Epilogue - Elboron
In the years that followed the retaking of Minas Ithil, Elboron held fast to his vow, bringing war to the denizens of Mordor. And so fierce were his attacks that orcs spoke in fearful whispers of him to each other, huddled in their caves.
Elboron ruled from Emyn Arnen, though he spent but four months a year there. The city grew to even greater stature than Minas Ithil over time, and Elboron saw to it his father's dream of a great library was given new life.
While he was home, Elboron was known to be a wise and patient leader, seeing to the needs of all of his people as best as he was able. The people of Ithilien flourished under his rule and new much peace. When he was off at war, he left Bergil in charge, who managed the city precisely as directed.
The yearly battles in Mordor were ugly, vicious fights. When the orcs tried to stand their ground, they were trampled under. When they tried to hide in their caves, they were smoked out and slaughtered. Elboron was utterly callous about it, his mission so clear in his mind that no savagery was beneath him.
And always he sought the troll, Garchuk, who had killed his father.
Elfwine rode with him for a few years, but the slaughter quickly grew too much for him to stomach. He returned to Edoras where he served as his father's chief marshall. The danger for the people of the West was now from Harad; Elessar led many campaigns against the southerners, Eomer always by his side.
Elboron and Elfwine's friendship grew somewhat strained, but it pained either of them to talk about it, so it lay unspoken between them. And emotional distance slowly developed.
Eldarion fought beside Elboron unfailingly, his skill and fierceness on the field an inspiration to the men. Privately, he pleaded with Elboron to put an end to the slaughter, but when his pleas were turned aside, he did not abandon his companion. He stayed with Elboron year by year.
Barahir grew into a thoughtful, happy young man - and wise, under Bergil's teachings. By the time he was fifteen, he was already helping to rule Ithilien in his brother's absence. Never more than was proper, though. His devotion to Elboron was boundless and he would gladly have gone to war with Elboron if his brother had asked.
The ruler of Ithilien, however, wanted his brother to know nothing of war.
As the years passed, the hunting in Mordor grew more sparse, a fact that many noted with relief. Elboron's volunteer army shrank from the ten thousand it started with to a mere thousand of the most hardened, loyal veterans; men from all over the West who had forgotten all former ties and instead created their own brotherhood.
It was in the year 41 of the fourth age that Eldarion went to speak to Elfwine and beg him to help stop Elboron's crusade. They met in Elfwine's private chambers - the very room the boys had all shared once upon a time - and the heir of the Mark greeted Eldarion warmly, glad to see his friend. When he heard the reason for the Gondorian prince's visit, though, he grew more somber.
"You know as well as I do, when Boro gets something into his head, you can't get it out again. I tried to get him to see sense and he ignored me."
Eldarion sighed and gave him another pleading look. "But that was years ago. He is wearing out, Win. I can sense he is ready to quit. If you and I were both there, we could talk him down. I am sure of it."
"Dar..."
"Win, it's been a decade since you've seen each other," Eldarion pointed out, trying not to sound accusatory.
Elfwine looked pained. "I know... It's hard to get away." "I'm saying...you might want to give this a try before you lose your chance entirely."
Elfwine gave him a sharp glance, worry and anger mixing in his eyes. It was a thought that had already struck the heir of the Mark and it was one that caused him a great deal of pain. "Don't pull my tether, Dar. I-"
The door burst open and a small dark-haired three-year-old bounded in. "Da! Da! I found a lizard!"
Elfwine grinned and swept his son into his arms. "Did you now? And what did you do with it?"
The young Prince Theomund grinned impishly and clutched at his father's shirt.
"Please tell me you did not put it in your sister's bed," Elfwine asked with a sigh.
Theomund giggled and looked up at Eldarion. "Hello..."
The heir of Gondor grinned at the child. "Hello, your highness. I haven't seen you since you were very small."
"How small?" the boy asked.
Eldarion grinned and held his index finger and thumb about an inch apart. "This small."
Theomund laughed. "No!"
Elfwine laughed as well and kissed the boy's dark curls. "I love Elboron, Dar. You know that. But I have...responsibilities here. Maybe this winter..."
Eldarion nodded slowly, accepting. "I had to try, after all..."
And so Eldarion left Edoras without Elfwine and very soon Elboron led his army forth into Mordor once again. Though their numbers were smaller, they were no less devastating in their results.
After several hard-fought victories that season, Eldarion's pleas for peace were finally heard. Elboron of Ithilien decided to leave Mordor for good. After lauding his men and their courage and all their years of loyal service, he led them forth on the long road home.
Along the way, though, they were harried viciously by ambush-parties of orcs. The intensity of the assaults forced them to change course again and again, and before they were quite able to muster necessary resistance, they found themselves trapped in a dead-end canyon.
Elboron did not call for his captains. He only called for Eldarion. The two of them rode off a piece and spoke quietly.
