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Chapter 23 - When Springtime Comes

OoOoO

Winter came and went quietly in Gondor, all the more silent in Minas Tirith for the absence of Túrien. As promised she returned for a visit at Yuletide, clad in full Haradrim regalia and thoroughly scandalizing her former peers amongst the nobility. Spring brought with it Túrien's eighteenth birthday, and by midsummer Aragorn was returning to Harad, this time with Arwen, Eruthiawen, and Almárëa alongside himself and Eldarion. King Elessar saw his second daughter wed the future chieftain of Harmindon beneath a canopy of cloth-of-gold laden with the white petals of desert flowers. Great was the joy of the bride and bridegroom's families, and even those in Gondor and Harad who at first opposed the marriage grew to accept if not celebrate the union of two nations now at peace.

Autumn followed swiftly on the heels of summer with the first frost soon to follow, and before long more than a year had passed since day when Túrien had stood before the throne and declared her wish. Snow fell soft and thick across the land. To the south, the woods of Ithilien lay slumbering beneath a mantle of white. The skies turned clear and grey as silver glass, and in the courtyard of the Citadel the White Tree shed it leaves and grew still. Soon a Yule log would burn on the hearth beneath garlands of pine boughs and holly berries. Already the kitchens kept mugs of mulled wine and spiced milk ever-warming and ready for chilled hands to reach for once out of their mittens.

It was around just such a garland-laden hearth, sipping from just such mugs of mulled wine and spiced milk, that the royal family of Minas Tirith gathered one mid-December evening. Arwen opened and read aloud the latest missives and notices while Aragorn listened and played at chess with Almárëa. Eruthiawen was embroidering a new bedsheet with pearl-white thread, her head cocked to listen to the news from abroad as well. As for Eldarion, he was busy writing a letter of his own to Elfwine. The young Third Marshal of Rohan had recently suffered a rather spectacular romantic failure, and Eldarion hoped to cheer him up as he licked his wounds. All-in-all it was a peaceful evening, the sort that was preciously rare to their family and all the more cherished for it.

"In conclusion, I wish to extend my appreciation to you, King Aragorn, and your steward the Lord Faramir for your swift response in reestablishing trade between our realms. We will send our first shipment down the Redwater once the ice breaks, and I am told that our Ambassador from the Woodland Realm has secured the delivery of the elf-made goods your queen requested as well.

With warm regards for the Yuletide season,

Bard II, King of Dale and Lord of Laketown."

The letter concluded, Arwen lingered curiously long over the parchment in her hand. Aragorn paused in his game with Almárëa and looked up from the chessboard. Almárëa had complained of a draft despite the fire on the hearth, and so now sat curled on a cushion with Aragorn's embroidered cloak wrapped about her.

"Meleth-nin? Is something amiss? It seemed to me that all is well in order for our plans to trade with the northern kingdoms."

Arwen shook her head, a hint of amusement playing across her face when she looked up from the letter.

"No, nothing is amiss. There is however an added salutation after King Bard's message. Eruthiawen, may I read it aloud?"

"Me?" Eruthiawen hesitated with her needle in mid-stitch. "I...I suppose so, although I have no notion of what more might be written there. Naneth?"

Eldarion caught Eruthiawen's eye as their mother returned to the letter. A slight pucker of confusion marred Eruthiawen's usually smooth brow. She set aside the half-finished sewing and folded her hands in her lap. Almárëa was staring at Eruthiawen too. Together the three siblings listened eagerly while Arwen read the rest of the message.

"P.S. I would like to express my appreciation for having been invited to participate in Gondor's Harvest Tournament again this year. It was a pleasure and an honour to compete once more against Gondor and Rohan's finest, as well as to reacquaint myself with the members of your royal household. On that subject, I wish to make a request of Her Ladyship, the Princess Eruthiawen. If she is amenable, I would very much like to open a personal correspondence between herself and I. If I may, I will send a separate letter addressed to Princess Eruthiawen with the next official missive to be dispatched from Dale to Minas Tirith.

Best regards,

Hakon, Prince of Dale and Heir to the Lordship of Laketown."

"Well now, what is this?" Aragorn rose from his seat and went to stand behind Arwen, reading the letter from Dale over Arwen's shoulder. "No sooner it seems do I reconcile myself to your sister being wed and already we have admirers asking after you, Eruthiawen!"

Eruthiawen blushed, quickly reaching out to take the letter when Arwen offered. "Hardly admirers, Adar. Prince Hakon is but a single man, and he should not be so bold as to already be making plans for such a correspondence."

