Chapter 14
Year 16, 4th Age
Hunger and exhaustion gnawed at the two princes, dragged them down and made them stumble - but the howls of wolves that were more than wolves spurred them on. They went to their limits and then they went beyond. And when they couldn't walk separately, they leaned on each other just to make a few more steps.
The wilderness was vast, but Elboron knew the signs to look for to keep them heading south. A poor student he had been, without a doubt, he had always raptly listened to the stories of his father, told by blazing hearths over mugs of warm cider. He had heard every story at least a dozen times, and many of them talked about his father's adventures in north Ithilien.
So Elboron knew where he was going, even if it seemed impossibly far. Every day that ended without him seeing a hint of the markers he was looking for drove him deeper into despair. Safety was beginning to seem like a wonder they would never again behold.
Eldarion was less impacted by the way they continued to not reach their goal - due entirely to the fever and subsequent weakness brought on by his injuries. Day by day, he grew more incoherent, his steps grew less sure. When they would finally catch a few spare hours of rest, he was always asleep as soon as he curled up on the cold earth.
Elboron worried, but there was naught he could do but hope their strength would hold out.
It was a hope that was dashed one day as Eldarion slid limply out of his grasp and down to the soft ground. Elboron knelt and checked him, heart hammering in panic. His friend's pulsebeat thrummed under his skin, defying the weakness that had consumed his body. But there was no rousing Eldarion. The injuries from the fall, the lack of rest, the hard, long flight and the lack of proper food had drained the last of his brave young friend's strength.
There was no thought in it, really. Elboron gathered sticks and branches together numbly and constructed a very crude pallet. Worries about how he could manage to do what he knew he had to do simply did not enter his head. Eldarion was his friend, his lord and his companion. Elboron would do what had to be done.
With the pallet together, he bound his friend securely to it and then took up one end. The weight did not even register at first. Elboron looked defiantly back over his shoulder and murmured, "I deny you your prize."
Then his gaze turned south again. One foot after another, he started up once again. There were hours left of daylight, after all, and he clung to hope that he would run into rescuers if he just kept going, just kept a little bit ahead of their pursuers. In his heart, he just knew Elfwine was out there, right now, bringing help.
Elfwine had managed to drag himself into the shelter of some bushes and, after looking at his leg, had come to the conclusion he would not be walking home. At first he had been afraid, but slowly his rational mind took over - Aldurn and the hunters could not be far behind him. He would just have to wait them out.
His emotions turned to anger - at the orcs for their treachery and at himself for getting so careless. Now he would not be able to reach his friends at all - never mind that he had never come up with exactly what he would do upon finding them. He belonged with them, sharing whatever danger they faced. In truth, and while he would never admit this to himself, he was a little jealous that they were having an adventure without him.
Now, though, his adventure had reached its end. Still in a great deal of pain, Elfwine was not motivated to be gracious about things. He wrapped himself in his cloak and brooded for a good long time, wishing he could get his hands on the orc who had set that trap.
Fellfang came back and whined at him, looking as panicked as a dog could look.
"I know. But I can't go anymore. I'm sorry." Elfwine glowered and held his hurt leg.
Fellfang sat back on his haunches and barked, tongue lolling out. He barked again, somehow sounding insistent, and then bounded off along the trail. A long moment passed and then the hound returned, slinking up to Elfwine on his belly, soulful eyes fixed on the Prince of the Mark.
"I can't!" Elfwine snapped and shook his head. There was no point on getting angry with the loyal dog, and, really, no sense in keeping him here. Boro and Dar needed him a lot more than Elfwine. "I'm sorry," he murmured and reached out to scratch behind the dog's single white ear.
Fellfang whined a little more and licked Elfwine's hand. His body was quivering with the need to run.
Elfwine pointed to the trail. "Go on, find our friends." Fellfang did not budge. "Go on!"
At the order, the dog took off, but he only ran a few paces before stopping and looking back. The loyal animal's heart was clearly divided.
"I said go!" Elfwine stabbed his finger in the direction of the trail. "Go!"
