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"Why Little Brother, you look unwell! Shall I send for a healer, or perhaps even Adar?"

Eldarion groaned aloud, nearly face-down in his untouched bowl of sliced pears. Elboron and Elfwine fared little better; Elboron had gone white at the mere mention of breakfast that morning, and Elfwine avoided sunlight as if he were a cave-bred goblin. That the three of them were up and even minimally presentable before midday felt like a minor achievement in and of itself. There was no hiding the dark circles beneath their eyes and their queasy stomachs from Eruthiawen though.

"You know very well what ails us, Eruthia," mumbled Eldarion.

Eruthiawen laughed, the flute-like sound drawing a pained combination of a smile and a grimace from Elboron. Unlike the three dishevelled princes, Eruthiawen could not have been more fresh and bright on a warm summer morning. She herself had already tucked in to a hearty breakfast of tea-boiled eggs, fruit and cream. Even just the sight of his sister enjoying her meal had been enough to put Eldarion off his pears.

"That I do, which is why I myself do not share Túrien's dismay at not having joined you gentlemen last night. I take it the 'sousing' , as Gimli put it, was a complete success then?"

"It wasn't quite a feast in the Golden Hall," said Elfwine, taking a cautious sip of water. "But the memory of Eldarion singing from table tops will be one to cherish for years to come. That and Elboron passing out in a broom closet!"

"Elfwine!" Elboron's wan cheeks visibly flushed. "Did you not say that what happens in the tavern stays in the tavern?"

The voice of Éowyn, layered with poorly concealed mirth cut in from the dining room door. "It does, at least until the revelers come wandering home to their wives and tell all."

Elfwine visibly perked, interest at least partially erasing some of the tiredness from him. "What's this? You mean to say, Aunt, that even Gondor's most studious and dutiful Steward has some tales from the tankard?"

After being denied any scandalous stories concerning King Éomer and Lord Faramir the night before, their sons were only too hopeful to learn from Éowyn. Eldarion, having heard more than enough to keep him chuckling about his father's youth for a year, also straightened up in his seat with keen ears. As an afterthought, he pushed his bowl of pears to the side. When Eruthiawen raised her eyebrows, he rolled his eyes in permission. She snagged the rim of the bowl with a fork and drew it into her place at the table. Fresh fruit never went to waste when Eruthiawen was present.

"Every married man has had his stag party," Éowyn was saying coyly. "As if your father would let his future brother-in-law wed a Shieldmaiden of Rohan without having been thoroughly welcomed by the Rohirrim, Elfwine."

"And Father told you all about it afterwards?" asked Elboron, eyes wide with delighted disbelief.

"Oh yes, every detail. He was feeling so contrite about all the mischief that Éomer had gotten him into that he could not rest, even while fall-down drunk, until he had unburdened every inch of his conscience to me. When he finally awoke the next day and remembered, I think he feared that I might not still wish to marry him!"

"But you did, didn't you?" Eldarion could scarcely imagine what kind of trouble Éomer could have gotten Faramir into that would threaten his marriage to Éowyn.

Éowyn laughed. "Oh yes! Do not look so worried, Elboron. It was entirely the most endearing thing I had ever beheld, to see how worked up your father became over such small infractions as talking up the barmaid or losing track of his doublet pin. Ah, you would think he had lost my best horse, so apologetic he was!" A wicked gleam came into Éowyn's eye as she came to rest a hand on her son's golden head. "It would taste of a lie to say that I did not take some small advantage of Faramir's remorse in the following days; my wish was practically his command from that point onward when it came to planning our wedding. I think he was mostly just grateful that I had not scorned him as a drunkard after his single night out with the Rohirrim!"

Gales of laughter broke out around the table. A chorus of birds sitting on the window ledges joined in on the merriment, and their chirruping voices just about brought Eldarion to tears when it re-awoke his headache with a vengeance. Groaning, he was very tempted to rudely stick his fingers in his sensitive ears.

Rising from her chair, Eruthiawen composed herself even though mirth still shone from her grey eyes. "I think I had best go and help Mother get Túrien packed for Harad, before I hear something that I might wish I could forget. But first..."

Before Eldarion and the others could move to prevent it, Eruthiawen had crossed the dining room and flung open the shutters, pouring bright, unfiltered sunlight into the room. All three boys shrank away with pained cries, throwing up their hands in front of their faces. Éowyn clucked her tongue admonishingly even as she rubbed Elboron's hunched shoulders.

"The day had to be faced sooner rather than later I'm afraid. Especially for you, Elfwine; as I recall, Éomer intended for you and Queen Lothíriel to depart for Rohan this afternoon, did he not?"

"Argh..." was all that came out of Elfwine, who dropped his forehead onto the tabletop with a dull thud.

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Eruthiawen found Túrien and their mother in the midst of various piles of sorted clothing, spread across the bed and most of the furniture in Túrien's room. Almárëa perched at the foot of the bed, still in her nightdress and slippers with hair unbound. Túrien for once wasn't putting up a fuss about being made to try things on. In fact, she dipped out from behind the dressing screen in the corner with arms open, ready to be inspected to the queen's satisfaction.

