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 16
Year 17 and 18, 4th Age
The refugees from Minas Ithil went with their Prince to Minas Tirith and there they were granted shelter by the citizens of the White City. Lady Eowyn was laid to rest there, a ceremony attended by her brother and his entire family. King Eomer had taken the news every bit as hard as had been expected. Before the ceremony even got underway, he was in talks with Elessar about how to exact revenge on the foul kind.
It was Elboron's decision that Bergil stay in Minas Tirith and watch over the refugees as well as Elboron's sisters and the babe, Barahir, while the Prince went with his friends back to Rohan. No one argued or questioned the young man's decision - whatever he needed to heal the wounds of his heart, the people who loved him would struggle to provide.
So, late in the year, Eomer's party returned to the Mark with the young heirs plus Aldurn, Amrothos, and Alphros all in tow. It was a very somber procession, naturally; even Elfwine's young sisters seemed to pick up on the mood and remained quiet during the journey.
The eighteenth year of the fourth age dawned with the kingdoms of the West girding for a new war. No one was more eager for it than Elboron. The boy practiced his fighting and riding skills obsessively.
His friends began to worry about him.
"Everyone grieves in their own way, Win," Eomer told his son.
They were in one of the upper rooms of Meduseld, where Elfwine had come to find his father going over maps of the north. His concern for Elboron had grown to the point where Elfwine was not entirely sure he had confidence his friend would not try and harm himself. It was a wild concern, and he did not dare bring it up to Eldarion. The heir of Gondor was already sick with helpless worry for the young man who held his heart.
"But that's just it, father. He isn't grieving at all. We had a celebration in Aunt Eowyn's honor; we sang songs of her glory and told tales of her adventures. Boro won't even talk about it."
"His father was much the same," Eomer told him quietly. He had lost a sister, yes, but Faramir had been almost a brother to him. The loss to him was impossible to quantify. "He rarely spoke of Boromir - even to his wife, or so she told me. Some people grieve on the inside."
Elfwine sat on a bench and fretted anxiously. "I don't know, father. I know Boro pretty well and, yes, he's always been a little guarded about his feelings but...this is different. He is even avoiding me and Dar."
Eomer sighed heavily and looked over at his son. "You need to give him time, lad. His world has come apart around him. When your grandparents died, I was about his age. It is a very turbulent age for a boy in the happiest of days. Having to cope with all this on top of that...it can make a boy close-mouthed."
Elfwine slumped, defeated. "If you say so, father. I just wish he would scream or cry or hit me or something."
Eomer's expression was weary but understanding. "Patience, Win. I have a feeling there is a flood of tears waiting to come out of that boy. But only when he is ready."
Elfwine was not satisfied with the advice, but he would not argue with it either. If this was what his friend needed, then he would make himself be patient. It rankled, though, because Elfwine liked to believe that solutions could be found if one looked hard enough. Waiting and hoping seemed like giving up.
But what choice did he have?
It had taken a long time for Elboron to get his head together enough to realize there was someone he needed to talk to. And it had taken even longer to manage to get the man alone. Much as Elboron loved his friends, they were being altogether too clingy for his liking.
Elboron cornered Aldurn and told him they had to talk, privately. The rider was startled, but he followed Elboron without question to an unused guest room. His expression clearly showed his confusion.
"Did you know about the attack on Minas Ithil before you went to the city?" Elboron demanded harshly.
They had not spoken of Aldurn's divided loyalties since that day by the stream, so the guard was understandably shaken by the question. "No, Boro," he replied honestly.
Elboron scrutinized him, trying to peel away the layers of deception by sheer instinct alone. Aldurn was the key, he felt, to the future Elboron was planning. "And would you have told me had you known? Would you have warned me so I could warn my father?"
Aldurn paled a little. The time to declare where his fealty lay had come upon him out of nowhere - the game of placating Orthale while protecting his charges as quietly and unobtrusively as possible had ended. "I swear on my life I would have," he told the young prince with emotion.
Elboron felt the sincerity and let it put him at ease. "The orcs who pay you...where are they?"
Aldurn blinked and frowned. "Why do you ask?"
"Because they need to die. Where are they, Aldurn? I want to know where they nest, I want to know who leads them and I want to know how many of them there are. And I want to know what their connection is to the butchers who took Minas Ithil."