Fellfang ducked his head and loped along reluctantly, casting miserable looks back at Elfwine until he was totally out of sight. The Prince relaxed a little. Fellfang was an uncommonly bright animal. Elfwine did not doubt the dog understood what was being asked of him.
Agitated at being left behind, Elfwine set about making camp. He would need to make sure his location was known so the Hunters would find him. Which meant a fire, which meant getting some wood together. It was not an easy task but he managed it, and with the little blaze countering the coolness of the growing night, he felt somewhat better.
Elfwine was gnawing on a biscuit when he smelled something foul on the breeze. A trickle of ice slithered down his spine. Somehow, he managed to keep himself perfectly still, not betraying at all that he knew something was approaching. Casually, seemingly, he stretched his hands out to the fire, making no show of the fact that he could now easily reach Elessar's dagger, which he kept in a boot sheath.
A minor creaking sound filled the night - a branch swaying in the breeze or the movement of well-oiled leathers, he did not know. He swallowed hard, feeling much more alone at that moment than he had yet. How stupid had he been to think he would be left alone out here, after they had gone to all the trouble of setting a trap.
Elfwine battled down his fear and tried to gain some clarity, just as Erkenbrand had taught him. In a fight, the one who keeps his wits about him is most likely going to come out the winner. He could not stand and fight, so he had to bring the orcs to him.
The stench disappeared - apparently the orc realized he was upwind of his prey and changed positions. Elfwine's heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his body. It was survival now, the most primal instinct any human had.
Some instinct he did not even know he possessed made him move, suddenly, rolling to the side. The orc behind him stumbled forward, only avoiding pitching forward into the fire by jabbing his spear into the ground and bracing itself. It was a moment where it was off balance and nothing more.
It was all Elfwine needed.
With brutal accuracy, he drove upwards, the knife plunging into the orc's side, right under the ribcage. The cleverly curved blade ripped right through everything vital and the orc collapsed into a twitching heap.
Elfwine collapsed as well, unable to support himself on his wounded leg. He stared at the dying orc for only a moment before making himself look around for others. He could feel eyes on him, predatory eyes that saw a wounded mark. Elfwine somehow managed to not panic, crawling over to a tree slowly. Bracing himself on that, he could stand. And with his back to it, the orcs would have to come at him head-on.
Silence reigned for a long few minutes as the orcs gauged their prey. Elfwine's wide eyes rolled from one direction to the next, wary of every motion and sound. Oh how he wished his friends were here. Or his father. Or an eored. One thing which a Rider is never used to and that is facing an enemy alone.
Elfwine's rather inspired plan came apart when an orc stepped from behind a tree, a short bow in hand and an arrow drawn back. There was an ugly sneer on his face. Elfwine stared at him fixedly, trying to figure out if he could throw his knife fast and accurate enough to save his life. The orc was apparently weighing the same consideration.
It became depressingly moot as another orc stepped into the campsite, and then another. Elfwine now had three bows trained on him and he knew he needed a miracle. But there was no way he is going to just give up. He had too much to live for, too much to get back home to.
A sudden crashing sound brought the orc's attention off of him and he used it to duck around the tree and out of the way of those arrows. Moving was hard, as he could not put any weight on his bad leg, but he did get around the tree enough to shield himself.
The darkness exploded as Fellfang flew out of the trees and smashed into one of the very surprised orcs. Strong jaws locked around the orc's soft throat and viciously tore it open. The other two orcs brought their bows up to deal with the savage hound, but Elfwine would not let them kill his loyal friend.
"Hey!" he yelled and threw a rock at one of them, connecting with the creature's head. They both paused and turned and Elfwine let his dagger fly. Aiming for the throat, his shot instead went into the orc's upper arm.
The orcs dropped their bows and drew instead their long, jagged knives. Fellfang faced them, growling and snapping at them, his hackles raised. The orc blood dripping from his sharp teeth definitely gave the two opportunistic orcs pause. Suddenly, the easy prey they had been seeking had turned into something entirely too costly.
They began to back away, but Fellfang was not trained to accept surrender. He pursued, step by step, looking for an opportunity to get his teeth into one of the would-be-murderers.