"I have a duty here, Dar, and you know it. I have to get you out of here alive. My men will punch through whatever they send at us, and then I want you to ride like there's a fire behind you."
Eldarion shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."
Elboron took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Dar, stop it. You are the royal heir, my prince. I can't let you get yourself killed. So, you will either swear to me to do what I ask or I'll have you tied to your saddle and I'll have someone lead your horse through the fray. Understand?"
Their eyes met, a clash of steel between them. Both of them had wills of absolute stone, in all honesty, each displayed in a different way. But there came between them another of those rare moments where they both recognized they were not just men, not just companions, friends, lovers - they were prince and vassal, and Eldarion would forever dishonor Elboron and his family if he insisted on dying along with him.
Eldarion drew himself up and nodded slowly. "Just promise me...promise me you will fight to live."
Elboron saluted him formally, a bright grin on his weather-beaten face. "As my liege commands," he murmured and went to give his orders.
There was not much unsaid between them, so there was not really any need for long-winded goodbyes. And they were out of time anyway. The orcs had massed at the mouth of the canyon - fully two thousand of them - and they were ready for war.
Elboron was giving his orders when Aldurn - faithful, grizzled, loyal Aldurn - touched his arm and point out to the field of enemies. The Prince of Ithilien went cold.
Garchuk was leading the attack.
Elboron was suddenly fifteen again, suddenly screaming again as his father was slaughtered before him. It took him a moment to realize that he really was screaming - his sword raised, his horse charging.
And to a man, his army followed, their hearts knowing no fear as they went once more into battle behind their beloved prince.
There was no finesse, but there was valor and there was glory, that day. His men crashed into the orcs with such force that the first five ranks of the enemy were utterly destroyed before the men's momentum slowed. Then the brutal hacking and slashing began as they sought to either win or make sure the orcs limped away with devastating losses.
Elboron's focus was on Garchuk, and he knew that was all he need concern himself with, for Eldarion, his prince, his heart, would be taking the first window that opened to escape. And with him safe, Elboron could seek a way to destroy the creature whom he had hunted for years.
But it was not so easy to reach one massive troll with so many orcs between them. It was like trying to swim upriver, and though Elboron did strive mightily, he could barely inch forward. The press of the enemy was just too strong. And slowly, his men were being flanked and cut to pieces.
A man with friends is never truly alone, it is said, and that day, that proverb proved true, for just as defeat seemed imminent, a great horn blast echoed over the field. Five hundred Rohirrim topped a rise and came down upon the orcs with terrible fury.
The battle quickly turned.
Elboron surged forward, his horse vaulting or trampling orcs to get to Garchuk. He sheathed his sword and drew his spear as he closed with his enemy. This moment he had practiced for many times during the last two decades. His horse made a great, surging leap and Elboron hurled his spear with all the force of his arm (and twenty years of pain).
The spear went right between two plates in the troll's chest armor, sinking in deep. It was a perfect shot, but it was not enough. Garchuk spun - his speed diminished but still terrifying - and with his axe he cleaved Elboron's horse in midair. Horse and rider went tumbling.
Elboron blacked out for just a moment, and when he came to, the troll was looming over him, ready to finish the job. Elboron scrambled out of the way and drew his sword, snarling into the monster's face. This was the creature who had inhabited his nightmares for years and years.
Elboron of Ithilien leaped to the attack, darting in and cutting and then dancing right back out again. The creature was slower, but he was still too quick to risk closing with him for long. Elboron kept on the move, circling behind Garchuk every time the troll moved, keeping himself out of range of the axe and the hammer.
As good as he was, though, he was not infallible. One clever attempt to sever a tendon in the back of one of the troll's knees caused him to overbalance. Garchuk was able to get ahead of him at last and turn, striking him underhanded with the axe.
The blow was not as mighty as it would have been, had it been struck overhand or sideways, but it was still staggering. It tore open Elboron's breastplate and sent him hurtling backwards to land in a dazed, crumpled heap.
Garchuk roared as another spear penetrated his torso, this one thrown by a charging Rider. Elfwine had grown into a more-than-adept horseman. And his friend was in danger. He quickly came around behind the troll and slashed its leg wide open.
The troll was turning, slowly and painfully, to meet this new threat when yet another horseman appeared out of the fray. Eldarion had indeed gone to make his escape, but seeing Elfwine's charge had brought him back to fight beside his friends. So it was that he came at the troll and, launching himself from his saddle, struck such a blow against the monster's shoulder that his blade sundered the plating and sunk deep into flesh and was then stuck there.
Eldarion landed and quickly ran to see to his companion, finding Elboron struggling to get to his feet. His eyes were filled with wonder as he saw his friends rallying around him, and even the blood seeping from his chest did not detract from his amazement.
"Boro, sit down, well finish him," Eldarion told him.
