AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have stuck to canon as much as I possibly can, but there are certain things I have changed for story purposes. Imrahil is alive, but he is out on the sea, fighting corsairs. Elphir rules Dol Amroth. Ithilien is rulled from Minas Ithil for now. This chapter will bring about another change.
ADDENDUM: I am not throwing anyone a curve. This story is not swinging towards romance. Falling in love is part of growing up and ignoring that would be impossible. If you don't like it, skip ahead a page.
Chapter 15
Year 16 & 17
Amrothos arrived in Minas Ithil just ahead of the first serious storm of the season. He spoke at some length with Lord Faramir and then went to find the boys - all three of whom were overjoyed to see him. By nightfall, an impromptu sort of welcome feast was underway - mostly an excuse to fraternize and drink.
At Amrothos' request, a messenger went out the next day, riding hard for Dol Amroth. The letter he carried was for Alphros, though it was written in such a way that Elphir could read it without suspecting anything untoward. It was, essentially, an invitation for the heir of Dol Amroth to come to Minas Ithil to finish his education.
The verbal message that the trusted courier carried was from Amrothos himself to his nephew - and that message contained a fond wish from his uncle to see him in Minas Ithil as soon as possible. Amrothos was worried about the boy, after all, and this was the best opportunity he would have to look after him. Additionally, Alphros could give them an update on Elphir's mood.
It was midnight and the feast did not display any signs of slowing down. Partly because the storm had begun outside and no one was anxious to make their way home. Eldarion vanished - almost literally. One minute he had been going on in great detail to a drunken soldier about the size of the troll they had seen and the next, he had simply not been there.
Elfwine was about to ask Elboron about it, but his friend was already moving, heading for the door - presumably in search of the Gondorian prince. Something had happened between the two that Elfwine was not privy to. And it was a bit hurtful to be excluded, but he refused to let himself go down that road. When they were ready to talk to him about it, they would do so.
Amrothos slipped into the chair beside Elfwine and grinned at him. "So, I hear your penchant for getting into trouble remains as sharp as ever."
Elfwine rolled his eyes and shrugged a little. "I think trouble finds me, honestly, uncle. Or Boro and Dar. And, well, once it finds one of us..." He left it hanging.
"I don't recall having that problem in my youth - but then, I was both lazy and self-indulgent." He shrugged easily. "We have something fairly serious to talk about, Win. You awake enough to listen?"
"I stay up nights reading, uncle, and sleep late." Elfwine nodded to his uncle, worried now. He had wondered why his uncle had shown up here so soon after the little debacle with the orcs and now the prince's mind was awhirl with possibilities. Was his father worried Win was not looking after Eldarion closely enough? Or had the pilfering of the scroll out of Eomer's chambers been discovered?
"My brother, Elphir, seems to have liberated himself from reason," Amrothos told him, getting straight to the point. "You recall the business in Harad where his son was hurt?"
"Yes, uncle." Now Elfwine was completely confused. What did Elphir and his moods have to do with him?
"Well, Elphir has taken the incident as a personal affront. He has broken his friendship with Eomer and indicated that he won't help the Mark if it comes to it. And, incidentally, he banished me." "What? Why?"
"I have to suspect he has been wanting to for a very long time. I tend to wear on his nerves. That is a minor thing, though. Your father cannot afford to let Elphir sulk for however long my brother intends to keep this up."
"I don't understand this, uncle. Why does Uncle Elphir think this is my father's fault?" Sometimes adults were impossible to fathom.
"He has his reasons - which really only qualify as reasons in his own head. It does not really matter. What matters is putting an end to this before it gets any further off its tether." "I'm almost afraid to ask," Elfwine murmured, eying his uncle worriedly. "What does this have to do with me?"
Amrothos gave him an understanding smile. "You've been named special envoy to Dol Amroth, lad. Congratulations."
Elfwine winced. That did not sound like the sort of duty anyone should have to face, but he assumed there was a terribly good reason for it - better than simple revenge for all the grey hairs he had given his father. "Why me?"
"I suppose I could flatter you shamelessly by telling you that your father and I are overwhelmed with your good sense and wisdom, and while that is part if it, there is a more basic reason for it. Elphir owes you his life."
Elfwine nodded slowly, feeling the uncomfortable weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. While he himself was in no hurry to grow up, the world apparently could not be so patient. "I...I mean, of course I'll try, but if he wouldn't listen to you..."
Amrothos patted him on the back. "Never fear, lad, we'll arm you with all the fancy words and false platitudes any good ambassador needs to have. And as for listening to you, he more or less has to. His honor will demand it. He won't like it, but he'll do it."
"I don't know that I'm excited about turning him against me, Uncle."
Amrothos gave him a sympathetic look. "It won't be as bad as all that. Elphir may be a bit off course right now, but he is still a man of honor. By sending you, we save him from having to back down under force of arms or by order of the King. He'll see that and, once he is done sulking, he'll be grateful."
"I've seen the dungeons beneath the palace, Uncle. I'm not anxious to revisit them," Elfwine replied dubiously. Obviously, he would do his father's bidding, but this did not seem like an exceedingly solid plan. "Won't he be insulted that a beardless boy is telling him to stand down?"
Amrothos laughed out loud. "I imagine he would, so we'll avoid 'telling' my brother he must do any particular thing. In the world of diplomacy, we prefer to merely 'suggest' - strongly, at times, but rarely more than that."
"Oh," Elfwine replied, embarrassed by his foible. "You see? I haven't even started and I'm already making mistakes."
"That's called learning," Amrothos assured him kindly. "In all seriousness, Win, I know you can do this. I'd have more doubts about your friends, to be honest - and I'd ask you to not repeat that - but you managed affairs in the Mark remarkably well. With a little training, you can put out this fire and save your father from an enormous headache."