Elfwine decided to help. He hurled stones at the orcs' heads, forcing them to divert their attention for a fraction of an instant - time enough for the agile hound to get through one of their defenses. Fellfang bit down on the wrist of the weapon-wielding arm of one of the assailants, and the sound of bones snapping echoed in the small clearing. Giving in to fear and a sense of self-preservation, the other orc turned and ran.
Fellfang yanked the orc he had to the ground and then pounced on it, his training showing through. Faster than Elfwine could follow, the hound had killed the orc and then was off, chasing after the last one. As sweet and affable as Fellfang was with the boys he loved, there was in him still the best training Edoras had to offer. With orcs, no quarter was given.
Elfwine winced as he heard a scream off in the dark somewhere. He then slid to the ground and tried not to shake himself to pieces. Now that it was all over, he could let the panic and terror he had been suppressing run its course. He had very nearly died and only the loyalty of one very special hound had saved him.
Shameful as it was to admit, in that single moment, Elfwine very much wanted to go home.
Elboron's arms trembled with weariness. His hands were scraped raw and bloody from dragging the pallet behind him. And there were knots in his shoulders he was fairly sure would never be banished. But he did not stop - slow to a crawl, yes, but never stop.
His mind was blank. He was simply too tired and wrung out to focus on anything more than putting one foot in front of the other. And sometimes, that truly was an effort of supreme concentration.
Elboron stumbled and fell as his worn-boots sank into mud. He could barely so much as croak as he suddenly pitched forward into the rushing waters of a small stream. The shock of the cold water brought him around and he started to drink thirstily. It was no illusion. They had reached what had to be the stream that led to Henneth Annun.
Tearing himself away from his own seemingly-unquenchable thirst, he scooped up water and poured it over his friend's chapped lips. Eldarion did not rouse, but his mouth opened and welcomed in the cool drops. Elboron retrieved more, slowly pouring it into his friend's mouth. Eldarion swallowed convulsively...but did not wake.
Elboron rested there for an hour, making sure they both got plenty to drink during that time. Then, revitalized by the idea that his goal was in sight, he picked up the end of the pallet and started to drag it once more, paralleling the stream.
Henneth Annun was a sanctuary. They would be safe there until rescue came.
It took two miserable days to reach the place where the water cascaded down in crystal sheets to gather in a crystal pool. Faramir's fond descriptions of this place made it almost familiar to Elboron. He was easily able, therefore, to find the concealed path and the rough-hewn entrance to the place, but that was not his immediate goal.
Some spoke of the mythic properties of the pool here and while Elboron seldom put stock in anything he could not see or touch, he needed to believe. He brought his friend to the pool's edge and removed him from the pallet. Cradling Eldarion's head gently in his lap, he scooped cool, pure water from the pool and poured it over the Heir of Gondor's face, washing away the road-dirt and fever-sweat.
"Come on...please..." Elboron was too twisted up and worn down to keep his emotions in check. He blinked away tears that stung his eyes and kept gently laving his friend's face. "My lord, I beseech you....as your servant and faithful liegeman, awake," he murmured shakily, not even knowing where the words came from.
Eldarion coughed suddenly and his eyes fluttered open slowly. There was a moment before consciousness translated into lucidity, and then he stared up at Elboron for a little while. "Boro?" he asked faintly.
"Yes?" the Prince of Ithilien replied just as quietly.
"Why are you pouring water on me?" Eldarion asked with a weak smile.
Elboron choked back a sound that had far too many emotions wrapped up in it. "To wake your lazy bones up. I'm tired of hauling you around like a sack of turnips." His grin was a window to his utter delight and relief.
Eldarion was apparently in no hurry to move and Elboron did not have the heart to budge him. The Prince of Gondor licked his lips and blinked a few times. "Where are we?"
"Henneth Annun. We should be safe here." "Safe?" Eldarion asked meekly. Elboron had never seen his reckless friend so vulnerable.
Elboron nodded slowly, smoothing back the Gondorian prince's dark hair. "Yes...my lord. Safe."
No word had ever sounded so good to either young heir.
Elfwine snapped awake, certain this time he really had heard a sound. Fellfang, in a profound display of watchdog capabilities, remained sound asleep on his back. The Prince of the Mark drew his knife and started to look around warily.
