And now... what are our boys up to now?

Chapter 3

When it was finally morning, he could not wait to see Eldarion again. But all seemed to be against that. Both of his parents had some time to spare and wanted to be with their children. Any other day, he would have been leaping into the air with joy, so rare was the occasion when they were in Minas Tirith. (He could vaguely remember the time before Ithilwen was born, when his mother would sit in her parlour making tiny clothes for the baby, and sometimes Queen Arwen would join her.) But this morning, it was terrible.

First, his father made him stand next to himself and announced that he was growing taller every hour. His mother remarked that he was too thin for her liking, but that many boys were the same as they were growing, especially if they did not have the time to eat properly. His father then said he had been quite thin himself when he was little. As had his Uncle Boromir been, too, but by the time he received the Horn, he was already a mighty warrior… at least he himself always thought so, his father said and laughed a little.

Why did he have to mention the Horn…

'Father…when shall I have the Horn?' he asked hesitantly.

Faramir ruffled his hair.

'When you grow up, son. I shall tell you when!' he said and smiled. 'We should not have to wait long for that: just look at how big you already are!'

This was just what Elboron had feared. The night before, after his father mentioned the Horn, he suddenly remembered the poor heirloom, broken again and put together with wax. He remembered how difficult it had been to make the halves keep together… how they had had to try again and again…

While it was up there on its shelf, it was safe. But what about the day when his father would give it to him for his own, before the King, and Queen Arwen, and his mother, and maybe even the King of Rohan, who was a frequent guest in Gondor with his own children... and all the nobles, too… and what if the Queen's brothers decided to come?

Half the previous night, he had been imagining the Horn falling apart yet another time in front of all those Men and Elves, and was now almost feeling sick…

'What is it, Elboron?' His father now sounded concerned and was looking at him questioningly. Why did he always have to know when something was wrong! Even Eldarion's father said he was sometimes scared of that, and Eldarion's father was the King!

For an instant, he considered telling him everything. Surely he would not be very angry! But then he remembered everything he knew about his uncle… and how much his father loved him and how sad he had been when his brother died. He knew about it; his father had told him, and he had looked really sad. No, he could not tell the whole truth… but was that meant to be a lie then? He did not want to lie either.

He looked up resolutely.

'Nothing that would require your immediate attention, Father,' he said as firmly as he could, repeating what he once heard the King say. That was not a big lie.

He heard his mother produce a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. His father bit his lip, and his face became a little red.

'All right. But do tell me if it starts to… require my immediate attention, son,' he said and smiled.

'I shall,' Elboron promised somewhat uneasily. 'May I go and see Eldarion now?'

'You may,' his father said, nodding.

Eldarion sat and stared at his friend. The picture described by Elboron stood so vividly before his eyes that he even tried to shut them tight for a moment, but that did not help.

'Maybe… maybe I can ask Father to change it? Make a law that the Steward's heir does not get the Horn, and it has to stay in that place forever instead?'

Elboron shook his head miserably.

'Your father cannot make new laws… I know that, my tutor told me. The Council does it… and my father is Head of that!'

'Oh…'

Eldarion was suffering nearly as much as poor Elboron. After all, it was his fault too, and he had even expected his friend to say that… but Elboron had not. He was merely sitting on the soft grass, hands clasped together, shoulders slumped, head bowed – a picture of utter misery.

'If I could just die right now…' Elboron moaned, covering his face with both hands.

'No!' Eldarion gasped, frozen with shock for an instant; then he hugged his friend as tightly as he could. What awful things Elboron could say…

'It will not help,' he said, a little calmer. 'If you die, you'll go to the Halls of Waiting and you might meet your Uncle Boromir there… just imagine how mad he will be!'

Elboron sighed. His dead hero uncle's wrath was the last thing he would want. Even death was of no use.

Meanwhile, Eldarion was thinking hard.

'What if we take the Horn from your father's office and take it to someone who can mend it? To some silversmith.'

Elboron brightened a little at the idea, but then shook his head, imagining the commotion that would begin if someone noticed that the Horn was not in its usual place.

Still, if they were careful… and perhaps found another horn to put on the shelf while the Horn of Gondor was being mended…

'Maybe you are right,' he said, daring to breathe a little more freely.

