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 12

Year 16, 4A

The royal escort from the Mark arrived at the gates of Minas Ithil at the beginning of February. Clad in furs, they made a colorful sight nonetheless. Green cloaks contrasting the snow on the ground, bright banners whipping in the cold wind, they inspired awe in any who looked upon them.

Eomer was at their head, Erkenbrand by his side. Elfwine and Eldarion were slightly further behind, faces red from the cold and Fellfang barking excitedly. Aldurn, who had insisted on keeping his post as the boys' guard, was just a bit apart. The King's eored was at their backs, spears glinting dully. All looked about at the soaring trees of Ithilien with a certain degree of dubiousness.

The gates opened and the procession was allowed to come within the walls. Elfwine gaped in slack-jawed wonder. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the grandeur of Minas Ithil. Even the sprawling city of Dol Amroth could not compare to the city of the moon, with its soaring towers and ornate facades.

The royal party halted before the Prince's Keep, a huge stone structure proudly flying the colors of Gondor and Ithilien. As they slid from their weary horses, Faramir, Eowyn and Elboron came out to greet them.

And though the ravages of illness on Faramir were apparent to everyone, no one spoke of it.

"The Prince of Ithilien bids welcome to the King of Rohan," Faramir said with a formal half bow.

"And the King of the Mark thanks the Prince of Ithilien for his hospitality," Eomer responded in kind.

Then the two old friends exchanged a warm hug, smiling warmly. Eowyn followed suit, face lighting up at the sight of her brother.

Released from the constraints of formality, Elboron rushed to his friends and clasped their hands in greeting. "I've missed you."

Elfwine pushed him lightly. "Missed getting me into trouble, you mean."

Elboron laughed. "That too." He winked at Eldarion. "Has he bored you to death?"

Eldarion responded with an uneasy smile. "Not really. We've a story to tell you..."

"And something to show you," the Prince of the Mark murmured with a conspiratorial look.

The greeting feast was something they were used to skipping, but this time they were not allowed. Faramir informed his son that he would have to attend, to practice his manners, and neither of the other boys would abandon their friend.

It was a lavish affair. The feasting hall was, like much of the city, an ongoing work of art. Skilled artists had painted frescos on the walls and the ceiling; each telling a single piece of the story of the Last Alliance. Behind the prince's table was a larger-than-life image of Isildur striking down Sauron.

Minas Ithil, having been an orcish city for so long, was being made into a jewel by her prince. It was a final stab at the darkness that had consumed her.

Minstrels played during the meal; simple tunes from across the entirety of Gondor. It was a pleasant way to pass the meal, allowing them to focus more on the food rather than on conversation.

Afterwards, there was mulled wine and ginger candy, enough so that everyone was thoroughly stuffed. Only then were the boys excused, and they took their leave hastily.

"I'll give you both a tour when I don't feel like my guts are going to burst," Elboron told them.

They grinned, following him through the corridors and looking about in curiosity. Guards and servants bowed to them as they passed, making them a bit uncomfortable.

At his door, there was a brief discussion between Aldurn and Elboron's usual door guard, Ameran. The Ithilien guard was young, bored and more than happy to relinquish the post to Aldurn. The two began to discuss schedules and duties as the boys passed into the room.

"You could fit a stable in here," Elfwine said in awe.

Elboron shrugged and looked around. "I suppose."

Eldarion flopped on the bed and stretched out. "So, Win almost died..."

"What?" Elboron asked.

Elfwine shrugged uncomfortably and rubbed the scar on his hand without thinking. "Oh, yes, there's a story to tell..."

Elboron flopped on a pile of furs on the floor. "Tell me." The fear in his voice was evident.

Elfwine settled beside him and told the story as only he could, bringing to life every detail and every moment. Even Eldarion, who had been there, listened in rapt attention.

"I can't believe it," Elboron said, glowering. "What a coward, sending an assassin after you."