It was early morning, a day after the incident with the orcs. They had moved camp about a mile backwards on the trail, a feat of willpower that Elfwine was incredibly proud of. Once settled, he had endeavored to stay awake, though that had turned out to be much harder than he might have figured. And every time he did doze off, he was awakened by what he was sure was the approach of prowling orcs.
It had never ended up being true.
There was a crack of a branch nearby. That settled it for him. He nudged Fellfang and struggled to get to his feet. The hound whined and rolled up to his feet, sniffing the air. He did not seem disturbed, but Elfwine knew that the orcs could be approaching from downwind.
A motion to his right brought him around and the death-grip he had on his knife slackened and he even smiled. It was Aldurn and the hunters.
"I thought I'd lost you," the Prince of the Mark told them casually, concealing his abundant relief at the sight of them.
Aldurn started to smile, but then he noticed how the young man was barely standing. He rushed over and helped support Elfwine before the lad fell over. "What happened?" he asked anxiously.
"Orcs set a trap. I hurt my leg..." Elfwine was a young man in the presence of veterans - he was determined to put on his best face.
Aldurn lowered the boy to the floor and pushed up the leg of Elfwine's trousers. His shin was an ugly purple. Aldurn frowned and gently probed at the wound and as much as Elfwine was trying to be stoic, that really hurt and he screamed.
"Fractured for sure," Aldurn murmured. "Agalon?" he called.
The huntmaster came over, looking more than a little haggard. "How is he?"
"His leg needs to be splinted and he needs to get home," Aldurn replied tersely.
Agalon nodded grimly and called over couple of his men. His eyes on Elfwine reflected a deep respect. "You did good, lad. We'll take it from here." From a man like Agalon, that amounted to gushing praise and the prince knew it.
Elfwine wanted to protest. He wanted to insist that he could go along, but that would be selfish and childish. He would only slow down Agalon and his men and Elboron and Eldarion could not afford the time. The heir of Rohan let out a small sigh. "Please find them."
"We will, Win. My oath on it." The way Aldurn said it made Elfwine secure that the search would go on as long as it would take.
And so the Prince of the Mark relented and accepted that his part in this adventure was done. It was now up to others to save his friends. He just hoped they were in time.
Elboron had rested and regathered himself for a while, but once he had Eldarion safely ensconced in the secure depths of Henneth Annun, he went out foraging. And for two days, he and his friend lived fairly well off the plentiful berries and edible roots around the former ranger hideout.
Eldarion beamed at him when he returned from one such excursion, the color having returned to his face. "I do fancy all this fetch-and-carry service," he approved as Elboron started cleaning off some of the roots in a bucket of water. Henneth Annun had supported Rangers for years and there were a number of supplies left behind.
"Oh, don't grow too accustomed, majesty," Elboron shot back. "I expect you to be returning the favor when you're better."
"Perhaps I can just grant you some land and a title, instead..."
"I sort of have both, if you'll recall."
"Well, yes, but not your own," Eldarion reasoned. "There are some rather nice parts of southern Gondor..."
Elboron threw a root at his head, grinning. "Southern Gondor is a wasteland, you swindler."
"Is it? My knowledge of geography is a bit...incomplete."
"Uh huh." Elboron popped a berry into his mouth and grinned. "What happened to 'Whisper' - daring ranger of the wide world?"
Eldarion laughed. "Fair enough. I still--" He paused and frowned.
"What?" Elboron fretted. His friend's hearing was much better than his own, and he knew Eldarion did not raise false alarms.
"Something is happening outside. A battle, I think."
Elboron frowned and went to investigate. A battle did not seem likely. There were only the occasional orc and a few deer in this part of the world. He treaded on bare feet (the boots were a total loss now) up to the opening of the cave and peered outward. His eyes went huge in shock.
About a dozen orcs lay dead or dying on the ground, as well as three wargs. Most of them were either filled with arrows or cloven so deeply as to make their bodies almost two pieces. That was a sight that almost caused Elboron's stomach to rebel - but he was too distracted by the amazing display before his eyes.
A short figure, but one who was almost as wide as he was tall, was planted in the midst of several infuriated orcs. He wielded a massive axe, and when no orc did offered itself up to be his next victim, he simply took a smaller axe from his belt and hurled it at one.