Arwen made a hum of approval at the wine-red suede riding overcoat which Túrien was modelling. "Yes, that fits you nicely Túrien. It might be somewhat too warm for Harad's late summer days, but nights in the south I'm told can be quite cool. You will wear it if need be?"

"Eldarion said that the Haradrim favor the color red, so it will serve two purposes to suit me," replied Túrien, lifting one arm to test the stitching. When it flexed comfortably she nodded.

"Good, then in that case we shall add it to your pack."

"Naneth," said Almárëa, scooting forward across the quilt to finger a new pair of gloves awaiting packing covetously. "When will I be able to see Harad? I want to go with Ada too."

"Ah iel dithen (little daughter), your time will come. If this visit to Harmindon and the meeting with the chieftains goes well, there may yet be many years ahead in which you may come to know the Haradrim as friends and allies of Gondor. Perhaps Harondor shall once again become the home of the desert tribes, and Mûmakil shall be seen bearing goods for trade throughout Ithilien to the port at Pelargir. What would you think of that?"

Almárëa's eyes had grown wide with wonder at the thought of Oliphants passing to and fro only days from Minas Tirith. If Eruthiawen thought that perhaps Mûmakil were less cause for excitement as they were cause for trepidation, she said nothing to dampen her youngest sister's awe. Besides, she well knew what a true allegiance with the Haradrim could mean for peace in the years to come, and what such an achievement meant to their father. Eruthiawen could close her eyes and remember effortlessly the map of scars etched across Aragorn's hands; tribute to a hard life lived in the shadow of war. And so she kept her own private misgivings about the beasts of the south and their desert-hardened masters to herself.

"Túrien, I have a gift for you." Arwen said, reaching out to her middle daughter and drawing her closer. "It will bring me great joy if you need never use it while on your journey. Even so, I know that you have been spending your mornings in the training yards with Lady Éowyn on the sly, and thus know how to handle a blade with respect."

Túrien opened her mouth, and then closed it, seemingly not knowing how to respond. That their father had taught her to how to shoot with bows and arrows was common knowledge, if something of a source of bemused disapproval among the nobility of Minas Tirith. Although Eruthiawen had known Túrien's secret, no doubt Túrien thought that she was hiding her early morning sessions with the White Lady of Ithilien very cleverly. When the startled look on Túrien's face said as much, Arwen laughed softly and shook her head.

"Éowyn came to Aragorn and I asking our permission from the very first moment you ever approached her about swordplay, iel-nin. Beware, my children..." Arwen smirked at them lovingly "...for a mother knows everything, always. Which is why I also know from Éowyn that you can be trusted to carry this at your side."

Lifting several stacks of clothing off the sofa revealed a sheathed sword lying hidden beneath. The blade was clearly elvish in make, with a sabre-like width and curved hilt. Gold scrollwork embossed the leather handle as well as the sheath, curving in beautiful patterns of leaves and vines. Túrien gasped aloud when Arwen took up the sword and held it out toward her.

"Come. Read the runes on the blade."

Slowly, as if not quite believing that she was being entrusted with such a gift, Túrien took the sword. When she drew it back halfway from the sheath, its blade was so flawless and polished that she saw her own reflection in it. With a voice that almost trembled, Túrien read the flowing Tengwar runes aloud.

"Aen estar Hadhafang i chathol hen, thand arod dan i thang an i arwen."

"This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady," repeated Eruthiawen reverently. "The sword of Princess Idril of Gondolin, handed down through our family all the way to Grandfather Elrond."

"Naneth...you mean it?" Túrien asked, and to Eruthiawen's shock there were actually tears in her sister's stormy blue eyes. "I can wear this?"

Arwen laid her hands over top of Túrien's on Hadhafang's hilt and sheath. The queen looked a little misty eyed herself. "You are a daughter of elf-kind. Although it may be the custom of Men for women not to bear arms, I will not send you away into strange lands undefended when both your father and your brother carry swords on their belts. I know you will bear this blade wisely, as those in your bloodline did before you. And that means knowing not only when to draw your sword, but when to leave it sheathed." Arwen squeezed Túrien's hands before releasing them, leaving the ancestral blade in her daughter's keeping.

The previously poignant moment was broken when Almárëa came sliding off the bed to rush to Túrien's side. Almárëa was sensible enough not to touch the sword, but that did not stop her from wanting to see it.

"It's so beautiful! Oh! Now I truly do feel left out, knowing that Ada is getting ready to leave again, and this time taking both Eldarion and Túrien away as well." Almárëa pouted out her pink lower lip in a way that most children stopped doing when they were years younger than she. It still had the desired effect though; Túrien was quick to swoop in to the rescue.

"Don't worry Almárëa, we will return, and we'll bring back all kinds of tales and things from Harad to share with you. And, if all goes well, I promise that the next time we go I'll take you there myself, and introduce you to a real live Mûmakil!"