Elfwine nodded, in full agreement. There was nothing lower than a murderer in his eyes. "A part of me feels bad for Jijinn. He was never given a chance to be anything but what his people made him."

"More reason to exterminate them," Elboron said with hostility.

Elfwine looked sharply at him. "That might be a bit much..."

Elboron shrugged, agitated. "Sending a boy to kill boys pretty much condemns the whole race, I think."

Eldarion frowned at him and then smiled anew. "We found something. Show him, Win."

Elfwine went over to where his saddlebags were and took out a leather-bound scroll. He brought it over and slowly laid out the treasure he and Eldarion had discovered. Elboron did not seem even remotely impressed.

"What is it?" asked the heir of Ithilien.

"As near as I can figure it, this is Theolen's recounting of her family's fall," Elfwine murmured reverently.

Elboron continued to stare blankly at him.

"Theolen?" Elfwine repeated. When his friend shrugged he sighed in exasperation. "The daughter of Helm? Don't you remember anything?"

"He's very defensive about that old tapestry," Eldarion warned Elboron.

The son of Faramir rolled his eyes. "Of course. The older and mustier the better..."

Elfwine glared at the both of them. "Just because it isn't a plan to go haring off into deadly danger doesn't make it any less important to our goal."

"Very defensive," Elboron said to Eldarion, who snickered. "So, what does it say? Looks like just a bunch of pictures to me."

"They're symbols, goat-face, and I don't know for sure. It's like a different language."

"Well, if it stumps you..."

Elfwine looked mildly offended. "I didn't say I was stumped. I just haven't had so much time to focus on it."

"Tell him what you've worked out so far, though," Eldarion encouraged.

"Well..." Elfwine considered; as usual, enjoying knowing more than them. "This figure, with the crown, is obviously Helm. He's also the largest figure in the tapestry." His finger moved to where the Helm figure stood beside two smaller figures. One of the smaller figures also had a crown upon his head; the other was surrounded by a scattering of hash-marks in yellow thread. "I thought these were his sons, but Hama and Haleth are represented differently. They must be halflings or dwarves, though I've never hear of either in the Mark before my father's time."

Elboron began to look interested, moving closer.

Elfwine reverently waved his hand over another symbol, a large black sword. "I'm pretty sure this means 'enemy.' So, it looks like Helm faced something evil."

"Like a dragon?" Elboron asked.

Elfwine shrugged. "Possibly." He waved his hand over the rest. "It looks like he protected the small people against it and was rewarded with the hammer."

"So, it is real..." the prince of Ithilien whispered in wonder.

"Almost certainly," Eldarion said with an excited look.

"Imagine a weapon that powerful..." Eldarion said covetously.

"Imagine it being used against us," Elfwine pointed out. "There's something out there, something with evil plans that involve this thing. We have to find it to keep it safe."

"You worry too much," Eldarion argued.

"I think I have to agree with him, Dar. Magic does things to people. The One Ring corrupted Isildur, the palantir drove my grandfather mad..."

Elfwine gaped at him. "Ancestors, have you actually read something, Boro?"

Elboron withered him with a glance. "My father and Bergil have been burying me in history. I'm doing my best to forget it all as quickly as possible."

"Shouldn't be difficult for you," Eldarion mocked.

Elboron surged to his feet. "You need a trouncing, it seems." He pounced on his friend and wrestled with him, laughing all the while.

Elfwine grinned, idly rolling up the tapestry for safety. It was good to be together again, the three of them. It had not felt right, without Elboron. More than just the fellowship they shared, Elfwine knew they were slowly preparing to meet the threat to the West, and they would need to be together.

Shaking aside such heavy thoughts, he went to rescue Eldarion.


The tour of Minas Ithil took most of the following day. Again, Elfwine was the one truly awed by everything he saw. However, it was when they reached Faramir's library that they truly lost the Prince of the Mark.

"Oh my..." he whispered looking around at the rows of shelves, the sweeping arches and majestic frescos. Even incomplete, Faramir's vision was a wonder.