There were simply too many things flying at Aldurn for him to keep up with. He stared at the angry, determined young man for a long, silent moment. He knew where his loyalties were, now, and he knew that he was Elboron's to command. But he was still the young man's bodyguard. "I will find out for you, sir." It was the first time he had ever addressed the young man formally. "I will find out and give you that information when you are ready for it, sir."
Elboron's expression darkened at being diverted by the man. "I am ready for it."
Aldurn went down to one knee, looking up at the young prince who had spared his life and pointed him back to the proper path. All of the fierce dedication in his heart burned in his eyes. "I am yours to command, sir. And when you leave the Mark to take back your city, I shall ask to be freed from King Eomer's service so I may formally enter yours. I will stay by your side as long as you have need of me. But I won't provide you with information you will use to bring yourself to harm, sir. Not even if you threaten me with the noose."
Elboron fumed for a bit, but slowly the eloquent speech seeped into his revenge-obsessed mind. His anger was leading him to mistreat those that least deserved it. "I accept your promise," he said in a low voice. "And I apologize for my temper."
His revenge could wait for a little while longer, but not terribly much. Killing orcs was about the only thing he could imagine distracting him from the void in the pit of his stomach and the pain that he still could not face.
Eomer was loathe to ask anything of the boys, but the problem with Elphir was not solving itself and clearly, the kingdoms of the West needed to be united at this time. Lothiriel also suggested that it might be good for the three of them to take on a responsibility - sometimes being productive could ease the pangs of grief, she advised.
Alphros went with them, as did an eored by way of escort. Eomer was not taking any chances with his charges.
Elfwine found his mind tracking back to the time when he and Elboron had made this journey all by themselves. Stupid, reckless, glory-minded kids, he decided with a rueful grin. The disturbing thing about that, though, was that had been only a few years ago.
They had both grown up a lot - they had been forced to.
Eldarion rode alongside Elboron, chattering aimlessly about this and that. His desperate efforts to draw the sullen youth into conversation met with limited success. Though it was clear Elboron was trying to reach past the misery he was locked into and reconnect with his friends, the Prince of Ithilien did not yet seem to have the strength within him to do so.
Eldarion grew more despondent, but only Elfwine seemed to notice.
They made good time to the city and, as Amrothos had suggested, they left the eored behind before coming within sight of the harbor. Even Aldurn was made to stay behind. Alphros led them, then, down along the road into the wide marbled streets of Dol Amroth. It was even more grand than the last time Elfwine had seen it, but it did not seem as huge to his eyes. That realization made him smile to himself. Childhood was fading into the mists of time.
They stabled their horses then followed Alphros into the palace - and they made quite a procession, the four heirs of the West striding through the corridors purposefully. Those who saw them stared in wonder and whispered after they passed. Dol Amroth was being honored indeed, they all decided.
Word had raced ahead of them, so Elphir awaited them in his sitting room. That he was meeting them in a less formal forum than the audience chamber was, Elfwine thought, a very good sign. The four entered the warm, cozy room and stopped while Alphros went to confer with his father.
Elphir was relaxing in an overstuffed chair, a blond toddler in his lap. He smiled at his son, the gauntness of his features fading when he gazed at Alphros. "You've been missed," he told the young prince.
Alphros bowed slightly, his smile nervous. "Thank you, father. We have guests of some note. Will you see them?"
Elphir smiled tiredly and nodded, glancing at the stiff-backed boys. "Come in and sit," he invited them.
All three princes strode forward as one, taking seats on the low divans before the master of Dol Amroth. Eldarion and Elboron were almost completely deferring to Elfwine here, their presence mostly just for appearances. It was, after all, the prince of the Mark who had received the training for this.
"Thank you for seeing us, your lordship," Elfwine told him in a clear voice. He had practiced this with Amrothos a dozen times. The form of address with Elphir would be very important - respectful but not granting him any authority he did not already have by means of his station.
"I think you may call me 'uncle,' boy. Or is this an official state visit?" Elphir smiled faintly as he bounced the toddler on his knee. There was a hint of the scathing humor he had assailed Amrothos with behind those words, but only just barely. He would look very bad indeed if he treated these honorable princes with disrespect, especially in light of his debt to them.
"It is more along those lines, your lordship," Elfwine told him, his expression close to being apologetic. He could not show weakness here, but he was horribly intimidated and he was fairly sure that Elphir could see that.
"Ah...your father sent you then." He shrugged and looked to Elboron. "Dol Amroth grieves with Ithilien. And her Prince has our swords when he needs them."