Elfwine felt his sense of responsibility weld the shackles around his ankles - he was going to do this despite any of his doubts and fears. "Of course I will, Uncle. But if I get tossed in a cell, I expect a very swift rescue." He grinned as he said the last, assuring his uncle he was not truly afraid.
After all, Elphir was no scarier than a pack of orcs.
Elboron asked a few guards and servants and in that manner managed to track his friend's movements through the keep and out into the driving rain. That utterly baffled Elboron, but then, Eldarion was a bit on the strange side. Donning a cloak, he made his wait out into streets only occasionally lit by a flash of lightning.
The storm was raging so hard it was impossible to even walk in a straight line, and he knew he outweighed Eldarion by a good three stones. By rights, he should find the daft prince plastered against the side of a building.
Not sure why he was bothering - after all, Eldarion was completely safe within Minas Ithil - Elboron nonetheless plodded on through the wet and the cold. Fortunately for him, his friend was moving down a single avenue, and when the skies lit up, he could make out his silhouette.
"Elf blood's unhinged his mind," Elboron grumbled, pulling his cloak tighter.
No one was about but them. The citizens of Minas Ithil knew better than to venture out into a storm this intense. The only thing to be done was to lock the doors and shutter the windows and wait it out. Even the patrols of the city's guards were limited and perfunctory.
Another flash showed his friend up on the walls and Elboron sighed. The prince of Gondor was apparently eager to get himself blown right over the city walls. Cursing inventively, Elboron carefully mounted the rain-slick steps and made it up to the wall. The absolute dark caused by the storm had turned everything beyond the wall into an endless see of black.
A hand fell on Elboron's shoulder and he turned just as a flicker of light illuminated the ecstatic features of his friend. "Isn't the storm glorious?" he shouted.
Elboron shook his head. "What are you doing out here?" A peal of thunder boomed overhead.
"What?"
"Why did you come out here?" Elboron demanded. He was sodden and cold and he really hoped his friend had a good answer for all this.
"Why?" Eldarion laughed, as if the question were just that absurd. "Feel it, Boro! Feel the thunder rumble through your bones."
"I can't feel anything, you loon." Elboron had no idea why he was grinning so broadly, unless it was that Eldarion's madness was catching. "I'm frozen through."
"Nonsense!" Eldarion rather mischievously peeled his friend's cloak off and tossed it over the wall, laughing delightedly.
"Hey!" Elboron shivered and glowered at Eldarion. It was time to throw his friend over his shoulder and haul him back to the warmth of the castle before they both caught their deaths.
But just then there was another flash of lightning and not only the sky glowed - Eldarion himself seemed to glow. Elboron was awed by the sight of it, and suddenly the cold did not seem to touch him. The thunder that followed hard upon...it shook the ground, echoed up through his bones and set his chilled skin to tingling. His eyes went wide.
Eldarion giggled and slipped his arms around the stunned young man's neck. There was a slight height difference between them, but it was not terribly significant. The prince of Gondor's eyes seemed to sparkle, even in the dark. Elboron was definitely no longer cold - rather the opposite, actually.
"Um..." The heir of Ithilien was looking a bit spooked.
Eldarion leaned in, nose to nose with his friend. He was almost vibrating, so charged by the storm was he. The Gondorian prince felt wild and free and ever bit as reckless as he was reputed to be. And in the midst of those crazy thoughts was the complete certainty that if he leaped into the unknown, Elboron would catch him.
The Gondorian Prince was surprised, though, when it was Elboron who moved the last couple of inches closer, pressing their frozen lips together. There was another flash of light and a clap of thunder and they were still locked in that embrace. Neither had the faintest idea what they were doing, but that hardly mattered. It was, for them, better than any dream or wish they had ever had.
The storm raged around them, but neither of them felt it upon them any longer.
.
The storm blew itself out in a few days and preparations continued for the long chill of winter. Firewood aplenty needed to be set aside, meat needed to be cured and house walls needed to be resealed to keep out the wind. It was a yearly event, so the city went about it with tremendous efficiency.
Faramir barely had to give any orders or settle any disputes. He was grateful, really, that his people were not as boisterous as the Rohirrim. If he had to constantly put down brawls in his streets, he was sure it would drive him insane. As a rule, Ithiliens settled things in an orderly way.
Faramir was thus able to spend more time on his personal affairs - such as his studies and his family. Though, of late, it had been somewhat difficult to so much as locate Elboron, and when he did, getting his attention had proved near impossible.
He mused on this as he walked into the chamber he shared with his wife. Something odd was afoot. Faramir paused and just watched her for a moment - she was facing away and brushing her glorious blonde hair and he rarely saw it out of its braids anymore. He doubted she knew it, but he often found himself just watching her and thanking the stars that she had consented to be his wife.
As she set the brush down, he resumed his approach. "Evening, beloved," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.
"Well, hello," she replied with a bright smile. She, too, had been a bit odd of late. He doubted it was coincidence, but he still could not fathom what was occurring with his family.
"I was starting to think that smile of yours had gone into the west," he told her with a little grin.
Eowyn laughed and turned to look up at him. "Hardly. But it has been a very stressful year, has it not?"
He took a seat beside her and reached out to touch her hand. "And more. For which I am sorry."
Eowyn waved her hand dismissively as she often did when talking about her worries and fears. "Not entirely your fault."
Faramir smiled and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "There is a peculiar malaise afflicting my family. First my son goes starry-eyed and starts running into walls and then my wife starts to smile for no obvious reason. I wonder when I might catch this pleasant ailment..."
