For a few moments Elboron watched as Harma made his way unsteadily down the tricky pathway. Regret overwhelmed him as he moved away toward the back of the Hallow. As he curled up and stared out over the golden-hued landscape, Elboron couldn't repress the feeling that he'd made a terrible mistake.
Shaking his head he told himself that he could no longer indulge whims, that he'd had his fun but that the time had come for him to place his duties first and to conform to the normal way of doing things. Elboron felt that he needed to embrace his maturity, or at least to get used to the responsibilities he held as the Steward's son and heir. If it meant giving up some of his preferences, then he would just have to do so. Certainly, he could do it for himself because he had to, but it had hurt him so to see the hurt it caused Harma.
Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Elboron felt the lofty chill wind blowing in his face, causing his eyes to water. But turning his back to the wind did not help, the tears still slipped down and the ache in his chest still burnt him. He knew as surely as anything that he loved Harma and suddenly wondered why he should have to give that up. Elboron was not fool enough to think that love always lasted or worked out as one wished; he knew that his own nana and twin sister had died when he was a baby and that his ada still bore that grief. But now he wondered why he should have to end something so prematurely. Maybe it would have turned out that his father wouldn't have been devastated and shamed. Maybe he and Harma could have been happy together for a long time.
But no, he told himself, it was just wishful thinking, and that was not the way of things. Elboron closed his eyes and wished dearly that there was someone he could talk to who would understand this. Of course, there was not, and so he just lay there, high above Minas Tirith, alone and sad.
Elboron woke shivering in the night. Sitting up he realized that he'd fallen asleep up on the mountain's outcrop and now had to make his way down the path in the darkness. Looking to the moon, half of which was directly over his head, he knew that he needed to move quickly, but one had to be quite careful on the downward route. Taking a deep breath and wishing that he could stay up on Mindolluin for the rest of his days, Elboron carefully started his way back home.
The sun was just beginning to tint the eastern skies when Elboron finally set his feet upon ancient Rath Dinen. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath before heading home, sinking down against the wall at the back of the House of the Kings. Perhaps it was for the best that within a few hours he would be departing on an extended journey north. He didn't think he could deal with staying in the City and had there been no journey planned, he almost certainly would have headed off to Emyn Arnen for a while. Maybe time away would be just what he needed to straighten himself out.
Pushing himself to stand up and keep moving before he fell asleep again, Elboron noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It looked like someone laying there on the ground. Leaning in closer, Elboron sighed deeply, though he was not surprised. He knelt beside Harma's sleeping figure, his chest clearly rising and falling, assuring Elboron that he was all right. Gently, he placed a hand on Harma's shoulder. In a moment his hand was covered by Harma's, who had not yet opened his eyes. "G'night, 'Bori," Harma murmured, mostly in his sleep.
For a moment Elboron considered waking him but, seeing that little dream smile on Harma's face, he thought better of it and let him dream. It was truly the least he could do after he'd broken his heart. "Good night, Harma," Elboron whispered, pressing a soft kiss to those lips. "Please never doubt that I did love you."
Choking back what he felt, Elboron made haste back to the Citadel. The sun had risen by then and he would not have enough time to do aught but have a hot bath and get ready to depart. That hot bath was most needed though, and Elboron lingered until the water was nearly cold as he wished the water would wash away his woes.
A knock at the door adjoining his chambers to his father's chambers stirred Elboron from his thoughts. Rising from the lukewarm water, Elboron's legs ached and he knew he would have a miserable time in the saddle. Wrapping his robe around him and grabbing a towel he went to open the door, knowing his father would wonder where he had been all night.
Faramir did look concerned, but decided against inquiring. Elboron was a full-fledged man and, much as Faramir hated to admit it he still understood that his son needed his own space. Instead Faramir offered to share his breakfast with his son, having elected to take the meal privately, as his father did with his youngerson and expectant wife. It was perfectly obvious to Faramir as they ate and talked about the journey that Elboron had not slept well, having spent many such nights himself he knew the signs distinctly. Elboron looked like he'd just spent a month in Ithilien, as it was in Denethor's days.