Elboron blinked and looked to Elfwine. There was something about that offer that did not sit right with him. Dol Amroth's swords were at Elboron's call regardless of any poetic declarations. As a fellow vassal of Elessar, Elboron had the authority to call Dol Amroth to arms when needed. As Dol Amroth could with Ithilien.
So why bother saying it?
"Thank you, your lordship," Elboron replied stiffly.
Elfwine was just as surprised as his friend was and it took him a long moment to work it all out in his head. As much as he had hated the lessons Amrothos had drilled into his head, they had stuck. He knew something of politics and maneuvering. Elphir had just subtly informed Elfwine that the subject was not open to debate and then had changed the topic to Ithilien.
Elfwine had to change the subject back quickly. "My father did send me, your lordship. He is hoping we can find a solution to our problem."
Elphir shrugged indifferently. "Your father should come to me himself, rather than sending messengers. As important as this seems to be to him, he continues to use go-betweens."
Elfwine bristled at the implied insult to his father. "This is the way things are done, your lordship. My father wants to renew the friendship with Dol Amroth. He wants to know what needs to be done for that to happen."
The master of Dol Amroth looked him in the eye seriously. "I want him to come here himself and offer a satisfactory explanation for what happened in Harad. And then I want an apology."
Elfwine gritted his teeth. He understood now why his father was so fed up with this man - was anyone really this stubborn? Only Amrothos' careful teachings and Elfwine's desperation to not disappoint his uncle kept him from saying something truly inflammatory. "My father is not compelled to do any such thing, not by his code of honor and not by the laws of men."
"Then he may send emissaries of all shapes and sizes, but he will not have the peace he is looking for." Elphir's hard-eyed gaze did not falter for a moment.
"Father..."
"Silence, Alphros, I am speaking with the envoy from the Mark," Elphir remarked caustically.
Alphros shut his mouth and glowered, turning his gaze to a window.
Elfwine sighed and fretted for a moment. "My father will have peace, your lordship. Either I will insist on it in payment for the debt you owe me or King Elessar will step in and settle this dispute and you shall be forced to relent. My father does not want it to be that way, but there are too many things taking place to allow this division to continue."
Elphir bridled at being thusly threatened. His gaze turned flinty. "If your father wishes to take that route, than he is welcome to. But the seas will freeze before I welcome him into my house again."
Elfwine winced and struggled to find some way out of the corner he had been backed into, glumly concluding there might not be any. His father had given him permission to compel Elphir if it came to it, but it was a last resort.
How had they reached it so quickly?
"I've had enough of this, Elphir," Elboron said suddenly, using his elevated station to address the man familiarly. That shadow was back over his eyes again and he looked ever bit as unwell as Elphir and decidedly more dangerous. "You are angry with Eomer because he almost got your son killed. My parents are dead, Elphir, killed by the real threat. And that threat will tear us all down if we fight amongst ourselves. You cannot blame Eomer for the mistake of one young man." His gaze shifted to Alphros for a moment. "I suppose you've forgotten, but sometimes young men have to learn by making their own mistakes."
It was obviously much harder for Elphir to be so cavalier with the devastated prince of Ithilien. His gaze grew inscrutable. "That is why they need guidance," he argued uneasily.
"Did Lord Denethor put Prince Imrahil's feet to the fire when you and Boromir took a skiff out in rough seas and capsized it, nearly drowning the both of you?" Elboron challenged, pulling a tale told to him by his father out of the darkened recesses of his memory.
Elphir actually stammered a moment and then shrugged it off. "Hardly the same situation."
"I don't think so. It was a foolish thing done by boys trying to prove their bravery, wasn't it?" Elboron pressed.
Elphir glowered for a moment, boxed in and not at all happy about it. "If my son was trying to impress anyone, it was the less-than-prudent King of Rohan."
"No," Elboron said in a tight voice. "It was you he wanted to impress." For a moment, that dam holding back that flood of emotions in him almost crumbled. His voice became thick with pain. "Young men live to impress their fathers."
Elphir was completely undone by those words. He looked over at his son, really looked at him for the first time in a long time. "Son?"
"You gave me command, father," Alphros said faintly. "You put your faith in me and I did nothing with it. Of course I wanted to bring you Kaeliz's head."
Elfwine and Eldarion both looked to Elboron, but the stony mask was back in place. The prince of Ithilien was watching Elphir, waiting to see what would come of this little revelation.