Eowyn arched an eyebrow and then gracefully moved from her seat to his lap. "You might catch it very easily. I was just assuming you would figure it out on your own, as obvious as the boy is being about it."
"I have the unfortunate habit of missing important things," he remarked to her.
Eowyn stroked her husband's cheek and looked happily into his eyes. "Our son is in love."
Faramir blinked, not quite sure he had heard right. However, now that it was put in front of his face, all the signs surely fit. "Isn't he a might bit young?"
Eowyn laughed. "Young love is the best, dearest. Didn't you have a sweetheart when you were his age?" She thought of Theodred, briefly, and the infatuation that had consumed two years of her life. The pain of his death did not diminish the brightness or sweetness of those two years. Even if Theodred had not returned her affection, just having those feelings had been wonderful.
Faramir laughed a little, relaxing. He had, of course, had such an experience. But he was not about to bring that up now. "And who is the lucky person?" he asked.
Eowyn's laughter was like the ringing of silver bells. "Oh my dear, blind husband. Have you not noticed similar strange behavior from another of our charges?"
Faramir gave her a forlorn, apologetic look. "I think perhaps I have been paying too much attention to my books. Help me, please?"
"Eldarion, beloved."
Faramir stared at her and then...just smiled. There was nothing in his mind to worry about and he was, truly, very happy for his son. What parent would not want their child to be happy? "I suppose I should talk to him about some things..." It was, he realized, past time for that discussion.
"You could, if you want to embarrass your son to incapacity and make him self-conscious," she replied, eyes sparkling.
Faramir worried at his lower lip. "Then what should I do?" He very much felt that he should say or do something.
"Let him come to you, dear heart. When he is ready, he knows who he can go to for advice and...explanations."
Faramir laughed a little, remembering when he had badgered Boromir into explaining all those interesting facts to him. While he, the scholar, had been raptly fascinated, his brave, stolid brother had been a squirming, stammering mess of fourteen-year-old nerves.
"Well... Then I suppose I'll do just that." Faramir ducked in for a kiss, fingers trailing along her throat. "Might I entreat my wife to join me in bed?"
Eowyn lowered her lashes and smiled demurely. "Why yes, my lord, I think you might succeed in that..."
As the storms worsened to an icy sleet, one more visitor came to Minas Ithil - a very sodden, very weary Prince of Dol Amroth. Alphros was greeted warmly by his uncle, by his hosts and by a very excited Elboron and Elfwine, who had been much anticipating his visit.
Winter in Ithilien proved to be a much colder and much more violently stormy season than it had been in Rohan. Happily, the keep had stout walls and warm blankets and so they were not made to suffer, really.
To while away the winter nights, they had Legolas and Gimli to tell them tales of their adventures. The two had not made any significant efforts to leave Minas Ithil before winter, and once the storms hit, Faramir certainly wasn't about to evict them. Despite the fact that Gimli appeared bent on draining his host's beer stores.
With Amrothos in the keep, there was absolutely no escaping lessons for the entire bitter season, and while the boys did not appreciate it (with the exception of Elfwine, of course) they did learn a great many useful things about how the world had come to be the way it was and how the modern kingdoms of men interacted with each other.
To keep them from growing restless, Erkenbrand worked them extra hard, but none of them objected to this at all. They had each been in fights for their lives and they wanted to be ready the next time it happened.
Elfwine, also, spent a lot of time closeted with his Dol Amrothian kinsmen, learning how best to ply Elphir and bring the Prince back to the path of reason. It was quite mentally taxing and even his thirst for knowledge wasn't enough to make him really enthusiastic about the task. He would rather be with his friends, raiding the kitchens or whatever mischief they were up to.
Elfwine was aware that there was a bond between them that he was not included in, and that every day that bond grew tighter. There was something between his friends that he was simply not a part of, and for the first time since they had all come together, he felt like he was not completely one of them.
And yet...in many ways, things had not changed. They were still close, they still spent hours talking and joking and laughing and, though they were really getting a bit too big for it, they all still piled into one bed. Something fundamental had changed in their friendship, but the bonds of love and brotherhood had not faded.
The deathly chill of winter gave way to the more forgiving climes of spring, conveniently just as the winter stores were almost gone. Ithiliens were remarkably skilled at stocking and rationing their larders. Never too much, never too little. When one had to hunt or harvest one's meals, one tended to avoid waste.
Agalon and his hunters went out and the boys were invited along - with numerous admonishments placed upon them. There was little to fear - none of the three were eager to repeat the misery of the past year. Adventures seemed grand things, but pain and starvation took the shine right off of them.
Each of them brought down game over the course of several hunts - Elboron taking the biggest prize of any of them; a huge stag with a daunting rack of antlers. The antlers were, of course, mounted and displayed proudly in the main hall - but not before a piece had been removed by Ithilien's heir.
A few weeks later it was noted that Eldarion was sporting an exquisite knife, the hilt artfully crafted from just such a stag's horn.
Early that spring, the Lady Eowyn gave birth to her second son. She and Faramir named the babe Barahir and even as a newborn, his strength was noted. The father was exceedingly proud.
Elboron reacted with vast uncertainty. Children were all well and good, but he was not really sure what to do with them. When they pressed the babe into his arms, he looked much on the verge of panic. A while later, though, he and Eldarion were found doting on the happy child.
Legolas and Gimli, who had apparently stationed themselves at Ithilien for the time being in hopes of encountering more orcs, took to ranging out to the north for days at a time. For Legolas, the woods were a welcome haven. For Gimli, it was somewhat akin to climbing into a dragon's mouth.