"I think he's going to faint," Eldarion said with grin.

"I'm not catching him," Elboron replied with a wink.

"This is amazing..." Elfwine walked along the polished floors, his booted feet echoing in the cavernous room. "I didn't think so many books even existed."

"This isn't even all of it. There's crates more, I think. They are still building a place for everything," Elboron commented. He looked around and shrugged. "Can't say as I care as much as you do, Win, but it is impressive."

Their friend reverently touched the spines of leather-bound tomes. "Impressive is hardly the word... Can I live here?"

Elboron laughed. "No. Master Gendt is a fussy old bore who runs this place and I don't think he will like you even touching his books."

"His books?" Eldarion asked.

"That's how he thinks of them." Elboron shrugged. "Don't worry, Win, we'll be trapped in here for hours on end of incredibly boring and numbing study."

Elfwine smiled. "I always envied that my grandfather was educated in Gondor."

"Which one was he again?" Eldarion teased.

"I'll beat you later," Elfwine retorted. "Histories, stories, diaries... This is a treasure trove."

"I think we have the wrong fathers, Win," Elboron commented. "My father would be so happy if I had your love for learning," he said ruefully.

"And mine would rather have someone more interested in fighting and armor," Elfwine agreed. "Fate works in strange ways."

"Mine would rather I was a little less like him," Eldarion put in with a grin.

They dragged Elfwine out of the library and engaged him in a snowball fight. They were going to have less freedom very soon, so a free day was incredibly important to them.


"How are you holding up?"

"I'm quite fine, as I keep telling you."

Eomer folded his arms and set his jaw stubbornly. "Yes, I keep hearing. But I have yet to start believing. You forget, I've known you a long time."

Eowyn sighed at her brother and looked out her window again. It was difficult for him, sometimes, to separate the headstrong girl he had known from the Lady she had grown into. The years in Ithilien had changed her, and not always in way he approved of.

"It's over and done, Mero," she told him, using her childhood nickname for him. "No sense in drudging it all up again."

Eomer also hated the distance that had grown between them. It was not a chasm, yet, but there was no doubt that their relationship had weakened with the miles separating them. He went over and poured them both glasses of water and handed her one, smiling in a supportive way.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." And that I never seem to be, he thought with a twist of pain.

She turned to give him a forgiving glance. "Your wife was, and no offense, she's much more useful in such matters."

He frowned and shrugged. "Not for Faramir. For you, Wynny. It was a lot to go through alone."

Her expression turned wry. "It's not something I am unused to."

Remembering the days of Grima's poisoning of Theoden's mind, Eomer winced. "That is very sad, sister."

She turned back to her window. "There's no point in lamenting over it. I long ago realized I had to accept life as it was, not as I wanted it. You go off to war, and I take care of the wounded. You suffer, I worry. It's the way of things."

Eomer knelt by her chair and took her hand, brows knitted together. "I know how much you wished you could ride off with me..."

She turned sharply to him, expression hard. "Mero, it's not about that at all. Ancestors, haven't you realized I'm no longer that girl with skinned-knees, chasing Theodred with a wooden sword? I got a bellyful of war once and I've never regained my taste for it." She shook her head. "It's not that I long to ride along with you, it's that I wish you would stop riding out at all."

Eomer flinched, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. "I come at Aragorn's call. The lands of the West are forever in peril--"

"Is that what you call last year's business? I thought it was simply settling a grudge."

Eomer stood, on the defensive and irritated by it. "That was a matter of honor."

"Of course, Mero, there is always an excuse. A matter of honor, or a camp of orcs that could, if they get lost, invade an unused part of Gondor. I think you find excuses for these battles. I think you and Aragorn and even my fool husband cannot accept peace because you cannot find a use outside of war."

"That is highly unfair."

"No, a child growing up without a father is unfair, Mero," she said seriously. "Do you remember what it was like when mother told us? Do you recall at all what it was like, not having them there? When you downed your first buck, didn't you look for father? When you were named Third Marshall, didn't you just wish our parents could see? Didn't you miss them on your wedding day? I know I did."