"Oh Eruthia! But surely you will be answering his letter when he sends it?!" Almárëa exclaimed, rushing to jostle with Eldarion for a chance to read over Eruthiawen's shoulder.

"...To not answer would be quite unkind, so I think I will."

Eldarion couldn't resist the chance to gently tease his sister. "I thought Hakon seemed unusually keen to claim a place on your dance card at this autumn's festival. What I didn't guess was that you fancied him in return?"

In retaliation to that, Eruthiawen folded up the letter before Eldarion and Almárëa could finish reading and passed it back to Arwen. She reached for her sewing once again, but fumbled with the needle and nearly pricked herself.

"I never said that I fancy him, or that I do not. I simply said that I intend to answer his letter should I receive one." Eruthiawen looked to Aragorn for rescue. "Adar, I believe there is still yet one more letter to read. Doesn't that one bear Faramir's seal?

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a look. The thought crossed Arwen's mind to speak to Eruthiawen later, to question her daughter about how interested she truly was in corresponding with the Prince of Dale. Eruthiawen would be five-and-twenty years and of age come next spring though; a woman grown. If anyone should be ready to handle the affairs of their heart by now it would Eruthiawen. Arwen still resolved to talk with her later, if only to try to get a sense of Eruthiawen's feelings on the matter. For now though, she reached for the last letter where it lay sealed on the end table.

"It is indeed from Faramir and Éowyn. An update on the health of the folk of Ithilien I would imagine," said Arwen.

Aragorn nodded, remaining standing behind his wife's chair while Almárëa tried to whisper questions in Eruthiawen's ear and was rebuffed. Eldarion however was more interested in the letter from Ithilien and came to sit on the footstool beside Arwen.

"The last we heard, they seemed to have a handle on the winter fever working its way through their folk. A sorrowful way to weather the season though, with six children and five elders lost." Aragorn sighed. "I had arranged for healers and medicine to be sent to Ithilien, hopefully their presence has done some good."

"If needed though Adar, I would still gladly go to Ithilien to help. I've been reading the medical texts in the Houses of Healing as well as learning from you where I may," said Eldarion.

Aragorn smiled, but shook his head. "You might yet become a credible healer in your time, Eldarion, but where there is fever I would rather you not be. Besides, sickness has a wicked way of spreading, and Faramir agreed it best that we limit travel to and from Ithilien for now. Arwen?"

Arwen, who had opened the letter and been reading through it, was frowning. Even Almárëa fell silent when she saw worry pinch her mother's face tight.

"The news is not good. Faramir writes that while the spread of the fever seems to have slowed, many of those who have already taken ill are becoming worse." Eldarion's heart chilled when his mother turned her sorrowful gaze on him. "He says that Elboron is among the stricken, and they are beginning to fear for his life. Aragorn...Faramir and Éowyn ask that you come to them, they need your help."

"No!" Almárëa exclaimed. "That can't be right! Elboron wrote to us just the day before yesterday, and he sounded well and hopeful that the worst was over."

Aragorn's face was grim. He moved to lay a comforting hand on Eldarion's shoulder. "Fever moves quickly, Almárëa. One day a strong youth can be up and about...the next may find them very ill indeed. That is why I will be leaving for Ithilien tonight, and I do not want any of you coming with me."

"But Adar, I must!" Eldarion was quick to protest. "It's Elboron!"

Eruthiawen chimed right in. "Surely you could use at least one pair of helping hands? If not Eldarion, your heir, perhaps I could go with you?"

"No," Aragorn repeated firmly. "I forbid any of you from following me to Ithilien, and that is final." Seeing the naked fear in his children's eyes, Aragorn's voice softened. "I promise you, I will do everything within my power to help Elboron. I am as fond of that boy as Éowyn and Faramir are of all of you. It is our duty though to think of the people of both Minas Tirith and Ithilien. Bad enough that I am going, but if one of you were to catch fever and return, we could be to blame for spreading it to the whole of the White City. That is why you must stay...that and also because I could not bear to see one of you so ill."

"But Adar-"

"No, Eldarion."

Eldarion's dark eyes flashed with protest. He stood fully equal in height with Aragorn when he moved to approach his father. The determined set of his jaw invoked the memory of a young ranger who once had prowled the sparse reaches of the north, or at least it seemed so to Arwen.

"Do you command me not to go with you, Father, or do you just forbid it?"