In mid-spring, the two reported spotting numerous large scouting parties, and that was what brought an end to the boys' hunting expeditions. They were not confined to the city, thankfully, but the forest was deemed too dangerous for them.
It was Eldarion who proposed the idea of climbing the Winding Stair.
"It's perfectly safe," Eldarion said by way of response to their startled looks. "Boro tells me his father has a watchtower up there. We'd get to see the spider's lair, Win, and the place the hobbits crossed into Mordor..."
The Gondorian prince sure did know how to pique his Rohirrim friend's interest. Elboron had no objection aside from the insanely long climb. He looked pitifully at Eldarion. "Could we do it some other day?"
Eldarion laughed and shoved Elboron a little. "You mean a day when you're less lazy? I don't know that day will ever come."
Elboron made a face and lounged back in his chair. "I suppose it is a way to escape that lecture on the construction of Osgiliath..."
"There you are!" Eldarion approved. "Shall we then?"
Aldurn reacted with a long-suffering look and little else. So, with packs and supplies and word left with Faramir, the three boys and their much put-upon protector made for the legendary stair.
It had been worked on over the years, as it was a passage used by the guards heading to and from their duty stations as well as the workers who brought supplies up to the tower. So the steps were more sturdy, mortar shoring up cracks and crumbling portions. And there was a length of rope that was secured at the top and threaded through rings in metal spikes that were driven into the stone. This provided an easier means to make it up some of the steeper portions of the climb.
Eldarion was easily faster than any of the others, taking the stairs two and three at a time and showing no sign of tiring. Aldurn, by sharp contrast, was trailing further to the rear than perhaps was prudent for a bodyguard - not that they expected trouble. So Elfwine found himself trudging along side by side with Elboron and it brought him back to the times it had been just the two of them.
"How's the leg, Win?" Elboron asked, helping his friend up a particularly tall step. Of the three of them, Elboron was currently the tallest and the strongest. It was a fact he often lorded over them.
Elfwine shrugged and adjusted his pack. "It aches a bit now and then."
"Did I ever thank you for coming after us?"
"I...probably..." Elfwine knew his friend had not, but Elboron had been much distracted lately and Elfwine had been very busy.
"Win..."
"It's not terribly important, Boro."
Elboron smirked at him. "Don't try to throw up walls in front of me, Win. I know you a bit too well, eh?"
Elfwine nodded, feeling sheepish. "You didn't, but it's fine. I know you're grateful. I know you pretty well too, eh?" His grin was as boyish as ever.
Elboron laughed and nodded. "Well, thank you anyway. I think you might be more reckless than Dar for pulling a stunt like that, but it means a lot to us both that you would risk that much."
"Well, I could hardly let you hog all the peril for yourselves, could I?"
"I suppose not," Elboron conceded.
The heir of Ithilien's gaze drifted to Eldarion, his expression shifting to something Elfwine had never seen on his friend's face before. When the Gondorian Prince half-stumbled, Elboron leaned forward and his hand came up, as if he could catch the young man at this distance. The moment passed as Eldarion righted himself, but it was not lost on Elfwine.
The prince of the Mark eyed his companion as they labored up the stone steps, suspicions forming and understanding beginning to trickle over him. "Is there...is there something between you two?"
Elboron coughed, laughed, blushed and shrugged in quick succession. "Ah..." It was not that he had any shame over whatever it was he shared with Eldarion, it was more that he had no idea what it was, exactly.
Elfwine grinned at him, elated. He actually felt a lot better. The fear had been that he had been excluded from something because his friends were distancing themselves from their cautious, bookish companion. Now that he knew what he was shut out from was something he could not be a part of at all, he felt a weight lift from him. "Go on, out with it. Don't make me dangle you over the edge here to get it out of you."
Elboron gave him a look that told him he was free to try - but that the attempt might prove hazardous. He did, however, relent. Because he had been dying to tell someone. "We...well, we kind of think we might have...some feelings." He still does not quite know how to put names to the things going on in his head and his heart.
"That sounds pretty kind of not really certain," Elfwine teased, punching him in the arm.
Elboron stammered a little more. "Well...it's not something I know a lot about. But...I care about him and I feel kind of sick in a good way when I'm alone with him..."
Elfwine clapped him on the shoulder. "And how does he feel?"
"You know Dar - he doesn't take a whole lot seriously and he thinks even less than I do, so for him, it's all about the moment. I think. Which...I sort of like." He gave Elfwine a nervous look. "Is it like that at all with you and Magda?"
"Well, I hardly got to spend any time with her, but..." Elfwine blushed and grinned. "It was more or less exactly like that."
The two of them built onto the foundations of their friendship with this sort of talk as they made their way up, finding new common ground and drawing close once again. It made the arduous climb pass much easier. When they at last reached the top, most of their secrets and hidden thoughts had been exchanged - which made an odd moment for Eldarion, for both of them started giggling when they finally caught up with him.
The heir of Gondor loftily ignored them.
To their immense disappointment, the entrance to the spider's lair had been blocked by a massive stack of boulders. While everyone was fairly certain Shelob was dead, no one felt it was necessary to take unnecessary chances. After a brief rest, the group pressed on, heading up the winding path that lead over the lair and up to the peak where the watchtower was.
Eldarion stopped them, though, just as the tower came into view. His nostrils flared as he smelled the breeze wafting over them. His friends grew serious and they gathered around him in a show of unity.
"What is it?" Elboron asked in a whisper.
"Blood," Eldarion replied grimly.
The Gondorian prince picked his way along the path a few dozen paces, his friends close behind him. Following his senses, he veered off the path and picked his way through the thick underbrush. His keen gaze swept over the ground, seeking and searching intently.