"Wynny..."

"No, Eomer, this is not about me. It's not about us. It's about our children. They need their fathers, safe and whole. They are at the cusp of adulthood, and they need you there to show them the way, to help them to not be afraid. When I thought I would have to tell Boro that his father was dead..."

"What?" he asked softly.

She burned him down to his boots with a glare. "I hated you. Just for a moment, I hated the whole lot of you." She looked away again. "I want it over, Mero. For a few years, let the world run itself and just focus on being a father."

"There are things happening, sister..." he told her. "We think there might be a new enemy rising."

She let out a short, snorting laugh. "Of course."

"Wynny..."

"I won't sing at your funeral, Mero. I've buried too many people I love."

"Wynny..."

"Go on, get out."

Eomer, feeling heartsick, turned and left the room. He knew there was a lot of truth in her words, but the fact was, there were things happening. As King of the Mark, and as Aragorn's friend, his course was not always chosen by him.

But those rationalizations rang hollow now.


Only a few days after their arrival, the King of Rohan took his leave. Walking beside Faramir to the horses, he pulled on his gloves and gave his long-time friend a somewhat serious look.

"Now, no more fainting-spells or laying about for attention, agreed?" he asked the Prince of Ithilien.

Faramir laughed. "I shall do my level best."

Eomer looked around at the city. "I do hope the boys don't break too much of this. I like what you've done with it."

"The King of the Mark is too kind," Faramir said with a sarcastic smile.

"I sort of have to be. You're married to my sister, and she leaves bruises." He clasped Faramir's hand warmly. "Do take care of yourself, my friend. The fields would be a little less green without you."

Faramir smiled fondly at the King. "Assuming you and Elessar can refrain from attacking anyone for a bit, that shouldn't be a problem. Honestly, you two need to find a less dangerous hobby."

Eomer winced a bit, thinking of his sister. "Now you sound like Lothy."

"She is a wise woman."

"And I wouldn't disagree...anywhere she could hear me."

Faramir chuckled and they came to a stop before the King's horse. Elfwine was there, holding the reins. Eomer's expression was proud as he looked upon his son. "Well, it seems you're the one off for an adventure this year."

"Mine doesn't involve people swinging swords at me, sir."

"Oh, I know you," Eomer said with a grin. "You'll find a way. Or if you don't, that terrible influence Faramir calls a son certainly will." His amused expression clearly showed he was joking.

"Well, maybe I'll avoid the assassins this year..."

Eomer started and then sighed. "I would hope so. You're giving me gray hairs."

"Apologies, sir."

Eomer gave him a fierce, strong hug. "Mind your Uncle, don't damage his city, pay attention in lessons and come home safe."

Returning the hug, Elfwine said, "Yes, father."

He swung into the saddle then saluted the Prince of Ithilien. Faramir and Elfwine watched them go, the long parade of horses trailing out of the city. Then Elfwine made his way into the keep to find his friends.


Erkenbrand's weapons-training grew more intense, now that the boys were truly emerging out of childhood. With Elboron and Elfwine in their thirteenth year and Eldarion in his fourteenth, they were ready for more serious challenges.

The bow, the spear, the ax...they were tested on each. Weaknesses were noted and worked through; strengths were complimented. It was grueling, but all of them enjoyed it much more than the three hours they were trapped with Master Gendt.

The humorless scholar was about as far removed from the easy-going Amrothos as a person could get while still alive. He was obviously brilliant, but he was also condescending towards the boys with his teaching. It was clear he was not going to give them any room for misbehavior or failure to pay attention.

And then they still weren't done, for Faramir had them stay with him for an hour while he attended to city matters. Granted, it could have been far worse. The Prince of Ithilien was a man of great patience and humor and he knew that every dull moment was sheer torture for them, so he did his best to at least make them understand why they had to know these things.