"...Is my will as your father not enough to receive your obedience anymore, Eldarion?" asked Aragorn slowly.

Eldarion did not break Aragorn's gaze. "I honour your will, but this is my choice. I will even stay in Ithilien until after the fever passes to ensure I do not bring it home to Minas Tirith. Elboron...he's like my brother, Ada. I cannot stay here, not when Faramir and Éowyn fear he may be dying. Command me and I will have no choice anymore but to obey you as my king. Forbid me...and as a man of-age I will, respectfully, do what I must."

Arwen, Eruthiawen, and Almárëa sat in silence, stock still like trees in a deadened space. Frustrated, Aragorn pushed a hand through his silvering hair before considering Eldarion's words at length. By the laws of Gondor it was true; Eldarion was a man. He was also still his and Arwen's son though, and heir to the throne of Gondor. Aragorn debated what to do. Eldarion watched and waited, his gaze unusually sharp as he scanned his father's expression for any sign.

At length Aragorn sighed. "I forbid you from accompanying me to Ithilien. I do not command you to stay though. I leave from the stables within the hour."

With that, Aragorn turned and left the room. Eldarion was hard on his heels, a bittersweet smile of triumph on his face. They were halfway out the door when Eruthiawen called after them.

"Tell Elboron to take heart, the winter will be short and mild before a swift spring-tide this year. Tell him that we all love him dearly, will you?"

"Of course we will, iel-nin," said Aragorn. "I leave the city in your keeping, Arwen. Valar willing, we will return before Yuletide's Eve with news of Ithilien and Elboron's complete recovery."

OoOoO

They rode throughout the night, Brego and Greyhame's dark coats blending with the moonless hills in such a way as to make Aragorn and Eldarion's passage look like the flitting of shadows across the land. By the time the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon they had already come and gone from Osgiliath. No banner or trumpet heralded their arrival when in the late afternoon they reached the woods of Ithilien. Leafless trees stretched grey and stark against the cloudy sky, their voices as hushed as the voices in the settlement. There was a taste of snow in the air; if fever did not keep Aragorn and Eldarion in Ithilien in the days ahead then ill weather might.

The folk who met them at the end of the road were among the lucky few untouched by winter fever, yet their faces were pale and pinched with care all the same. They took the horses from Aragorn and Eldarion with murmurs of thanks for their coming, speaking in low voices as one might at the side of a deathbed. Cloaks held tight against the cold, Aragorn and Eldarion hurried through the village toward Faramir and Éowyn's house, with its slumbering garden and blue-painted door.

Faramir ushered them in before Aragorn had even knocked twice. The steward's wane smile was full of thinly-veiled worry as he greeted them.

"Thank you for coming...I had feared it might snow on the roads before you arrived. I am sorry Your Grace, but I fear this sickness has gotten away from us..."

Aragorn shrugged out of his cloak and laid a hand on Faramir's shoulder. "No apologies, Faramir. You've done what you can, but fever is a terrible foe at the best of times. Now, where is Elboron?"

The lines around Fararmir's careworn eyes immediately deepened. "This way..."

Faramir led them down the hallway to a bedchamber with a window onto the sleeping garden. There they found Éowyn, set on a stool next to the bed where Elboron lay. Éowyn looked pale and tired, and Elboron far worse. The winter sunlight lacked all warmth as it illuminated the room, highlighting the grey shadows beneath Elboron's cheeks and the sweat beading on his brow. His curls stuck to his skin in dirty-blonde ringlets, and his eyes when they fell on Eldarion and Aragorn did not seem to mark them. The sounds of his breathing were short and shallow, like a man with his head barely above water and sinking fast.

"Aragorn..." Éowyn rose to her feet and reached for Aragorn's answering embrace. The White Lady seemed to sag for a moment against Aragorn's arms. Then she straightened and pulled back, but her voice when she spoke quavered. "He's so ill. One day he was out and about, insistent on helping with the sick, and the next..."

"Eldarion, perhaps you should not be in here?" asked Faramir. "We are so grateful that you came, but Elboron barely seems to know even us anymore, and this fever has proven to spread like sparks among dry kindling."

Eldarion shook his head. He could not seem to take his eyes off Elboron where he lay. "Perhaps I should not be, but if I can be of any help at all then I must. He would do the same if our places were exchanged."

Aragorn sighed as he squeezed Éowyn's shoulder once more before moving toward the bed. "I tried to forbid his coming, but it seems our sons are in this together. So, we must do what we can to fight this sickness for everyone's sakes. Have you been making use of the athelas and feverfew we sent?"