Elboron and Elfwine, meanwhile, kept a keen lookout for orcs. They would not be so foolish as to get mixed up with the foul kind again if they could help it. They had already pushed their luck as far as sanity and youthful exuberance would take them. Prudence was something they were beginning to appreciate.
Eldarion stopped and knelt beside the body of an Ithilien soldier. There were ugly black arrows imbedded in his back. "Orcs," Eldarion murmured.
Aldurn looked the man over and then turned his gaze to the tower uneasily. "He hasn't been dead long. Boro, if there was an attack at the tower, even unsuccessful, what would the soldiers there do?"
"Light a signal fire and send a runner down to the city," the Ithilien prince responded, already reaching the conclusion Aldurn hinted at.
"And if they took the tower, the only reason would be so they can attack the city," Elfwine added.
As one, the three youths and their protector turned and made for the stairs. Eldarion lead them through the underbrush, paralleling the trail, just in case there were prying eyes in the tower. Of course this was all guesswork, but their guesses had usually been right before. And it was better to put the city on alert than have a tragedy.
Descending is always faster than ascending, and the little group had need for haste. They dropped their packs to lighten the load and then made their way down as fast as they safely could. Along the way, Elboron made some very difficult but very important decisions.
This was the moment his father had been training him for.
They reached the city as dawn started to creep over the land. They were all exhausted and cut and scraped from their panicked descent, but none of that mattered. Elboron shouted for the captain of the watch, and no one saw a half-grown prince when he did so. They saw the son of the leader of their people.
"Bring me two fresh horses, saddled and packed with supplies enough for one rider for two days," Elboron told another soldier, who obeyed without question. He had always wondered why anyone would listen to him. Now that he needed them to, he did not even pause to see if they were following his orders. He just expected them to. "Aldurn, go to my father. Tell him the city is going to be under attack by the end of the day."
There was no point in qualifying his statements - his father had taught him that a leader just has to risk being wrong. It saved lives.
Aldurn nodded and ran off for the palace. Elboron turned to his two friends, his expression more intense than they had every seen. "I know it in my gut," he told them seriously.
They nodded as one. Trust between them was as natural as breathing. "What do you need us to do?" Elfwine asked.
Elboron gave them a grateful smile. "Win, I need you to go to each of the garrison captains and tell them I'm calling them to arms. You're the fastest runner in this city and you know it as well as I do."
His friend nodded and took off. The soldier returned with the two horses he had been ordered to fetch. Elboron looked to Eldarion gravely. His friend was looking like he was already prepared to balk. "I need you to do this for me, Dar. No one can catch you on a horse and I have a feeling in even an hour it will be too late to send for help. Get to your father." "My place is with you," Eldarion replied fiercely.
Elboron hated to do what he was about to do, but he had little choice. "I saved your life, my friend. Now I need you to save mine - and that of my people. Please..."
Eldarion could not refuse a demand on his honor, of course, but even harder to deny would be that desperate note in Elboron's voice. He hugged his friend and kissed his cheek. "I'll be back soon."
"I know," Elboron replied certainly. Then he stepped back and watched as his friend leaped into the saddle of one of the horses. They exchanged a brief but heartfelt look and then he was gone.
Elboron turned to find the captain of the watch approaching, looking harried and confused. "Seal the gates, captain, and get all your men on duty. The watchtower has fallen. The orcs have come to take their city back."
Faramir read over the report despondently then crumpled it up and threw it in the fire. The orcs had indeed come pouring down from the mountain, and Faramir's archers had been waiting for them. He had hoped they could choke the narrow pass with bodies and delay the approach of the army, but his archers had only lasted until nightfall. The raiding parties in the forest had gathered into a cohesive unit and had taken his men by surprise.
Agalon and two hundred of Ithilien's best archers had been lost.
"Father?"
Night was rapidly fading, giving way to the earliest hours of morning. They had lasted a day, but things had barely begun. Faramir was here in the council chamber with Beregond and a few of the city's guard captains and his son. Elboron was here because he had earned his place - and Faramir had told him so. His son had proven himself worthy of all his father's faith in him. Because of Eldarion, Ithilien had a chance.
"Agalon and his men were overwhelmed." Faramir looked around at his loyal men, his grave expression reflecting only determination. "We don't yet know the size of the force we face, but we do know we have strong walls and good swords. And thanks to my son, King Elessar will know of this attack by now. We need hold only until tomorrow morning at most. Let's not throw everything at them yet, lads. I learned my lesson in Osgiliath - hold something back for the final fight. Make sure your men rest in shifts and keep a sharp eye out for shirkers. I'll have more orders when I know more about the enemy."
They saluted and made their exit, filing out of the room silently. Only Elboron stayed - he was reluctant to part from his father's side. Faramir smiled fondly at him. "You need to get some rest yourself, lad."
Elboron shrugged and shook his head. "I don't think I can. I'm all wound up..."
Faramir put a hand on his son's shoulder, gripping it firmly. "You learn to get rest where and when you can, lad. And you'll be grateful for it later, believe me." His gaze became sober once more. "I want to tell you again, Boro, how proud of you I am. This city owes you a great debt."
Elboron managed a smile. "I had a great teacher."
Faramir laughed softly and tugged on one of Elboron's braids. "Go get something to eat and try to rest. I'll need you later."
The knowledge that his father was actually entrusting him with responsibility made Elboron almost giddy and it showed. He nodded to his father, murmuring a "yes sir" and then making his exit.
Faramir watched him go, his heart swelling with pride. For a few months, he had been weighed down by doubts over his son's ability to bear up under the responsibility of command. He loved his son deeply, but there seemed to be a part of Elboron that defied growing up. And much as he wanted to let Elboron take shelter in boyhood for many years, he had known the time for that was gone.