Elphir was a stubborn and a proud man, but he now had to face the fact that if blame were to fall on anyone but Alphros, then it would be on his own shoulders. His grudge against Eomer no longer had any foundation.
"Please inform the King of Rohan...the Prince of Dol Amroth conveys his apologies."
All three young princes breathed a unified sigh of relief.
The night air was pleasantly cool, blowing in off the sea and wafting through the open window. Elboron breathed it in, looking out over the city of Dol Amroth and beyond, to where the stars touched the water. It was incredibly serene. He wished he could take it inside him.
Eldarion came into the room he had been given and stepped up behind him - Elboron could always tell now when it was the Gondorian heir's footsteps. He felt himself smiling, not aware that it barely registered on his grim face.
"You were amazing, Boro," Eldarion told him, laying his hands on his friend's shoulders and leaning in close. "I think you stole Win's thunder, but he'll get over it."
Elboron reached up to touch one of those slender hands. "I was too plain-spoken. I'll never make much of a prince if I can't learn to act any better than a bricklayer in a tavern-brawl."
"I think you make a fine prince, Boro. Sometimes it's better to speak plainly - bruise a few egos, but at least they understand you." The tension in Elboron's shoulders radiated up through Eldarion's fingers. The heir of Gondor wished Elboron would talk to him like he used to. This distance between them hurt more than he would like to admit.
"I think you're biased," Elboron argued gently.
"I'll admit that. I'm also tired. You think you're ready for bed?"
"Not yet. I think I'll walk about some more." Elboron turned and gave Eldarion a brief kiss on the cheek Then he slipped out of the room, off to try and find some way to quiet the chaos in his head.
Eldarion was left staring after, his heart so wrung out over this he just felt numb. He wanted to be angry or bitter or resentful, but all he could really manage was sorrow. Events had conspired to poison something that had just begun to bloom in his life.
The young prince looked out the window at the sea and felt a strong sense of longing, though he did not quite understand it. Something, though, was calling him to a place where pain like this did not exist.
Orthale went over everything one last time, sitting in the shadows and staring at an aged map of the West. Years of maneuvering had yielded him a tremendous advantage in this conflict with Eomer of the Mark. Though recovering Helm's hammer had been the most certain route to victory, it had never been the only route.
Careful negotiations with Garchuk, the ambitious troll with uncanny wisdom and foresight, had earned him a very useful ally. And by providing the troll with a great deal of information on Minas Ithil, he had almost handed victory to the powerful chief.
Now, with Ithilien overrun by orcs, Gondor's attention would have to be on its eastern border. Elessar would not be able to spare the men to help Eomer - doing so could cost him his own throne.
By pure convenient happenstance, there was also a wedge at this time between Elphir and Eomer, so there would be no help from that quarter either. That, Orthale felt, was a very good omen.
His forces were in place, patiently gathered over many months. They had the numbers, they had the opportunity, they had the strength of arms.
Eomer would never know what hit him.
After taking a day to rest, the young heirs took their leave. Alphros decided to stay at home, though he sent a message with the boys that he intended to visit sometime during the summer.
The return journey was uneventful, and within a few days, they were all back in Meduseld and each pursuing different interests. Elfwine sequestered himself with the scroll they had pilfered from his father's rooms and put himself to the task of finally wringing some meaning from it. Elboron went back to practicing combat, sparring with anyone who would take him on.
Eldarion took up the habit of ranging out into the grasslands, polishing his old ranger skills that had fallen into disuse. He would disappear in the wee hours of morning and not return until well after nightfall.
Things were odd enough with the heirs that no one paid it any mind.
Life around Edoras returned to some semblance of normalcy as summer approached - that was until Magda showed up on the steps to Meduseld.
Elfwine was just returning from the kitchen when he heard the commotion through a window. He was, of course, curious, so he chanced to look out the window. The Dunlending girl had been stopped by the guards and they were sternly interrogating her.
"Oh road apples...what is she doing here?"
The guards had grown somewhat accustomed to seeing Educh approach the Golden Hall, but all other Dunlendings were treated with the customary suspicion. To most Rohirrim, Dunlendings remained the terrifying creatures who ate babies and defiled women.
Elfwine flew down the stairs and burst out the front doors just as the guards were started to get a bit brazen with the girl. "Stop! Don't harm her!" he bellowed, skidding to a halt before them.