"Dar and Win, of course, have whole kingdoms to run. But it's all basically the same," he told them in the beginning. "The big things are just made up of small things."

"It wasn't so bad, when I was shepherding the Mark," Elfwine said thoughtfully

"Oh? I remember you whining like a cow with a thorn in its leg," Eldarion countered.

Elfwine narrowed his eyes. "No, sheep-brains, I was whining because I had to sit in court with court attire all day while the world was on fire."

"Oh, well, there was that..."


Faramir taught them how he made decisions; how much was instinct, how much was compassion and how much was pragmatism. While not incredibly exciting, the lessons were important ones and even they recognized that.

Once the weather improved, the restless princes started making noise about being let out to have a little relaxation. Bergil responded with a request for an armed escort and the matter landed in Faramir's hands.

Utterly unable to defend himself from three pathetic faces, the ruler of Ithilien crumbled fairly quickly. He instructed them to not stray too far and ordered Aldurn to see to it. With everyone but Bergil in agreement, the three youths escaped the confines of Minas Ithil.

The very first place they visited was at Elfwine's insistence -- the base of the winding stair. The Prince of the Mark stood upon the very first step, beaming happily. "I've always wanted to stand here...the very place where Frodo and Sam began to cross into Mordor. You can almost feel the history here..."

Elfwine and Eldarion exchanged baffled looks. "He's a bit odd," Eldarion murmured.

"More than a bit," Elboron agreed.

"You two are hopeless. Look at this!" He swept a hand up towards the steep cliff face. "Two halflings, smaller than us, with all of Mordor looking for them...half-starved and exhausted...climbing these steps..."

Elboron shrugged. "Well, yeah, but it's just a set of stairs now. We use it to get up to Amon Turm and keep on eye on Gondor, but that's about it. No one really wants to remember this used to be orc territory."

"That's sort of sad, really," Elfwine commented. He looked up again. "You think we could...?"

"Not today," Aldurn told them, looking very stern. "Let's have a week where you three don't give me heart failure, shall we?"

They laughed. "We shouldn't torture the old man," Elboron said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Old?" Aldurn protested. "I could trounce the lot of you. Old indeed..."

"Oh could you now?" Elfwine asked, posturing.

"Why don't we find out..." Eldarion suggested.

"Well, now, I'm not sure- Ack!"

Eldarion leaped on his back with a laugh and the other two boys piled on. Aldurn muttered ineffective curses and struggled against him. With a laugh, he collapsed under the assault. The boys crowed in triumph.


"All right, everyone listen, especially you three..." Agalon, the Ithilien hunt master, gave the three boys a very serious look. A vast, barrel-chested man, his sheer presence aborted any thought of inappropriate behavior.

Nevertheless, the three boys were almost vibrating with excitement. This was the day, their day, the day they would go out on a hunt not as learners, but as hunters. Clad in forest colors and each armed with knives, bows and arrows, they were more than ready to get underway.

Agalon frowned at them, as if reading their excited thoughts. "We're after venison, first of all. If you see a boar, well, best not upset it. I'll be taking a party out tomorrow for them. Use caution, and remember the hand signals. We don't break silence unless it is an emergency. Is everyone clear?"

The veteran rangers nodded in boredom. Their neophyte counterparts made more positive gestures, obviously terrified of failure.

"All right, then. Let's go."

The hunt master turned and led them away, his gait surprisingly light. The boys found themselves very much in the middle, like calves in a herd, which annoyed them to no end. Clearly, Faramir had left rather inconvenient instructions.

The excitement dimmed, though, as the time ticked away. Agalon led them deep into the forest, off the road and into the wild. Elfwine eyed the looming trees uneasily -- it was something he couldn't help. The only forests neighboring the Mark, Lothlorien and Fangorn, did not give his people any love for trees.

As time passed, the group spread out more. The boys, by unspoken agreement, fell further back, making it appear they were looking for tracks or some such. Sometimes they were pushed along by one of the veterans, but mostly they were successful in breaking loose from the group.