Faramir had finally ferreted out the meaning and purpose of his prophetic dream about Elboron. It had had, in fact, nothing to do with the danger Elboron was in or even the orcs surrounding him. It was a minor detail that held the key - and how Faramir hated to admit it had been his father who had taught him to examine every detail of the dreams.
Faramir reached down to touch the hilt of his sword - the sword of the Ithilien Prince. It had been a gift from Elessar as part of the office, intended to pass from father to son on the death of the elder, as such traditions went.
In his dream, he had seen his youthful, unbearded son wielding that sword.
It was actually disturbing the patience with which the orcs arranged themselves before the city. A few dozen paid the toll for finding out how long the range was of the Ithilien archers atop the walls. But then the creatures just drew back out of range and waited while their numbers grew.
And grew.
Thousands of orcs crowded the field before the city, cutting down trees to make a gargantuan battering ram and clear a path for their approach.. The people of Ithilien could only look on in dismay as the army prepared to lay waste to all they had built. Fear and more than a little rage permeated the city - the Ithiliens were not giving up their home without a fight.
Last to arrive was the troll Elboron and Eldarion had reported on. He came to the field in grand style; on a great iron throne resting upon a massive wooden platform that was, in turn, resting on huge wooden wheels. It was pulled along by a platoon of Uruk-Hai, all of them straining under the weight.
The arrival of the troll signaled the beginning of the conflict. The orcs brought forth their catapults and let trolls load them with huge boulders brought from the mountains. These giant rocks were then sent hurtling at the walls, crashing into them again and again, scattering the defenders.
The Ithiliens responded with a barrage of their own, though their catapults lobbed much smaller boulders. The accuracy with which they were utilized, though, more than made up for the difference.
Armored trolls went after the gate with the battering ram, and nothing the archers did was able to hinder them. Minas Ithil had been built to be the first line of defense if there was ever to be war again in the West, but no one had ever expected to see a force this large or this well organized.
Faramir quickly accepted that he could not hold the walls. He instead took to the streets and started organizing his soldiers into smaller squads. They knew the city and knew where the places for ambush were, where the most defensible positions were. It was not a plan he favored, but it was what was left to him. They would have to fight the orcs in the streets and hope to save as many people as possible while waiting for relief.
It was Osgiliath all over again, he realized with a sickening turn of his stomach. Only this time, there were women and children in danger.
They were in the center of the city when they heard the gates sunder. Faramir turned to his squad; Elboron, Elfwine, Beregond, Bergil, Aldurn, Erkenbrand and a half dozen soldiers. There was no more question about seeing to the safety of the princes. They were men, now, Marshalls of Gondor. They had a duty to fulfill and he would not demean them by keeping them from it.
"Let's go, men," he ordered and led them off to waylay the invaders.
The excitement had worn off and now there was really only horror. Elboron had lost track of all the orcs he had killed - and all the townsfolk he had seen grotesquely murdered. In fact, the sickening images from this day alone made him sure he never wanted to be in a battle again.
He stayed close to Elfwine, and the two created a fairly daunting pair to face. Elfwine was quicker and more accurate, but Elboron had power. Aside from some minor cuts, the two had escaped major injury.
They had been fighting for hours, and there did not seem any end in sight. Elboron understood now what his father had been referring to about rest - he was wishing profoundly that he had gotten more when he had had the chance.
Of a sudden, there was a deep, chilling roar and then a sickening crunch. The mangled corpse of a soldier landed at Elboron's feet with a nauseating splat. He looked down and then looked up, paling at the shadow falling over them.
The leader of this army, the troll with the uncommon intelligence, loomed over them with an awful sneer. He wore armor that was a series of plates held together by heavy chain - providing both protection and mobility. Both his axe and his hammer were dripping with gore.
Faramir was not as paralyzed as his son. He shouted at his archers to take the creature down, but that proved futile. The monster moved too fast for the arrows to reach the tiny openings in the armor plating that covered vulnerable spots. And then a sweep of that hammer wiped out most of the bowman in one strike.
"That thing can move," Erkenbrand told Faramir conversationally. He was grinning as he charged at the creature.
Faramir turned to Aldurn. "Get the boys back to the castle."
"What?" Elboron gaped. "Father!"
"That's an order!" Faramir roared and charged the creature.
His father was not waiting to see if Elboron obeyed and that faith alone got the young man moving. He could not stop himself from looking back, though, and for the rest of his days, he would wish he had not.
As agile as Erkenbrand was, a glancing blow from the hammer sent him reeling. Beregond and his son assailed the monster's flanks and sparks flew as they wailed uselessly on the heavy plating. The troll ignored them, focusing his attention on the man facing off with him - the man he knew to be the Prince of the city.
Faramir ducked and dodged one crushing blow after another, all traces of his injuries and his weakness gone. He was back in his glory, displaying the grace and skill that had won him praise and accolades in his battles beside Elessar. No matter how fast or how clever the troll attacked him, he was always a step ahead.
The Prince even succeeded in defeating the armor, cutting a deep gash in one of the troll's sides. But that was as much as he was able to do, for the creature was very fast and it was suicide to be too bold. Elboron knew, because his father had taught him the tactics of combat, that his father was waiting for the creature to tire before making a killing strike.
But the foul kind do not believe in honor and would not even understand the concept if it was explained to them.
An orcish archer shot Faramir in the back, the arrow going right between his shoulder blades.
"Father!" All thoughts of obedience vanished at the horrible sight. Elboron turned and started to run to his sire, heedless of the danger. And he would have, had Elfwine not seized a hold of him. Then Aldurn had him and was dragging him bodily away. "We can't leave him!" Elboron protested.