The guards frowned at him, clearly thinking he might be daft. "Highness?" the older one asked.
"She's fine. She's Educh's daughter," he explained
That mollified them somewhat and they stepped aside. Elfwine moved closer to her, wild-eyed and yet smiling stupidly. He was so happy to see here he had the irrational urge to start dancing.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her in Dunlending.
"You are in danger," she explained simply. Her dark eyes on him were full of worry and her face was taut with strain.
"Again?" Elfwine asked, slipping back into common Westron. "What is going on? Why did your father send you?"
"My father stays with my people to give Black Soul the idea we are cooperating. If we do not, Black Soul said all the children would die and our animals too. I slipped away to come and warn you. Black Soul is sending an army against you."
Elfwine sucked in a panicked breath. First Ithilien and now the Mark... "Who is this Black Soul? No, never mind. No sense explaining it twice. Come. You need to speak with my father."
Magda nodded and followed with obvious trepidation into the Great Hall. They received more than a few curious and dismayed stares as they hurried along, but they did not have time to settle peoples' nerves.
Along the way, they met Elboron, who was on his way back to the practice yard, his head bowed in thought. Elfwine stopped him and looked into his eyes. "I need you to find Eldarion and bring him to our room. We have things we need to talk about."
Elboron looked from him to Magda and then back. There was curiosity in his eyes, but the stony mask did not slip. He nodded slowly. "I'll find him."
Elfwine smiled gratefully and then led Magda off to his mother's sitting room, the last place he had heard of his father being. In the back of his mind, he was seeing the fires that had engulfed Minas Ithil touching Edoras and that made him sick with fear.
The prince of the Mark knocked politely and waited to be granted permission to come in - this was his mother's sanctuary, after all. One did not barge in no matter how dire the news was that they carried
"Come in, dear." His mother recognized his knock.
Elfwine gave Magda a supportive smile, trying to convey courage, and then led her inside. His mother sat in her usual place, sewing idly as she chatted with the King of the Mark. They were smiling a little, sharing some joke, but that quickly faded at the sight of Magda.
"Win..." Eomer started to say, just dumbfounded at his son's audacity.
Lothiriel said nothing, but the look on her face told Elfwine that he had best have a fantastic reason for this breach of protocol. He met both looks as steadily as he could, as always intimidated by his father. Not even the vital news he carried seemed to justify bothering his parents.
"Father...this is Magda, Chieftain Educh's daughter. She has word of an attack being planned against us. I think you need to listen to her."
Eomer did not scoff or bluster. Elfwine had earned his trust, even though Eomer did not always understand what Elfwine was up to, he did usually find that it was for the best. So he leaned forward and laced his fingers together. "All right..." His harsh gaze bore into Magda. "Tell me."
"...orcs and Dunlendings? How many orcs?" Elboron asked anxiously.
"She wasn't exactly sure..." Elfwine responded, brows knitted together. His friend was entirely too excited about the impending attack.
"But more than a few, right?"
Elfwine nodded slowly. "Now, where is Dar?" The bloodthirsty look in his friend's eyes made him nervous. Elboron shrugged a little. "I told you, he'll be here..."
The prince of the Mark was not at all satisfied with that answer. "Did you actually find him?" he demanded.
Ithilien's heir-apparent looked away, not seeming concerned. "You know how he likes to roam. The Mark is a big place. I looked about but didn't see him. He always comes home every evening."
Elfwine stared at him, shocked by his friend's coldness. "Always... Boro, there is an attack planned against us, orcs and Dunlendings are out there plotting death and destruction and our friend - your lover - is out there all by himself. Will you stop thinking about killing orcs for a moment and put your priorities straight?"
Elboron flinched and then reacted with his customary hostility. "Dar is fine, Win. No orc or man could find Whisper when he doesn't want to be found so get your spurs out of my flanks."
Elfwine's emotions boiled over - his own grief, his heartsickness over his friend's descent into fanatical hate and terror over what was about to befall the Mark pushed him well past reason and straight into a much more Rohirric mindset. He hauled off and punched Elboron. "Burn you!"
Elboron rolled with the strike, but it still staggered him. He was shocked, but his instincts took over and he tackled Elfwine into a wall. "What is wrong with you?" he growled.
The prince of the Mark grunted and grappled with his friend. "Me? You're the one who has thrown his halter. You don't care about anything anymore but killing orcs!"