"We have, and it greatly helped all but the most gravely ill...Elboron included. We keep three leaves of crushed athelas steaming at his bedside at all times, but it seems not to be of much use anymore," said Éowyn.

She and Faramir drew together at the foot of Elboron's bed while Aragorn seated himself at their son's side. He took Elboron's hand in his and pressed the other to Elboron's sweat-slicked brow.

"Elboron..." He called softly. "Elboron, can you hear me?"

Eldarion hovered at his father's shoulder, watching and willing Elboron to answer. Elboron's glassy gaze seemed to land on them for a brief moment, but then his eyes slid shut and he shivered. A string of half-formed words left his tongue, barely audible and even less coherent.

"He's weak, far weaker than I had hoped to find him." Aragorn's face was grim as he felt for the rhythm of Elboron's heart at his wrist and throat. "We will have to work quickly. Are there any others as bad as this?"

Faramir nodded. "Four. There were five...but one died in the night. The healers you sent have been at their sides day and night, but they only continue to worsen." Faramir's voice hitched at the last, and he reached down to press Elboron's foot through the blankets.

"They will have to be tended to with stronger measures as well. Eldarion, I need you to fetch the small kettle and metal infuser from my cloak, as well as athelas. Éowyn, if you could stoke the fire on the hearth until it burns high and hot, we will need it for boiling. Faramir, Elboron must be propped upright if he is to drink."

"You intend for him to drink the athelas?" asked Éowyn as she went to put more logs on the dwindling fire in the corner of the room. "Is that not dangerous to Men?"

"It is, if too much is taken. The healing properties of athelas are very strong, and as a tea it is stronger still. Brewing it must be done very carefully, with no more and no less than the exact amount needed. Quickly now, Eldarion! He is not going to last much longer like this."

OoOoO

The four of them worked swiftly to prepare. Faramir sat at the head of the bed and carefully lifted Elboron so that his son lay upright with his head leaning against Faramir's chest. Éowyn took the small kettle from Aragorn and filled and boiled it over the fire, while Eldarion helped his father to prepare the herbs.

Aragorn selected two leaves of a precise size and shape, explaining as he crushed them that they could be no larger for a young man of Elboron's height and build. He then had Eldarion place the leaves in the infuser and steep them in the kettle while he returned to Elboron's side to check his heart and breath once again. Elboron remained lost in a fevered daze. Being propped upright seemed to have made him worse, and he shuddered uncontrollably in Faramir's arms, his skin ashen grey and bathed in sweat. Eldarion struggled to keep his focus on the exact colour and clarity of the tea as it was steeped in the precious essence of athelas.

After a few long minutes, Aragorn took the kettle from Eldarion and examined it closely. He sniffed the steam wafting from the surface of the water and tilted the kettle to examine its contents in the wane sunlight. He then pronounced the tea ready, and had both Eldarion and Éowyn look and mark well it's exact appearance.

"Now comes the difficult part, I fear," said Aragorn. "Though it smells sweet, athelas is bitter to the taste, and Elboron in his fever is likely to fight us. Hold him well, Faramir, and Eldarion, you must help. Éowyn, be ready if he seems about to choke. He must drink it all though, and we can delay no longer."

While Faramir wrapped his arms securely around Elboron in a firm yet comforting embrace, Eldarion climbed onto the bed and settled his weight on Elboron's legs. Elboron's eyes fluttered open partway, and for a moment it seemed he almost could have recognized Eldarion. Eldarion's heart clenched painfully, but he tried to smile at his friend even so.

"Eruthiawen told me to tell you that she sends her love, hers and everyone else's at home. She said that winter will pass quickly this year, and soon we'll have spring again." Elboron's gaze still rested on Eldarion through half-lidded eyes, and even though he couldn't be sure Elboron was understanding him Eldarion continued to speak. "In the springtime we'll go riding again in Ithilien; you, Eruthiawen, and I, and maybe even Almárëa and Elfwine too. We'll find the Forbidden Pool again and go swimming in its deep, cold waters, and then we'll lay on the rocks and let the sun dry us. Do you remember, Elboron, how the moss on the rocks around the pool looked like emerald green velvet and felt even softer? And Elfwine will goad us into jumping from the highest ledges into the water, and Eruthiawen will sing as she brushes out her hair. Do you think we could do all that together come springtime?"