"Six!" he bellowed when the axe sundered an orc's head.
Two others fell as arrows went through one and into the other. They collapsed in twitching heaps. A clear, melodious voice rang out with a single word: "Nine!"
"Cheater! That was mine!" the raging axe-man snarled, cutting down another hapless orc. "Seven!"
"Which one?" the elegant voice asked. Another orc fell under a rain of arrows. "Ten." "The one on the right!" An orc head flew threw the air. "Eight!"
"Whose right?" the higher voice queried gamely. An orc who had attempted to escape, fell with an arrow in the eye. "Eleven."
"Mine!" The smaller figure cut an orc's legs out from under him and then finished him off. "Ten!"
"You were just at eight!"
"Are you calling me a liar, elf?"
"If the helmet fits, dwarf."
There was only one orc left and he seemed paralyzed. Fighting was a death-sentence, but so was running away. He eyed the squarish axe-wielder nervously and dropped his sword in a sign of surrender.
It was anyone's guess if the arrow or the axe felled that one, though both of the rescuers clearly had their own opinions.
Elboron watched them approach, gaping in awe. There was no way to not recognize them, of course. Gimli was a bit gray in the beard, but he moved as agilely as Elboron himself did. And appearing out of the trees was, of course, Legolas. The smiling elf was showing the signs of the fade that had come with the end of the elven rings - his beautiful face was now marred by a few lines and his complexion had lost the unearthly luster it had once held.
Both of them, however, were grinning like boys who had made off with fresh-made cherry-tarts. They approached Eldarion casually, as if they were all old friends having a chance meeting.
"You owe Aragorn five crowns," Legolas murmured to Gimli. He winked at Elboron companionably. "He doubted very much that orcs would have any more luck containing his son than he himself has had. Elboron, isn't it?"
Elboron nodded dumbly. "Eldarion's in the cave," he said stupidly. The sight of the legends had put his brain to sleep.
Legolas inclined his head regally and went to check on his friend's son. Gimli stood, cleaning his axe and watching Elboron measuringly. "Smart thinking, lad. We hoped that if you had escaped, you'd find your way here. I may not dislike trees as much as I once did, but running all over these woods looking for you had me pulling my beard, let me tell you."
Elboron grinned a little bit. "Thank you. I hoped... How did you get here so quickly?" The messenger to Aragorn could not have arrived that quickly, and even if Legolas and Gimli had been lounging about Minas Tirith...
Gimli gave him a look that was both indignant and wounded, somehow. "Well, I might not be as young as I once was, but when the son of a friend is in the hands of those foul creatures, you find you can run mostly forever."
Elboron's grin broadened. "A fact I am grateful for. Is his majesty taking care of a different band of orcs?" In Elboron's hero-worshipping mind, he saw the King of Gondor slaying a platoon of the monsters who had dared to lay a hand on his son. After all, where these two were, was Strider not also to be found?
Gimli shrugged a little. "Aragorn wanted to come with us, but after all the effort it took to put a King back on the throne, we all decided it was best that one of the line stay safe." At some point, apparently, Gimli had learned the rudiments of tact.
"Of course he did," Eldarion said as he emerged from the cave, supported by Legolas. His expression was inscrutable. "My father takes his duties very seriously."
Elboron sensed a well of hurt under those words, but this was not the time or place to address it. For now, they had to get back home and recover. Then they could talk - Elboron felt certain they had a great deal to talk about.
Eomer stared into the fire disconsolately, mulling over the news from Dol Amroth and brooding. Clearly, Elphir had taken leave of his senses - his anger with Eomer had tenuous grounds, perhaps, but transferring his ire to his brother? It defied reason.
Amrothos and Lothiriel were not in a better humor about it. Amrothos was still stinging from the rebuke and his sister was, of course, taking the side of her favorite brother. So it was a very tense meeting between the three of them.
"I will have to speak to Elessar," Eomer concluded. He hated having to drag his friend into a dispute, but it did not seem that he had any choice. This was no time for there to be rivalries between kingdoms of the west.