They crashed to the floor and rolled back and forth. Elboron had some bulk on him, but Elfwine was surprisingly strong. "That's not true," Ithilien's prince snapped at him.
Elfwine threw him off and got to his feet. "No? How long has Win been taking these walks of his, Boro?"
Getting to his feet as well, Elboron shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything?'
"I want to know if you know."
Elboron looked irritated and uncomfortable. "A few weeks..."
"Six weeks, every day, ever since we got back from Dol Amroth," Elfwine returned, seizing his friend by the tunic-front. "Six weeks and you haven't even asked him why."
Elboron glared at Elfwine, trying to pry his hands off. "He likes to wander," the young man reasoned, not at all liking being put on the defensive.
"He didn't used to, not when it was the three of us. The last time he took to running away for long stretches was when he was back home and he was miserable."
Elboron took that as an accusation and he snarled, seized Elfwine and threw him forcibly aside. The prince of the Mark crashed into a chair, which collapsed under him. "Don't saddle me with this, Win. I have enough on my mind."
"What? What do you have on your mind, you stud-headed idiot? You never talk to us anymore, never let us know anything that is going on with you."
"I would think that's pretty obvious!" Elboron snapped.
"It's not!" Elfwine growled, picking himself up. "Something horrible happened to you, Boro, and that's all we know. We have no idea how you are coping with it, what you want from us, what we can do...anything."
"I don't know!" Elboron screamed, face flushed with rage. "I am sick to death of people asking me how they can help. As if it is my responsibility to help them cope with the fact my life has been destroyed. You want to help, Win? Then give me some peace."
"I've been doing that, Boro. I've been giving you space for months and all it gets me is further away from you. I don't know if that's what you want, but that's what has happened, and it's rutting awful. We're closer than brothers and now I barely recognize you." Elfwine took a moment to catch his breath, staring into his friend's hard, implacable face. "I'm going to go find Eldarion. You can stay here and dream about all the orc blood you plan to spill or you can come with me."
Elboron massaged his hand and looked away, more affected by his friend's words than he was able to show. Everything was spinning out of control and no matter how he wished and hoped for things to stop long enough for him to catch his breath, there did not seem to be any such moment. So he did the only thing he knew how to do - he stuck with his friends.
"Of course I'll go with you," he breathed, rubbing his sore jaw.
Elfwine breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
Eldarion did not return during the evening as usual and none of the scouts or sentries or herdsman were able to offer any information on where he could be. Already on alert from Magda's warnings, alarm was quick to spread. Eomer sent out search parties in all directions, but Elfwine and Elboron knew they would not succeed if this was Eldarion's choice and not the result of foul play.
Elfwine made sure that Magda was safe and secure under his mother's eye and then he had a word with his father. King Eomer had a great deal to worry about and was therefore actually much more amenable to his son joining the search party.
Before dawn lit the Mark, the two boys and Aldurn took to horse, Fellfang at their head, hot on the Gondorian heir's scent. The trail meandered this way and that, but once they were a few miles from Edoras, it pointed due west. After an hour of following it, there was no doubt any more that this was a deliberate action by Eldarion.
"Go back to my father and tell him to call off the search," Elfwine ordered Aldurn once they halted to confer.
Aldurn shook his head - it was difficult to find the line between obedience to the prince of his country and obedience to his duty. "I can't send you off alone, highness."
Elfwine gave him a weary smile. "A few years ago, I gave my oath to King Elessar that I wouldn't let his son run off. I have to keep that promise to uphold my family honor."
"And this is sort of a...family affair," Elboron added. He had been taciturn and thoughtful during the hours of riding, and even now his mind was clearly somewhere else. Elfwine's tirade had sent him down the thorny path of introspection, and it was a journey the Ithilien prince was not familiar with.
"Lads..." Aldurn looked them over and suddenly realized they really were not the children he had guarded for so long. They did not need his sword. They had their own. He was surprised by how much that pained him. "I will inform King Eomer."
And he turned his horse and raced back towards Edoras.
As they knew Eldarion had taken a horse on his journey, they knew they would not be able to catch him quickly - not with the lead he had on them. They rode swiftly, though, hoping to overtake him before he got himself into trouble.
Elfwine was relieved when they reached the Gap of Rohan and found the trail went to the south bank of the River Isen. With all the trouble with the Dunlendings, it would be suicide to try and cross their territory. As little sense as their seemed to be in Eldarion's actions, he was apparently at least taking some precautions.