A second arrow took Faramir in the lower back, and that staggered the noble prince enough that the troll was able to finish the job. A sweeping blow from the hammer took the lord of Ithilien in the chest, crushing the life from him and sending the body hurtling into a wall.
Elboron's world shattered.
Alphros shook as he slid the chain mail shirt over his head. It had taken Amrothos hours to convince the boy he had to take up a sword again. The defeat in Harad had quite effectively crushed the young prince's spirit. Amrothos very much approved of the more thoughtful, more reasonable man his nephew was growing into, but the primal terror of going into combat was not something that a Prince could allow himself.
Outside, the fighting was raging in the streets. Amrothos was honest enough with himself to admit that he himself was scared - this army was ever bit as determined and well-equipped as the one they had faced during the War. They were tearing through the city's defenses like a hurricane, leaving wreckage behind them.
But Amrothos had lived his life to the fullest and he would face death with as much courage as he could.
"What should we do?" the younger prince asked meekly.
"Well, first I'd say you want to straighten your shoulders, lad," Amrothos replied with a broad smile.
Alphros did so miserably. "Sorry, Uncle."
Amrothos gripped his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. "Courage, lad. The skill you showed in your fight against Kaeliz is more than enough to handle these monsters."
Alphros bit his lower lip, obviously desperate to believe. "Thank you, Uncle."
Amrothos beamed proudly. "We don't have an assignment, but there are people out there who need us. Erkenbrand and Elfwine are representing Rohan. You and I should show these marauders that Dol Amroth stands with Ithilien, hmm?"
Alphros nodded, his sense of patriotism bolstering his faltering courage. The two princes left the keep quickly, then, heading to where the sounds of battle were loudest. Amrothos noted with some alarm just how close the fighting had gotten to the keep. The situation was even more desperate than he had feared.
The elder prince kept and eye on his nephew, worried that fear would overcome his better judgment. But there was no need for any such worry. Amrothos watched, his heart full to bursting with pride, as Alphros' fear melted away in the face of people in danger. The youthful face took on an expression of indignant outrage and he launched himself at the orcs with a throaty war cry.
Amrothos grinned and joined him, his own somewhat indolent style of swordplay making a sharp contrast to Alphros' fierce savagery. The orcs were equally overwhelmed by both, and both princes of Dol Amroth distinguished themselves that day.
"...then Erkenbrand led the creature away, but it was too late, your ladyship," Beregond finished, his voice heavy with emotion.
Beregond and Bergil had brought Faramir's body back to the castle, and now it lay on the royal bed, arms crossed, hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Eowyn had cried through the entire tale, and now she stood staring at her husband's lifeless body in mute horror. Her heart was even more crushed than Elboron's was.
The heir-apparent stood apart, barely hearing anyone speaking. His eyes were locked on the impossible sight of his father's dead body, and no matter how he tried, he could not make sense of it. The notion that his father could be dead and the world could go on - that he could go on without Faramir...it was absurd.
The young man did not cry, however - could not seem to find tears. All he felt was cold. Something of incomparable necessity to him had been shorn away and the wound was painful in ways he could not even understand. The battle outside, Ithilien's now imminent fall, none of it mattered. The world had simply stopped when the troll's hammer struck down Elboron's father.
Elfwine was watching him worriedly, but did not say anything. The situation had quite overwhelmed him and he was barely holding himself together as it was. Elboron was not aware, though. He did not once shift his gaze to his friend.
The silence stretched out, marred only by the distant sounds of the citizens fighting for their lives. It was Bergil who first dared to disturb the stillness. He stalked over to Elboron, looking all the more imposing due to the blood caked in his hair and the hard look in his eyes. He shook Elboron slightly.
"Your people need you."
Elboron barely even met that gaze. "Leave me alone," he murmured faintly.
Bergil slapped him. "Come on, boy, enough of that. You can grieve later. This is your city now. You have to give the orders."
"Bergil..."
"No whinging, my lord. People are dying. What do we do?"
Elboron's eyes slowly focused on the man in front of him - a man he had never been too fond of and was liking much less at the moment. But some part of Elboron recognized truth when he heard it - and it was a bitter irony that the day had come when Bergil's dire warnings had come true - that Elboron would come into his birthright entirely too early.
The young man stepped over to the bed and the broken body of his father. How many things would now remain forever unsaid between them? How many disappointments would he never get the chance to make up for?
"Goodbye...father..." Elboron took the sword from his father's grip, feeling the weight drag at him. He cut off a piece of his father's cloak and tied it around the hilt and then turned to Beregond, who was watching him with apparent calm. Anyone who knew the man, though, could see he was devastated. The decision on what to do was simple, because it was the next part of his father's plan. Faramir had laid it all out for his son, anticipating this very possibility. "King Elessar should be here soon. We can't save the city, but we can save our people. Beregond, I want you to have the captains organize a fighting retreat. Bergil, organize squads of volunteers. Anyone who has not fled the city already, get them out the south gate."
Bergil nodded and left quickly, bowing slightly to his lord. Beregond moved somewhat more slowly, pulling on his gauntlets. "I won't be seeing you again, my lord," he told Elboron calmly.
Elboron actually knew this. Beregond would follow his lord into death, his oaths and his love would allow him to do nothing else. "I know." Elboron had slipped into an eerie, numb sort of serenity. His gaze on the noble knight belied his mere fourteen years. "Thank you for all your years of service. Go with honor...and love."
Beregond bowed then and went to organize the last defense of Minas Ithil. The men's maniacal loyalty to him would inspire them to fight all the hordes alone and never ask why. It was why Beregond was uniquely suited to this final duty. He would buy Elboron the time he needed.
