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The beating of hooves echoed throughout the hills of forests of Emyn Arnen, carried on the breeze and made to sound as if they came from everywhere and nowhere. Three horses and their riders wove between the groves of birch trees, giving chase hot on the heels of a wild boar in the underbrush. The three hunters had been tracking their quarry for near on an hour, and now the game was up. The swine had at last caught their scent and run squealing away, freeing up its pursuers to abandon all pretense of stealth and ride openly after it.

Eldarion's horse Greyhame leapt over a fallen log, needing almost no urging from the prince to make the jump. Greyhame loved the thrill of the chase just as much as any youth of any species. His black mane rippling, the young gelding turned quick as a thought at just the lightest touch of Eldarion's knee. Eldarion had spotted the flock of starlings which had been disturbed from the thicket up ahead. No doubt their quarry was not far ahead now.

A cream-yellow horse darted around the trees on Eldarion's right, and he grinned. Typical of Elboron to hang back until the final charge, and then to surge ahead at the last minute. Elboron's father Faramir was not far behind, his aged chestnut horse Áre valiantly trying to keep pace with Eldarion and Elboron's much younger mounts. Elboron flashed Eldarion a brief, bright smile before urging his mare Baneth on through the thicket. Sensing a challenge, Greyhame gave chase with such enthusiasm that only Eldarion's quick reflexes saved him from getting slapped in the face by a twig.

Bringing Greyhame up alongside Baneth, Eldarion at last caught sight of the boar up ahead. It was a reasonably sized creature, large enough to leave quite the trail behind it as it pelted through the undergrowth. Even from a distance Eldarion could see the sweat glistening on the animal's hindquarters.

"Elboron, spear!"

Eldarion held out an open hand and without looking felt the heavy smack of a wooden shaft against his palm. They had done this so many times now that it beyond practice and more instinct. With his own spear in hand Elboron made as he always did to break off to one side and block the boar from swerving. Eldarion would likewise veer left, with Faramir coming up the middle between the two boys. Between the three of them this hunt would soon be over.

Then there was a sudden flash of white up ahead, followed by a surprised squeal that was abruptly silenced. Pulling up hard and fast on the reins Eldarion and Elboron barely managed to stop their horses short.

"Mother!" Elboron exclaimed, half exasperated and half impressed. "Was that really necessary?"

Sitting astride her tall white stallion SnowFire, the lady Éowyn casually leaned over and pulled her red-handled spear out of the dead boar.

"If you wished to make the kill yourself, you should have ended the hunt sooner before the poor beast ran straight to me." The White Lady of Ithilien tossed her long waves of golden hair with a pleased smile.

"And you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, is that it?"

Faramir had caught up to them, and raised an eyebrow knowingly at Éowyn. The Steward's light brown hair was touched at the temples by silver, as was his wife's. Unlike Faramir though Éowyn's fair tresses were light enough to mask the telltale signs that the two of them were not as young as they once were. The light of excitement shining in Éowyn's eyes made her seem a young Shield Maiden even still. When she shrugged innocently Faramir chuckled and Elboron gave a good-natured groan. Elboron had inherited his mother's golden hair and dimpled chin, along with his father's gentle blue eyes.

"Well, it seems that the hunt is over then." Faramir kissed Éowyn on the cheek. "Another clean strike, my love." Dismounting and tossing his long grey cloak over one shoulder, Faramir waved Elboron and Eldarion down off of their horses. "Come Elboron, Eldarion, help me get tonight's dinner trussed up for the ride back. No doubt your sister will be wondering what is taking us so long."

"She would be, if she had been content to sit and wait with her embroidery."

Eruthiawen's melodic, lilting voice sounded out from where Éowyn had appeared. Seated on her own dappled grey mare the eldest princess of Gondor rode out to join the others. Her smooth cheeks were flushed with the crispness of the late spring air, and she wore light riding gloves to match her night blue dress and silvery cloak.

"Perhaps next time you may as well spare us the surprises and simply ride out with us from the start." Eldarion brushed his dark hair back out of his eyes as he looked up at his sister. "Care to help us with this?" He gestured to the dead boar at his feet.

"You men-folk seem to have things well in hand." Eruthiawen observed drolly. "Besides, I did not come to hunt; I merely could not pass up an opportunity to see Lady Éowyn catch you all off your guard."

"Even if it comes at the expense of our pride as hunters, it will be nice to have your company on the ride back. Yours and Mother's both." Elboron paused in helping his father to gut and clean the boar to nod up at the mounted women.

"Pride always does have a way of coming before the fall." Faramir commented. "But dinner will taste just as good all the same."

It took the five of them no time at all to ride back to Faramir and Éowyn's home in Ithilien. It was a fair yet humble place, built of pale wood at the heart of the settlement they governed in Emyn Arnen. Nearly three hundred folk dwelt there, calling Faramir their lord and Éowyn their lady. The true beauty of their home was in its garden, which had been planned and planted by Legolas himself. Colorful bundles of sweet peas grew along the fences, filling the air with a delightful perfume. White hyacinth and pale pink spray roses mingled together beneath the windows, and ivy crawled along the outer walls. Butterflies and tiny birds floated from bloom to bloom. Trees stood tall around the edges of the settlement, the buds of new leaves offering to cast cool green shade across Faramir and Éowyn's home come the long days of summer.