It did, however, make Elfwine wonder how long the Gondorian heir had been planning this and how many of his "aimless wanderings" had actually been scouting missions for this little trek.
Elfwine began to feel guilt eating away at him. He should have paid more attention.
Elboron remained in his self-inflicted prison of silence, brooding the hours away to the point where Elfwine began to worry about him too. Had he been too harsh on his friend? Had he added more weight onto those already overburdened shoulders? It was impossible to know for sure, since Elboron would barely answer any of his questions.
Elfwine just wanted things to be back like they used to be.
Days passed and their course did not change. Eldarion's course had been to parallel the river, following it as it headed out to the Belegar Sea. Elfwine was completely baffled what this was all about, and the odd behavior just added to his worries. When they reached the juncture of the Isen and the Adorn rivers, they found a ford and made their way across. The trail was easy to pick up again, the path predictable: to the west.
Eldarion, clearly, had gone with great haste, for they did not catch him before he reached the sea.
Two weeks after leaving Edoras, they came over the horizon and looked out over the vast sea. The Angren was shallow here, marshy, and the pungent smell of those shallow waters hit the young heirs hard. They wrinkled their noses and started towards the horse they saw searching for tufts of grass or something else that might be edible.
They had finally found their friend.
Eldarion was sitting in the sand, knees curled to his chest, watching the waves crash over the shore. He did not turn when Elfwine slipped from his saddle and started trudging across the sand towards him, but the heir of the Mark did not doubt his friend knew he was there. As relieved as he was to see Eldarion, he was still not put entirely at ease because he still did not understand why his friend was behaving this way.
Elboron followed Elfwine, but he kept his distance, almost as if he did not feel he had the right to get too close. His expression had become somewhat haunted. The prince of the Mark decided to let him be. He had to deal with one problem at a time.
"If you needed to get away for a little while, Dar...you could have just said. We'd have been happy to come with you, instead of you running off alone and worrying everyone sick." Elfwine knelt down behind Eldarion and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"It's not here," Gondor's heir confided mournfully. "I was sure it would be."
"What's not here, Dar?" Elfwine asked gently.
Eldarion's gaze upon the sea was filled with desperate longing. "In my dreams, I see a ship. It waits here for me, to take me into the west, to my mother's family."
Elfwine stared in shock, horrified that the young man would even consider such a course. "I think Gondor might miss you when your turn on the throne comes up," he argued mildly, trying not to sound judgmental.
Eldarion shook his head. "My father can have another son. I've always felt I was never really going to be very good at being King anyway. And when the sea called to me, I understood why. I have more elf blood in me than is probably healthy."
"And you weren't even going to say goodbye?" Elfwine chided him. There was a knot of pain in his chest at the idea that Eldarion wanted to leave them. Nothing would be the same without their grinning, reckless friend.
"I sort of felt...it wouldn't matter." Gondor's heir chewed his lower lip. "I'm sorry, Win...it just felt...right..."
"You were really going to leave me?"
Elfwine started and looked up and back. Elboron's face was sheet-white and the hard-edged, bitter look in his eyes was replaced by a lost, terrified gaze that more resembled that of the boy they had once known.
Eldarion looked over his shoulder and then back out at the sea. "Would it matter, Boro? You made me think it wouldn't."
Elboron started to shake all over, like a castle wall that had been battered by catapults a few too many times and was now on the verge of collapse. "That's not...that isn't..." He sank to his knees, shaking his head in denial. "Please...please don't...don't you leave me too," he whimpered and then, at long last, the tears started to fall. And once they started, he could not make them stop.
All the barriers that had been erected over the past several months fell away. Elfwine and Eldarion scrambled over to their wounded, broken friend and enfolded him in sheltering, comforting embraces as he sobbed.
"I'm sorry," he babbled over and over again, and they knew it was not only them he was addressing.
And in the face of that torrent of immeasurable loss and heartache, they could do nothing but shed their own tears in sympathy.
"I was so scared...so scared to hurt any more...I didn't want to care about anyone....didn't want to lose anyone again..."
"Shhh..." Eldarion held him close, hurting deep in his heart. His eyes met those of Elfwine. The wound had been re-opened so it could heal properly now. They both understood this - just as they knew that Elboron would never again be the boy they had known, not completely.
For Elboron of Ithilien, boyhood was over.