Eldarion was clearly most in his element here. He made quite a show of examining patches of grass and bits of leaves. How much he actually knew and how much was just him putting on airs, his friends could not be certain.

Towards midday, the signal was passed that a trail had been found. The hunting party halted while Agalon examined the prints closely. Then they were moving again, slower and quieter than before.

Elboron kept his focus with difficulty. He had not expected there to be so much boredom on a hunt. The times he had been out with his father had been different, of course. Then there had been no silence, as his father had been teaching him. And of course, time spent with his father simply flew by.

Elboron suddenly noticed Eldarion had fallen behind and went to check on him. The heir of Gondor was kneeling and examining a patch of ground. Elboron squatted beside him and tugged one of his braids.

Eldarion glared at him for that and traced a finger around an odd bootprint. Elboron looked and could not deny something was unusual about the print. It wasn't any ranger's boot, for sure. Nor did it resemble any man's footprint at all, really.

He frowned heavily. It was too big to be an orc, too small to be a troll. And the print was deep enough to suggest a heavy sort of person; or possibly someone wearing armor.

The Prince of Gondor skulked along, following the tracks into the bushes. Elboron almost called him back, but he bit off the sound as he remembered the imperative of silence. He cast about anxiously for someone he could signal, but there was no one.

And he couldn't let Eldarion wander off alone.

He caught up to his curious friend and stopped him. Rather insistently, he pointed back in the direction of the hunting party. Eldarion flashed an amused look, pushed him lightly, and took off after the trail he had found.

Now what...? he thought. The trail would probably go cold soon and his mercurial friend would lose interest. However, letting the son of Aragorn wander the wilds of Ithilien all by himself did not seem the sort of thing a Warden of Gondor should do.

I'll thrash him if he winds up ruining my first hunt, he thought and ran after the rapidly-disappearing form of his friend.

Far from the careful, deliberate pace of Agalon, Eldarion prosecuted his hunt with barely a pause to check the trail. He had learned to rely so heavily and so well on his instincts, it was almost fascinating to watch him go.

Elboron would have been more impressed if he weren't being dragged further and further from the real hunt.

If Win gets a kill before I do, I'll break something.

When his friend did pause, it was to kneel beside a nondescript pile of leaves. Slowly, he ran his fingers through the pile, considering. Elboron looked around in frustration, trying to figure how much time they had lost. His agitation was tying his stomach in knots.

Finally deciding they were far enough away that he could risk a whisper, he turned to tell his friend it was time to go. As his mouth opened, though, he saw what Eldarion was pulling from the pile...a snare.

He squatted down and examined the rope; the coarseness of the fiber, the poor weaving, the unfamiliar knot-work.

It was not a good sign.

He nodded to his friend, now wanting to see for himself who these tracks belonged to. If there were foul kind in his father's realm, he would see to it they were expunged.

They proceeded with more caution then, worried what they might find. The vastness of the forest seemed much more menacing, suddenly, making them more keenly aware of just how alone they were. If anything happened...

A noise brought them up short. It had been low, guttural. And it had not been far away.

It could be an animal...we have to be sure, Elboron thought, creeping forward.

Eldarion was thinking much the same thing, he could tell, as they exchanged a long, fretful glance. They crouched low and proceeded towards the sounds and the answer to the questions.


Agalon caught sight of their prey and moved the hunting party into a full run. The soft-booted men flew over the ground, joining in the timeless spectacle of hunter and hunted.

Elfwine, who had started to wonder where his friends were, was instantly caught up in the thrill of the chase. Trying to remember all the lessons he had learned, he outpaced several of the other hunters and tried to catch sight of their prey.

He was rewarded with a flash of white tail, there and gone again. Grinning with excitement, he started imagining how much fun it was going to be, holding his triumph over his more experienced friends.

Slipping an arrow from his quiver, he leaped over a boulder and picked up speed on a downward slope. The clatter of cloven feet ahead told him he was closing, and the twang of a bowstring also told him he was not the only one.