Opening the door to his office, Faramir was greeted by the sight of the King Elessar shuffling through a stack of documents.

'Good morrow, Sire,' he said, inclining his head slightly.

Aragorn smiled and answered the greeting.

'I needed the accounts of the flood in the valley,' he said. 'Here is a message from your uncle with very useful suggestions. I was going to have a word with you about that too, but I thought you might still be resting. You looked weary yesterday.'

'As did you,' Faramir chuckled. 'But I deem we were both too weary to even sleep. That happens.'

He read Imrahil's letter.

'Uncle mentioned this in his letter to me, which has also been delivered today. They in Dol Amroth know how to handle such disasters,' he said. 'When Boromir and I were children, we once saw a dreadful storm when we were visiting Uncle. We even escaped to 'help,' as Boromir would have it.'

Aragorn looked curious.

'What happened?' he asked.

'We both nearly drowned and learned the feel of a broad leather belt against our backsides upon being fished out of the water,' came the answer. 'Boromir certainly did.'

'I should not expect anything of the kind from the Prince!' Aragorn said.

'Neither should I,' Faramir agreed. 'It was not the Prince. Just some old man to whom we both owed our lives on that day.'

Both men laughed.

'I am glad to have something of Boromir here,' Faramir said quietly, looking towards the shelf with the Horn.

Aragorn, who stood nearer to it, looked at it too and was just about to answer that, when suddenly something caught his eye.

Carefully, he reached for the Horn and took it.

'My lord Steward, would you come here?' he beckoned. 'Some hands, apart from yours or mine, have been… holding the Horn of late.'

For some time, they looked at one of the dearest heirlooms of the House of Húrin.

'I think I know those hands,' the Steward sighed, remembering Elboron's strange behaviour of the evening before.

Aragorn sniffed the waxy Horn.

'And I think I know my wife's scented candles,' the King sighed too, remembering, in his turn, Eldarion's fascination with them and his happiness at being given one…

Faramir was suddenly overcome by a great urge to laugh.

'No… it is no matter, my lord,' he said after a while. 'I only wonder if my Rangers do not put their skills to use with their own children in the same manner now…and if this is not the truest sign of peaceful times.'

The other Ranger merely grinned at him.

Meanwhile, the two heirs to the highest houses of the realm of Gondor were skulking in the direction of the Steward's office in the Tower of Ecthelion. Elboron's eyes glittered with the excitement that gradually took a firm hold of him. He had already convinced himself that their plan was going to be as effective as it was simple. He was also starting to develop a new respect for his little friend, who had managed to find a suitable horn to use as a replacement for the one they were planning to take away.

The long hallway seemed empty, and they quickened their pace, hurrying to have the most difficult part done…

And then…

'Elboron?'

Faramir stood, his hand still on the doorknob, and eyed his son carefully. Elboron also saw the King, who nodded and smiled at him, the way he always did. This time, however, he hardly felt like returning the smile.

He turned to throw a horrified glance at Eldarion, and was relieved to see his friend hide the replacement horn behind his back and nod almost imperceptibly.

'What are you two doing here?' Faramir asked.

'We…we…' Elboron could not think of anything to say.

'I believe they are come to look at the Horn of Gondor, my lord Steward,' the King suggested.

Elboron heard a little gasp from behind and swallowed hard.

'Y-yes,' he breathed. This was the simplest explanation… and not even a lie, big or small. Now they had to get out, somehow…

'Come here, Elboron.'

Father placed both hands on his shoulders and looked at him closely.

'I have given this matter a little consideration,' he continued, 'and I do think you have grown enough now not only to look at the Horn of Gondor from a distance. I cannot see any reason why you could not carry it as your own.'

What!

He felt something in his stomach twist almost painfully.

'But… but why now, Father?' he managed. 'Am I so big already?'

Faramir smiled.

'To be worthy is not only to be tall and strong. You are a good boy, truthful, caring, and responsible. I believe you deserve to be given the Horn. And now… now I shall lock the door until to-morrow, until the time when we take it from there to be presented to you, my son and heir, to keep safe and whole for your own son.'

Saying that, he turned and locked the door.

TBC

Thank you so much for the feedback, all! I'm glad this story is producing just the effect I wanted it to :)