The scenario of little Almárëa coming face-to-face with a Mûmakil was not one that Eruthiawen thought ought to be encouraged in any context. A mortified glance exchanged with their mother confirmed that Arwen was thinking something along similar lines. There was no point in refuting Túrien's well-intentioned promises yet though, not when such a future might not even be realized. For now, they could only venture forward into the unknown with open minds and open hearts, and hope that the Haradrim were willing to do the same. Arwen still could not help but wonder though if she had made a wise choice as she watched Túrien belt Hadhafang around her waist.

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That afternoon the ruling families of Gondor and Rohan gathered in the courtyard before the city gates to bid farewell to one another. Although Elfwine was not abundantly pleased to be sent home while Eldarion joined their fathers in the journey to Harmindon, he smiled and was of good cheer as he said his goodbyes all the same. Elboron was also not going, instead to remain in Minas Tirith with Faramir and Éowyn, and that apparently went far toward taking the sting out of the matter. Eldarion and Elboron embraced Elfwine one after the other, feeling a thrice-renewed sense of kinship toward one another after their shared experiences at the Sea of Rhûn and the previous night at The Splintered Shield.

"Try not to be sick to your stomach, at least until you're beyond the White City's streets!" Eldarion teased Elfwine in an effort to pretend for just a few minutes more than they were not actually parting.

Elfwine snorted, gently cuffing the back of Eldarion's head and setting his dark hair on end. "Unlike you, I happen to have some experience under my belt. I've been ready to ride since before you and Elboron managed to walk a straight line today." Then the prince of Rohan caught Eldarion by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together. "Good luck in Harad. I will tell Túrien to be sure to look after you, aye?"

"Be careful Elfwine, lest your sarcasm reach her ears and it becomes you who is in need of looking after," chuckled Eldarion. "Ride well, my brother."

"And you, brother. Now, come here Elboron, so I can pinch your cheeks and tousle your hair just like I always used to do for my little cousin."

Elboron rolled his eyes in a long-suffering manner, but walked straight into Elfwine's embrace regardless. "When last I looked, I do believe I was and still am older than you, Elfwine."

"Pah, age is but a number! I'll be watching your back until the day I die."

After the boys were finished saying their goodbyes, they were joined by Eruthiawen, Túrien, Almárëa, and all of their mothers and fathers, as well as Legolas and Gimli. Neither Legolas nor Gimli were accompanying the party to Harad either, having been too long away from their respective peoples and their duties as leaders. Gimli was to return to Rohan and the Glittering Caves at Helms Deep, traveling part of the way back from Gondor with Elfwine and Lothíriel's party. A pony awaited Gimli amongst the horses of the Rohirrim, and with some misgivings Aragon had consented that the dwarf was sufficiently healed enough to ride at least.

"Travel safely, my heart, and send a raven to Minas Tirith with news of your arrival when you and Elfwine make it back to Edoras," Éomer instructed Lothíriel.

Lothíriel bowed her head to her husband within the hood of her blue and gold-trimmed cloak. "I will do so, and I expect a missive from you as well once you return from Harad. Keep your wits about you, Éomer. The Haradrim are a crafty people, and not easily understood at a glance."

The king and queen of Rohan embraced, and Éomer kissed his wife's brow before turning to his son. "You see your mother safely home, Elfwine. I trust that the Riddermark will be well cared for in my absence."

"Yes Father. We'll look to your coming from the Golden Hall."

"Good. Before the autumn solstice you'll see my banner upon the eastern horizon, I promise."

Éomer clasped Elfwine's wrist, likewise gripping the backs of one another's heads as Elfwine had done with Eldarion before parting. Éomer embraced Éowyn and delivered his usual warnings on his sister's behalf to Faramir, who took it in stride as long-standing tradition despite their having been wed for nearly two-and-a-half decades.

"It has been entirely too long between visits, and the pleasure has been ours to host you in Minas Tirith, Queen Lothíriel and Prince Elfwine," said Aragorn, his official tone a warning that the moment of parting was quickly drawing upon them. "Perhaps we shall have to deliver King Éomer to you in Edoras personally upon our return."

"The lords and ladies of Gondor are always welcome in Meduseld, Your Grace. Your hospitality has been above compare, and we have truly enjoyed every moment spent this summer in the White City," replied Lothíriel.

"Then until we meet again, fair roads and safe travels my friends."

With the Rohirrim awaiting them outside on the fields of Pelennor, Elfwine and Lothíriel turned to the gates and urged their horses onward. Legolas lifted a hand in farewell, which Gimli returned before likewise putting a knee to his pony's side and heading out. Eldarion and Elboron could not help but feel, even though he had been absent for so long prior to that summer, there was a hole in their trio where Elfwine rightly belonged. The prince of Rohan had his duties awaiting him at home though, just as Eldarion and Túrien had a journey into the unknown awaiting them in Harad.

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