance to see Elboron again. The King took his leave, then, obviously pleased to have made the boys happy. If nothing else, it would place them further from the Dunlendings, for which Elfwine was developing an unsettling attachment.


Eomer handed the letter off to his wife, unable to read it a third time. He scratched his beard, pondering and fuming all at once. Gloomily, he stared into the blazing hearth and stretched out his long legs.

His wife's lips creased into a thin line. "Idiot," she muttered and handed the letter off to Amrothos.

Her lanky brother read it quickly and sighed heavily. "You know he's always been an arse, Lothy."

"But this is absurd!" she snapped. She sat and picked up her embroidery, stabbing agitatedly at the cloth with her needle.

"Could either of you tell me what is going on in your fool brother's head?" Eomer asked plaintively.

Lothiriel muttered a curse more suited to a fishwife than a lady and stabbed the cloth some more.

Amrothos shrugged bonelessly. "Well, Elphir has always had a temper. And he's made it pretty clear in his letter that he blames you for what happened to Alphros."

"But why?" Eomer demanded. "I did everything I could to talk that boy out of it. You know that. Erchirion knows it too! Why can't Elphir accept that?"

"Ah, well, I think Erchirion presented a slightly different case to our brother," Amrothos informed him.

"Why?" Eomer grated.

"Because, like Elphir, he tends to lose sense in family matters. I think, in his mind, you should have stuffed Alphros in a sack and handed him over and let Elphir sort it out later."

"Elphir should never have put that hot-headed boy in charge of the army." Eomer grumbled and shook his head. "I'm getting too old for this."

Lothiriel favored him with a fond smile. "Let it be for now, love. Elphir is always at his most unreasonable during winter." "That's true," Amrothos agreed. "When he can't go out on the seas, he gets out of sorts."

Eomer shook his head. "He says the friendship of Dol Amroth and Rohan is ended. That sounds a bit more than being out of sorts."

His wife exchanged a look with her brother and then said, "Perhaps he'll be in a more reasonable mood when his son is better."

Eomer stared into the firelight. "Amrothos, do you think you can talk sense into him?"

"I have never succeeded before..." His friend considered it. "I'll give it a try, as soon as the weather improves. All right?"

Eomer nodded impatiently. He did not like problems he could not immediately resolve. In the case of the overly-sensitive ruler of Dol Amroth, though, a certain degree of patience was required. If he could not resolve it on his own... Well, he would consult Aragorn only when he had exhausted all other options.

To be continued...