No, this is my kill... he thought insistently.

Heart pounding and chest heaving, he darted through the trees and up a pile of rocks. As he had hoped, he had a clear shot at the buck as it passed through a clearing. He took aim, judged wind speed and direction, and fired.


Something large, smelly and orcish appeared out of the bushes. It was an Uruk, something Elboron only knew from stories. He had thought they were mostly dead, after the war.

But here was one, and more seemed to be appearing. He whipped out the knife in his belt, his reflexes honed now. As the Uruk's sword swiped to take off his head, he ducked and dove, driving his knife up to the hilt into the thing's belly and then rolling away.

Eldarion had another one down, but there were others. He took out his bow and nocked an arrow. This was Eldarion's strength, not his, but at this range he did not need to be an expert marksman to be dangerous.

But there were so many...


The buck tumbled as the arrow sank into its body. Elfwine raced down after it, shocked that he had done it. His father would be so proud of him. And, of course, Elboron and Eldarion would be jealous, which would make it even better.

The buck was still alive when he reached it, a fact he lamented. He did not want the creature to suffer. Grimly, he took out his knife and cut the animal's throat. It had been a fine hunt. The animal's spirit was free now.

Agalon and the other hunters caught up to the prince, looking amazed. "I've never seen anyone run so fast," said the hunt master.

Elfwine snorted and shrugged. "You haven't seen Dar, then. He's the wind when he puts his mind to it." He looked around with a frown. "Where is he? And Boro?"

Agalon looked around, eyes narrowing. He seized one of the junior hunters by the collar and hauled him close. "Where are the princes?"

"I...sir..."

"I did tell you to watch them, didn't I?" Agalon snapped harshly.

The young man blanched. "I swear...they were with us."

Agalon shoved him away. "Kathwer, Flebrun, see to the kill. The rest of you, find our two errant boys."

Elfwine's triumph evaporated just that quickly. His worry for his friends was immediate; for he could not imagine anything innocent that would take them away from this day.


A massive, meaty fist took smashed into his face. He was lifted off the ground and sent crashing to the hard earth. The air was knocked from his lungs, and he just lay there in pain, struggling to keep up the fight.

Eldarion was flattened to the earth, a huge, a booted foot pinning him down. The Uruks brought their swords to the boys' throats. Not all of their struggling was going to save them, and they knew it. But they fought on just the same.

A harsh voice cut into the angry muttering of the Uruks. An older one had arrived, hair an iron gray and one eye missing. He snarled at his men and they brought the boys up to their feet.

The one-eyed Uruk came over to them, poking at them and looking over their belongings. He gripped the emblem of Ithilien upon Elboron's shirtfront and growled out something. Then he took a hold of the symbol of Gondor that Eldarion wore on his arm and nodded to himself.

"Pups of Kings," he spat at the boys.

They were quickly bound and dragged along. Behind them, the Uruks began to erase any evidence of the battle, leaving no trace for anyone to find.


"But we can't give up!" Elfwine shouted at Agalon.

The hunt master looked around at the fading light and shook his head. "We're not giving up, highness. But we aren't going to find them by stumbling around in the dark. We go back to the city and a search party will come back with torches and lanterns."

The Prince of the Mark looked around frantically, thinking it would be just like his two friends to show up at that very moment.

But there was nothing.

He slumped a little and nodded. "You're right. I just..."

Agalon gripped his shoulders. "Your friends are fine, lad. Now come on, we have to get back."

Elfwine nodded and the hunters began the trek back to the city. He had no idea how he was going to explain this to Faramir. Even though he knew this really wasn't his fault, he still felt responsible. He was, after all, the voice of reason. If he had stuck by them, maybe they would all be safe now, exchanging boasts and insults over a warm fire.

Jaw clenched, Elfwine sank into himself and spoke to no one on the long walk back to Minas Ithil. The day, once so bright, had turned very terrible indeed.

To be continued...