The Prince of Ithilien stepped over to his stricken mother. "Get your armor on, mother. I need every sword I can get."
Eowyn finally turned her gaze from Faramir, weary acceptance closing around her. She who had lost more loved ones than could easily be counted had learned how to pack away her grief. She had dreaded this day, but she had also secretly braced herself for it.
Night was coming to Ithilien, literally and figuratively, as Elboron oversaw the flight of the last few townsfolk. The defenders of Ithilien were doing well, guarding the citizens' escape, but their numbers were dwindling. It would not be long before the orcs swept over them and came after the civilians.
Elboron gave the order to those with him to run. One brave man stayed behind, closing the gate and jamming mechanism. It would not keep the orcs off their backs for long, but every minute counted.
The refugees fled through the forest, staying together as much as possible. They only had a few dozen guards, but no more could be spared. Legolas, Gimli, Alphros and Amrothos, though, counted for three men each at least.
Elboron stayed to the rear, watching out for stragglers as well as advance scouts from the orcs. He knew enough about the foul kind to know that their chief goal here was not the city, it was the people. It would not be very long before the monsters came looking for fresh innocents to butcher.
The young prince's grief had transmuted into something much darker, sharper and more dangerous. It was rage, but it was terribly focused. His whole being suffused with an aching need to make these creatures pay for what they had done. And he knew he had a long life ahead of him to do just that.
The orcs were not silent in their approach. A dozen of them came racing out of the forest, snarling out whooping calls to their fellows. They launched themselves at the fleeing townsfolk, but none of them reached their targets. Arrows and blades cut them down in midair.
"To me!" Elboron yelled as more orcs appeared. A dozen and then a score and then too many to count.
The battle for Minas Ithil was lost, but the battle for survival was now joined.
Elboron was exhausted from spending a whole day fighting, but that well of rage inside him fueled his arm and drove him onward. A one-eyed orc leaped at him, spear driving forward. Elboron moved aside easily and cut the monster down. The sword of the Prince of Ithilien was slathered in gore.
All around him, any who could still fight did so, rallying around their prince. Elboron became increasingly less aware, focused on killing as many of the creatures as he could reach. He did not even notice how hard Bergil and Elfwine were fighting to keep up with him and to keep him from getting flanked in his manic state.
Suddenly, a booming note from a horn broke into the din of battle. It was quickly repeated and the orcs grew dismayed. The thunder of shod hooves echoed outward in the wake of the horn-call.
Gondor had arrived.
Elboron grinned, brought from his obsessive rampage by the sound the subsequent appearance of the King's banner. The Gondorian knights and their exhausted mounts ran over the murderous orcs, crushing them under their hooves. The fight quickly turned in the defenders' favor.
An orc almost had Elboron, though, in a single moment of distraction. The bent, drooling creature threw aside an Ithilien soldier and brought up a wicked-looking axe to cleave the young prince in two. Elboron did not even notice, his sword plunged into the heart of another orc, his back to the treacherous creature.
But his would-be-murderer's attack failed because a slender, saddle-weary figure flew from his horse and buried his knife into the orc's back - again and again. The knife, incidentally, had a handle carved from stag-horn and had been a gift from the prince himself. Eldarion's eyes blazed with fury as the orc who would have butchered his friend fell dead.
The three boys thusly reunited proved to be an impregnable ring of steel and youthful determination. They moved with a synchronicity that would have made Erkenbrand very proud.
The orcs broke and ran, fleeing back to the city to lick their wounds. They had come for easy prey and had found the opposite. They needed to regroup and confer with their leader on what to do next.
Elboron started to pursue, his bloodlust not sated by half. He wanted to find the murdering troll and cut out his heart. His friends had to seize a hold of him and wrestle him to the ground to make him stop. He raged at them, cursing them and struggling futilely, but he was too worn to fight off the both of them.
"Elboron."
All three boys looked up at Bergil. The knight was covered in blood, most of which did not seem to be his. The gravity of his expression had deepened to something more akin to crushing sorrow.
"What?" Elboron asked, panting and glowering.
"It's your mother."
Elboron went limp and his friends relaxed their hold. The world started to spin again. He slowly got to his feet, shaking from exhaustion and worry. "Mother?"
Bergil nodded and led him through the littered battlefield, over corpses and around those grieving over a loved one. Victory had come too late for too many. And more yet would succumb to their wounds.
The boys followed Bergil towards a large tree, around which there were many men, living and dead. Elboron saw a pile of dead orcs to the side, Erkenbrand laying still in their midst. Under the tree knelt King Elessar, his blood-grimed hands clasping those of Lady Eowyn.
There was a spear through her belly.
"Mother..." Elboron knelt, his heart cleaving again. How could the world hold this much sorrow? He looked to Elessar, whose eyes were bright with his own grief. The King did not return the look, his focus on one of his dearest friends.
Eowyn did not turn her head or even move her eyes. She took a very shallow breath and whispered, "my wonderful son" and then the Lady Eowyn took her final ride.
Behind him, Elboron heard Elfwine break down into tears. Elessar murmured an elvish blessing, his face a mask of sorrow and loss. Elboron, however, felt that coldness grip him once more and this time it went deeper.
Elessar put an arm around his shoulders. "Take your time here, lad. I'll go remove the murdering fiends from your city." There was a note of grim ferocity in the King's tone.
"No," Elboron said faintly. He looked gravely at Elessar - at his King. "You don't have enough men. I'll come back with an army and I will take my city back." He looked into his mother's beautiful, still face. "It's my duty, now."
Elessar was quiet for a time and then he nodded. "So it is, Prince of Ithilien. So it is."