Finishing his repast quickly (he was quite hungry), Elboron kissed his father's cheek, mostly out of habit, and hurried to get dressed for the road, promising that he would meet his father in the entrance hall. As Elboron dressed and took up his packs, glancing over his apartments for anything he might have forgotten, he realized how much he wished he could talk to his father about Harma. For years father and son had shared everything, but now he felt so isolated, only adding to the aches he was already feeling. Shaking his head, Elboron told himself it was just another reason why he had to make himself change.
Stepping out into the hallway, Elboron saw the royal family coming out of their chambers, King and Prince weighted down with travel gear, Queen weighted down with child, and he waited to walk with them. "Good mornings" were exchanged before Arwen said, "Elboron, I grant that I have lived amongst Men for rather few of my years, but is it not customary to wear riding boots when setting out?"
Elboron looked confused for a moment before realizing that he hadn't actually bothered to put his boots on. Laughing at himself, Elboron said, "your pardon, my lady, I didn't have as much sleep last night as I should have had."
Arwen smiled tenderly, "I understand entirely, I can take your packs downstairs for you."
"Nana!" Eldarion protested before Aragorn had the chance to. "I will get them 'Bori, never mind what nana says, ada told me she said things like that all the time before I was born."
Arwen fixed her husband with a demandingly curious look. Aragorn's only defense was to kiss her cheek quickly and insist that they go on ahead and he would be with them shortly.
Elboron ducked back into his chambers and Aragorn followed. A hand on Elboron's shoulder gently turned him round. "Are you feeling well, Elboron?" Aragorn asked.
"Aye, daeradar, I am perfectly well. I… it's just that I haven't been getting enough sleep I think," Elboron hedged, though there was no lie there.
Aragorn nodded. "I have experienced that more times than I can count. I promise that I will do my best not to live up to reputation for being difficult to travel with. For once I want to prove that I can get my companions to Imladris without thoroughly exhausting them along the way."
Elboron smiled pulling his boots on and bending to lace them. His uncle Gimli often told what an incredible nuisance Aragorn was to have to travel with during the War of the Ring. It made for hilarious circumstances when his uncle Legolas contradicted every word from the dwarf's mouth, insisting that he had felt that Aragorn could have sped things up quite a bit, had they not been slowed by a grousing dwarf.
Much had changed in Gondor since those days, however, and now the people no longer even questioned whether it was right for both the King and Steward to be gone from the City at the same time. There was a degree of dispute, however, as to whether the King and Steward, as well as their respective heirs, should all travel together at once, especially without an armed escort. Aragorn would not put up with the notion that since his coronation he had lost his ability to safeguard his traveling companions – he'd been acceptable enough to for the Fellowship, and by the Valar, no one would tell him he wasn't good enough to guard his own family!
Crowds began to gather as the four riders descended through the city. People cheered and shouted wishes for a safe journey for their leaders and their heirs. Elboron wore a mask of a smile, the one that all those high enough up in leadership wore intuitively, regardless of what they were feeling, and the same one that Aragorn had only just mastered after the past twenty years of trying.
Elboron's carefully constructed mask fell apart when he happened to glance over his shoulder at those standing along the ramparts one level up. Harma stood there amongst them, looking utterly defeated and thoroughly wounded. Elboron could do naught but watch and fight the rush of emotion as Harma turned and hurried away, pushing through the crowd. Suddenly Elboron felt cold and empty inside, and that was the worst feeling yet. He felt nothing, he was numb, and did not even feel human in that moment. He found himself grasping for any feeling, even that burning, stabbing ache was better than nothingness.
"Bor'?" Eldarion said quietly. The Prince had moved to ride closer to his "big brother" when he saw the void expression in his grey eyes.
Elboron smiled back weakly, he was clearly becoming much too obvious and he couldn't allow that. This, as he saw it, was his battle to fight, and much as he would have loved to have someone else's help and support, he felt that he had to pass this test alone. "I'm just tired 'Dari, don't worry about me," Elboron said, thinking it best to keep his replies consistent. He knew, sooner or later, he would have to "catch up on his rest." He only hoped that he would be ready to deal with his obligations by then.
The procession through the City was an ordeal and he often wondered why he and his family couldn't just come and go like ordinary people. What was it about them that made all of Minas Tirith want to stand there and stare at them as they went by? It was a little better as they rode out over the Pelennor, for the most part farmers wouldn't exactly come running to see four people riding off. Those who saw them would bow, some would even kneel as the King passed, but they wouldn't swarm them.