"I think that would not be a good idea," Amrothos told him. Eomer glanced sharply at him, shocked. "I've had time to think on this, on the road back, and I think that should be our very last option."
"Of course I trust your opinion, but why?" Eomer asked. The whole situation was straining Eomer's not-so-astounding mental acumen. He wanted it very much to be over. Arguing with irrational people made him want to break things.
"My dear, idiot brother is stubborn to the point of madness, as we are seeing. If his King demands that he stop being such a fool, Elphir will obey as much as he has to - but we will never see a thawing of relations with him. And he will do everything he can get away with to make our lives difficult."
Eomer swept a hand through his blond mane and counted backwards from ten. "I assume throttling him is not an option either..."
Amrothos smiled at him in understanding. "Satisfying, but no, I don't think that will help the situation any."
"What about Kiro" Lothiriel asked. "He's always been loyal to Elphir, but he has a good head on his shoulders."
"You're forgetting he was the one who reported back to Elphir in such a way that gave your oldest brother fits. I don't really think I trust Erchirion," Eomer remarked dubiously.
Amrothos and his sister exchanged a look. "He may be right, sister dear. Erchirion isn't stupid, but he tends to forgo thinking in favor of listening to Elphir."
Eomer gritted his teeth. He was beginning to think that he should go down there with a few eoreds and settle this issue the old-fashioned way. It would be altogether more satisfying bashing Elphir's head into a wall a few times, after all, than all these courtly games. "I should remind him he owes his life to my son."
Amrothos blinked and suddenly started to laugh. "Brilliant!"
"What?" Eomer replied testily.
"He's being clever, dear, best to just let him have his head." Lothiriel picked up her needlework and put on an air of serenity.
Amrothos was too busy exulting to take offense. He grinned and stood up, pacing languidly back and forth as he ordered his thoughts. "We can't compel Elphir and he has rejected me as an ambassador. But he has not closed the doors on all envoys from the Mark. And there are two he more or less has to listen to."
"Boro and Win," Eomer mused, thinking on it. "Of course, like as not the boys will spark a war between our kingdoms, but that could be fun too. My riders get fat if they don't have a fight every year or so," he joked.
"You might not want to be so eager to declare war on my homeland, dear," Lothiriel scolded him mildly.
"Apologies, dear."
Amrothos was still smiling. "Win is a bright boy and I can teach him what he needs to know to negotiate a peace. And if Boro and Dar are there, it will be sort of like an official envoy of the west without the daunting crowns and honor guards."
"Oh, there will be a sizable honor guard," Eomer countered.
"No, there won't. An eored should escort them, of course, but the eored should not enter the city. Elphir needs to be given an escape that does not look like he was muscled into giving up."
"I seem to be making a lot of compromises for a man who has insulted me so deeply," Eomer complained.
"Yes, but it will all be much better for us in the end. I'll head for Ithilien and start teaching Win what he needs to know. I'd say we should be ready by next spring. And by then, maybe Elphir will have calmed down some."
Eomer looked from his wife to his friend and then sighed heavily. "I suppose there isn't much choice." He was not at all pleased by the solution, but he was also desperate to end this feud. The Knights of Dol Amroth were critical to the safety of the West.
Sometimes, a King had to do what is best, not what he prefers.
Agalon's party met up with Legolas, Gimli, Elboron and Eldarion and as a group, they made their way back to Minas Ithil. Eldarion and Elfwine were properly tended and all three boys ate ravenously until their bellies were almost distended.
Tension that had gripped the city slowly eased. With the weather turning decidedly chill, the citizens of Minas Ithil turned their attention to the task of preparing for winter. Their Prince, however, was not quite ready to relax. He sent out scouts into the wide forest to find the rest of the orcs and the strange troll the boys had spoken of.
With Elfwine more or less immobile (a fact he endured stoically once Faramir brought him a pile of rare books to read) Elboron and Eldarion were more or less left to keep each other entertained. So, once the Gondorian Prince's whinging got him out from under Eowyn's watchful eye, the two set out exploring the city.
"It's odd, really," Eldarion commented as he looked around the wide avenues. "Minas Tirith is a fortress first and foremost - the entire city is designed to fend off attackers and the people just sort of had to make homes where they could. But this is more...open." He grinned at his friend. "I think I prefer it."