Elboron shook his head and hefted his sword - his father's sword - and looked up at the monster. "No, he's mine."
"Boro..."
"He's mine!"
Elfwine's second charge brought the troll to his knees, groaning in pain. The massive hammer fell and Garchuk swung clumsily with the axe to ward off another charge by Elfwine. He never even saw the battered figure racing towards him with vengeance burning in his eyes.
Elboron ducked under one feeble swing and then plunged his sword through Garchuk's neck and up into his brain.
The troll, his enemy, fell dead to the earth with a tremendous crash.
The battle around them was once again turning against them. The orcs had rallied around one of their lesser chiefs and were making use of their greater numbers. Even the loss of Garchuk did not send them running.
Elfwine slid from his horse and ran to Elboron, who was swaying on his feet. Eldarion got there before him, easing the wounded prince to the ground. "Is he...?" Elfwine could not find the courage to ask what was in his heart.
"He'll be fine," Eldarion vowed, peeling off the ruined breastplate.
The wound beneath was truly ugly, but Eldarion did not even flinch. He had many times had to patch Elboron back together. He called his horse over and took items from his pack to see to the bleeding. "We have to get him out of here."
Elfwine nodded and looked around for some means of escape. Swift riders might be able to make a run for it, but a wounded man would never be able to do so safely. They would kill Elboron trying to save him.
Aldurn galloped over to them, panting hard from his exertions. His steel-grey hair and weathered features testified to his age, but the face seemed oddly unchanged. He saluted Elfwine and then looked to Elboron with deep and profound worry.
"Will he be all right?" the former Rider asked uneasily.
"He might...if we can get him out of here. We need time, though. We don't dare try and move him very fast." Elfwine gave Aldurn a helpless look.
Aldurn rotated a sore shoulder and nodded slowly. "Then time you shall have. When the crescent-moon banner falls, you will need to run." He then turned his horse and started to head back to the battle.
"Aldurn," Elfwine called.
The man paused and turned. "Yes, Win?"
Elfwine stared at him for a moment, so many questions going through his head. "Will I ever know why you love him so much?"
Aldurn actually smiled. "You might...if you can get him to tell you."
And then Aldurn, formerly of the Mark, known to be Elboron's most valued and trusted man, rode off for his final battle. He had but to tell the men what they needed to do and they all rallied around him.
They gave the orcs a fight that legends pale in comparison to.
Elfwine helped Eldarion get Elboron into the saddle with him and then mounted up as well. They walked their horses away from the fight, the Riders of Rohan slowly rallying around them. The prince of the Mark looked back often, and he was awed by just how long Elboron's banner remained in the air.
The orcs received such a battering that day that they chose to let the Riders go in peace, though their scouts were seen often along the road home. The orcs' main desire seemed to be to have the invaders leave, and if that could happen without a fight, they were willing to hold back.
Elboron slipped into a fevered sleep, held securely in Eldarion's arms as they made their way over the Ephel Duath mountain range. His condition did not improve, but Eldarion's ministrations did keep his breathing fairly steady and his pulse constant.
They crossed into Ithilien and the prince of Gondor directed them to head for Minas Tirith - his mother and the healers in the Houses of Healing would know best what to do for the wounded prince.
At the banks of the Anduin, they stopped and made camp and it was there that Elboron awoke and called or his friends, late in the night. They arrived in the tent, relieved and elated that he was back with them.
"Not...in Mordor anymore?" he asked them, seemingly desperate.
They shook their heads, each taking one of his hands. "No, Boro," Eldarion assured him softly.
Elboron face took on a beatific light and he smiled. "Good...didn't want to die there..." He sighed and licked his dry lip. "Baro is safe now...monster's dead..."
Eldarion smoothed back his lover's hair, feeling the burning forehead. He then felt the pulse at the man's wrist and he shivered a little. "He stopped fearing the monster a long time ago, Boro," Eldarion murmured. "Barahir is all grown up now...he just fears his brother not coming home."
Elfwine caught the look in Eldarion's eyes and he went pale. "Boro, you know...I'm sorry we haven't spoken in so long, I-"
Elboron squeezed his hand and gave him a weak but lopsided grin. "Just because I'm dying, Win...y'don't have to apologize for me being an ass."
There was silence as the words were spoken. Both of the other princes smiled through a gathering of tears.
"Aye," Elfwine managed. "You were an ass. But so was I."
Elboron winked at him. Then he brought Eldarion's hand to his lips and kissed it and then strength seemed to leave him. Peace such as he had not known for so very long suffused his being and he eased back down onto the pallet. "We had some times," he said with a broad, boyish smile. And then he just stared blankly ahead as his final breath left him.
And such was the end of Elboron son of Faramir and Eowyn; Prince of Ithilien, Marshal of Gondor. He was thirty-eight.