By the time they made it out to Grey Wood, Elboron was really starting to feel the effects of not having enough sleep. He felt like strapping himself into the saddle and taking an upright nap. It was a practice that was well known to mounted soldiers for many years, though it had always been much too dangerous in the past, for one never knew when one's company would be set upon by the spawn of Mordor, and to be bound to one's saddle in such an event was practically a guarantee of death.
Still, Aragorn was certain to make good on his promise to take the journey at a relaxed pace and to allow for plenty of rest. He decided that they would make camp at the base of Amon Din for the night, though the sun would not be set for nearly another hour. Aragorn reckoned that the luxury of lighting a fire, cooking, and setting up camp while it was still in the light of day was something that a Ranger might have to pass on that a King did not.
Elboron and Eldarion offered to fetch firewood while their fathers took care of the hard work – trying to set up a pavilion, which would have been nothing had they spent more years as ordinary soldiers rather than Rangers who vehemently eschewed such flagrant symbols of rank. Naturally, being such resourceful men as they were, they had the tarred canvas strung up rather quickly and they stretched out waiting for their sons to return.
Aragorn lit up his pipe and Faramir just lay quietly for a while, enjoying the freedom of being away from the City and back under the trees. Faramir sighed deeply and turned toward his father. "Have you noticed that Elboron has not been himself of late?" he asked.
"Aye," Aragorn said, attempting to puff out a smoke ring only to end up swallowing a bit of smoke and choking on it.
Faramir rolled his eyes, passing a canteen to his father. "You take a year from your life, ada."
"Hannon le," Aragorn said, between gulps of the water, "but you begin to sound a lot more like my ada."
Faramir smiled, saying "who do you think I learned it from?"
"As expected," Aragorn grumbled.
"Right… but about Elboron -"
"I doubt you should lose sleep over it, Faramir. He has been pushing himself too hard of late – not that I have any notion where he might have gotten that habit from – but I think too that it might simply be a symptom of growing up."
Faramir sighed. "Well, I had thought that as well. I know he needs his own space now, and I certainly would not deny him that. It's just that…"
"You miss him being a little boy as dependent upon his father as his father is upon him?" Aragorn offered.
"More or less, I suppose. I think, though, that I perceive more to it. His heart seems to be burdened," Faramir said.
"He still loves you more than anything, Fara'," Aragorn assured. "Do not fear that. He just needs to discover who he is, and that involves testing new waters."
"Aye, I know it, I just hate to see him swim away."
"I think this journey is exactly what he needs. Both of our sons are much too sheltered. By the time I was their age orcs feared my name." Faramir gave his father a strange look at that statement, causing Aragorn to laugh. "Well, of course I do not mean that exactly. I, too, am thankful that they have grown up without such burdens. Their world is entirely different and I think that they shall both have a fine chance of realizing their heart's desires in much easier ways than you and I had to."
"I hope they do. I just hope that Elboron never faces the doubts I contended with for so long," Faramir said using his arm as a pillow, certain that he would fall asleep before the boys came back with enough firewood for the night.
Faramir did not see the regretful expression on Aragorn's face that alluded to the 36 years he had allowed another man unsuitably to raise his son. "He could not," Aragorn said quietly. "He knows how much his father adores him."
"He reminds me so much of Boromir at times," Faramir mused of his son. "He always has."
That, Aragorn thought, was the one thing that he had allowed himself reprieve for: had he taken his baby boy from Minas Tirith at his birth, he would not have had the chance to grow up with Boromir. For as much as Denethor despised Finduilas's second-born, Boromir's love for his little brother easily outweighed that.
Before too long the younger men returned, both carrrying heavy armfuls of fallen timber. Elboron, for as absent as he'd been of late, took one look at the tent and knew that was not how it was supposed to look. "Ada...?" he asked curiously, "Where are the poles?"
Faramir and Aragorn exchanged confused looks between themselves and what they thought was a perfectly fine rendition of a pavilion, before they both realized that there were indeed supposed to be poles, not a tree branch, supporting the structure and that, moreover, neither of them had thought to bring them.
"Oh... those poles..." father and son said in unison, looking a bit sheepish.