"Really? I kind of miss Rohan, myself. I guess for the same reasons. I don't like being behind walls." Elboron chattered aimlessly, telling his friend a little of the city's history, about the building projects that had been completed as well as the ones still underway.
Eldarion listened without his characteristic eye-rolling. He was, in fact, quite bemused by the stories. When Elboron paused, Eldarion smiled at him. "And here you made us all think you never learn anything."
Elboron colored. "My father has been telling me stories and...I tend to listen to him."
Eldarion laughed a little. "Perhaps you can teach me the trick of that. I think it would astound and amaze my father if I were able to repeat anything he tells me."
Remembering his friend's expression at finding his father had not come to save him, Elboron moved a little closer, nudging him in the shoulder. "I think your father is pretty amazed by you already."
Eldarion shrugged it off and started walking again. "Amazed, perhaps, at my ability to get myself into trouble. I'm surprised he has not sent someone to fetch me after this latest mess..."
Elboron felt a stab of fear and something close to pain at the idea of Eldarion being summoned home. "I'd go with you," he blurted.
The Prince of Gondor started and then grinned a little more. "My faithful liegeman?" Oddly, there was no sarcasm in the words.
Elboron colored a little again and shrugged. "You...I didn't think you were awake when I said that."
"Said what?"
"Oh! You didn't...? Never mind." Elboron went through a gate and into a wide, public park.
Eldarion eyed his back as he followed, frowning, pondering, fretting. "No...what?" There was a little authority in his tone now.
Elboron stopped and looked back at him. "When I was trying to wake you...I called you my lord and said I was your faithful liegeman. I thought that's what you were talking about."
Now it was Eldarion's turn to grow red. He shifted from foot to foot, not really sure how to face the fact that someone he was very much in awe of being so utterly subordinate to him. "Oh."
"It's true, you know," Elboron said, almost pugnaciously. For some reason, he felt he had to bluster to keep himself steady. "I would follow you anywhere."
Somehow, Eldarion managed to become a darker shade of red. "What you did..."
"Don't..."
"No." Eldarion looked him right in the eye, a wealth of unfamiliar (and uncomfortable) emotions reflected in that gaze. "What you did was extraordinary. I owe you my life."
Elboron turned from the gaze, his own emotions a but difficult to pin down. "I only did what anyone would do," he evaded.
The Prince of Gondor stepped over to him, his gaze unwavering. "Anyone may well have tried, but you actually did it. I can't imagine where you found the strength, Boro." Though, on some level, he thinks he actually can.
Ithilien's heir shrugged uneasily. They were treading on ground he was not familiar with and was not, truly, quite ready to handle. He met that piercing gaze for only a moment before averting his eyes once more. "I would not have left you," he said simply. "You are my liege, Dar."
Eldarion smiled at that, his whole expression softening. For a moment, he looked much more the Prince and much less the reckless youth. "Yes, I know. And you are my man."
Elboron felt a peculiar roaring in his ears at those words and his heart started to hammer in his chest. "Yes," he agreed faintly.
The Prince of Gondor almost let it go at that. He was already so far out on a limb that he was sure there were only leaves under one foot. But he was compelled to be brave, inspired perhaps, by the courage his friend had shown in saving him. "But it was not only that which gave you the strength to save me, was it?" He reaches out impulsively and takes one of Elboron's broad hands in his own slender one.
Elboron stared down at their joined hands, struck stupid by it for a moment. It was not unpleasant - not by a mile. In fact, his friend's narrow hand seemed to fit rather nicely with Elboron's awkwardly-huge grasp. It felt...right...and it sent the oddest tingle all through the Prince of Ithilien's nerves. "I...suppose not."
The connection was tenuous, but it was there and they both felt it - like two puzzle-pieces snapping together. Eldarion smiled broadly, grinning like an idiot. He led his friend over to a bench and sat with him, their fingers still intertwined. Elboron did not resist or even say anything.
For once, the two boys were content to just sit side by side, unspeaking. They had crossed a bridge and both of them were trying to process what, exactly, it all meant.