Once the boar had been handed over to the cook, the all came together and settled themselves around the hearth in the main room. Eldarion and Eruthiawen had come visiting from Minas Tirith the day before yesterday. Túrien and Almárëa remained behind in the White City this time, mostly on account of Almárëa having caught a late spring sniffle. Under no condition would Túrien ever 'abandon' her beloved baby sister under such circumstances. Between Túrien, Arwen and Aragorn, Eldarion was certain Almárëa was enjoying some of the best pampering she had had all year. All Almárëa needed to do was bat her long dark lashes sorrowfully and even the King of Gondor would melt for his youngest child.

Shortly before dinner was ready there came a knocking at the door, light and quick. Faramir and Éowyn did not maintain a large staff of servants to wait upon them (excepting a cook and a gardener, the cook out of necessity owing to Éowyn's lack of talent in the kitchen). Thus is was Faramir himself who went to answer the door. To everyone's delight they found Legolas waiting patiently upon the step, his silver-gold hair unbound and glinting in the pale sunlight.

The prince formerly of the Greenwood had settled half a thousand of his people less than a dozen leagues away in Ithilien. The elves of the colony and the humans of Emyn Arnen had regarded one another cautiously at first. Over the years Legolas's friendship with Éowyn and Faramir had grown and deepened, and his presence became a familiar one to the people. In recent years some of the more daring human youths and children had even begun seeking out the elvish dwellings where they lay deeper in the woods of Ithilien. After some reassuring from their prince the elves had tolerated this, and even chanced foraying closer to Faramir and Éowyn's settlement themselves.

"Legolas, you come unexpected but not unwelcome!" Faramir cried, offering a hand of greeting to the elf before ushering him inside.

Time had aged Faramir's form and face in many subtle ways, but not so for Legolas. The famed Greenwood archer no doubt appeared as youthful he had long before any of them were even a thought, and would still be long after their lives had faded into memory and myth.

"Many times have my folk warned me that it is unseemly for an elf-lord to make appearances unannounced." Legolas smiled, giving away exactly what he thought of 'seemly' and 'unseemly'. "To make amends for my lapse I brought a gift, something for your table tonight." From under one arm he produced a small cake that Eldarion knew from experience was incredibly tasty, having been flavored with vanilla beans.

"You knew we were about to eat? As long as I live I shall never understand the preternatural intuition of your kind." Éowyn asked, rising to go and greet Legolas with a hand-clasp as her husband had done.

"Half of Ithilien can smell the roasting of meat on the wind. The elven half, that is." In jest Legolas feigned wrinkling his nose.

It was something of a standing joke among their circle of friends. Gimli had never given up on trying to coax Legolas to break from the traditionally vegetarian diet of the elves. Legolas had admitted once that not all elves refused to eat meat, but most feeling such close kinship with the creatures of Middle-earth could not bring themselves to "consume dead flesh". Still Gimli tried to tempt his friend with crispy bacon, broiled sausage and roast pork. Legolas had yet to yield, but from time to time others including Éowyn and Éomer couldn't resist joining in on the sport.

Faramir chuckled. "Well we have other dishes to serve as well, so you are more than welcome to join us, my friend. Eldarion and Eruthiawen are here from Minas Tirith, and so we shall make a party of it tonight."

"Mae go'vannen, Aragornion and Arweniel." Legolas greeted the two of them as he joined everyone around the hearth. "Eldarion, you look more like your father every time I see you! Or rather, more like your father when he was your age."

"Thank you, Legolas. It is good to see you again; we have missed you since Yuletide."

Eldarion couldn't help but swell slightly with happiness at the comparison. He had once heard an old Dúnedain Wise Woman by the name of Gelwin comment at Annúminas that seeing him and Legolas together was like seeing "those summer days in Fornost returned". Legolas and Aragorn both had seemed pleased and slightly nostalgic at that pronouncement, and Legolas had kissed the old woman's wrinkled brow.

After dinner was eaten and desert was enjoyed they all settled themselves for an evening of song and talk around the fire. Faramir and Éowyn sat together on the sofa, Éowyn with one hand on Faramir's knee and a goblet of rich red wine in the other. Eruthiawn and Legolas were singing a duet in the Sindarin tongue as Elboron listened, and Eldarion reclined with his long legs stuck out before him in a woven wicker chair. With a mischievous smile Eruthiawen switched songs and languages to an Adûnaic ballad halfway through the second verse, forcing Legolas to default to Westron or fall off tempo. Faramir shook his head in amusement at the battle of linguistics as Elboron applauded.

They were expected back in Minas Tirith the next day; Eldarion and Eruthiawen would be riding out on the morn. Faramir, Éowyn and Elboron, and also no doubt Legolas would be accompanying them on the short journey. Their father the king had called a meeting of his council concerning the ongoing matter of the Easterling and Haradrim resistance. It was a conflict that had never really died out, even since the Battle of the Black Gate and the defeat of Sauron. Eldarion and his sisters had grown up hearing of skirmishes, failed treaties and guerilla warfare with the former allies of Mordor. Things seemed to be coming to a head lately, and Eldarion was not sure if that concerned or encouraged him. Certainly his mother seemed to think something was about to give, for good or ill she and Aragorn were uncertain. All that was certain was that Aragorn and Arwen wanted this conflict over and done with as soon as possible. Eldarion came of age in a month, and after that there would be no more avoiding the inevitable. The place of a prince was with his people, in peace or in war.

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