Elboron did not answer. Closing his eyes, he sagged back against his father and trembled. His legs shook beneath Eldarion on the bed. Aragorn was ready, and he came to sit beside Elboron with a steaming mug of athelas tea in his hands.

"Elboron," he said. "If you can hear me, you must try not to fight us. You must drink this, and as much of it as you possibly can. Faramir, Eldarion..."

Faramir nodded, his arms tightening. Eldarion sat as heavily as he could on Elboron's legs while Éowyn moved to stand at the ready with a towel. With quick, sure motions, Aragorn pinched Elboron's nose and held the cup to his lips. For a moment it seemed Elboron might be lucid enough to drink on his own. He swallowed the first mouthful...and immediately spasmed beneath them on the bed.

"What if he chokes?" asked Éowyn anxiously.

Aragorn shifted, his expression determined. "Best he does not. Faramir, hold his nose. I will keep hold of his jaw as best I can."

Their grasp on Elboron redoubled, Aragorn resumed carefully pouring small mouthfuls of tea into Elboron whenever he gasped. Elboron continued to buck and squirm, his eyes wild and bewildered. Plaintive gasps and cries of distress escaped him, and it broke Eldarion's heart to hear it. It was not difficult to keep Elboron down though, weakened as he was by the ravages of fever. Little by little, the amount of tea in the cup lessened, with Aragorn working vigilantly to avoid choking the thrashing youth. Nobody spoke, except for occasional soothing murmurs from Éowyn as she reached out to stroke her son's damp hair.

Finally Aragorn sat back. "That ought to be enough, I dare not try to force any more on him."

Faramir and Eldarion did not release their hold on Elboron immediately. Rather they let Elboron's struggling subside and his gasping breaths even out before letting him go. Elboron immediately went limp against Faramir, shivering violently and his eyes shut.

"How soon will we know?" asked Faramir, looking to Aragorn for answers as he stroked his son's cheek.

Aragorn set the near-empty mug down on the bedside table, looking uneasy. "By dawn tomorrow I expect we should have our answer. Athelas is a potent healer, but it is not a miracle cure. It requires a certain amount of spirit and will to live from the afflicted for its affects to be best seen. Stay by his side now, and keep him warm and comfortable. Eldarion and I must see to the others in this state, but will return before sundown. Eldarion?"

"I would prefer not to leave him just now, Ada," said Eldarion, still seated on the bed beside Elboron. He watched Elboron's every breath intently, measuring its depth and sound in hope of hearing some sign.

"Eldarion," said Aragorn firmly. "You are Elboron's friend, but you are also Gondor's future king. The people must be as dear to you as if they were all your closest friends. Besides..." Aragorn pressed a reassuring squeeze to Eldarion's arm. "...I do not expect we will be saying farewell to Elboron just yet. Not if he has half his mother's courage or his father's resilience."

Faramir and Éowyn smiled half-heartedly at Aragorn as he and Eldarion left the room. They spent the rest of the day going from household to household in Ithilien, brewing strong doses of athelas tea and urging the stricken to drink. Only one, a small girl-child not yet in walking shoes, seemed as worse-off as Elboron. It was a stern reminder to Eldarion of their responsibility when the child's parents tearfully thanked them at the door, near-hysteric with relief at the arrival of their king, Gondor's most famed healer.

When they returned to Faramir and Éowyn's house after nightfall, they found Elboron still alive and apparently sleeping. He was groggy and did not rouse when called, and so Aragorn left him to wander his way free of the fever dreams. The four of them ate a quiet meal of bread and raspberry preserves together before stretching out on spare chairs to rest when they might. Éowyn and Faramir had been spending the past two night sitting up with Elboron in turns, and Aragorn insisted that they let him relieve them of the first watch. Eldarion wanted to make camp on the floor at the foot of Elboron's bed, but Aragorn forbade him from sleeping in the sickroom and this time he obeyed. Sleep came only brief and fleeting to Eldarion that night though, and he ended up wandering in and out of Elboron's room anyways. It was a long and fitful night for Ithilien, and many prayers were whispered in the darkness of a new moon.

OoOoO

Eldarion was jolted awake the next morning by a knocking at the door. Rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he stumbled past a stirring Faramir on the sofa to answer it.

To his surprise, he found none other than Legolas himself standing on the stoop, snow dusting his shining hair and the shoulders of his cloak. It was a bright, picture-perfect winter's morning, with icicles glittering in the rising sunlight and snowflakes falling slow and sparkling through the air. Behind Legolas on the road there sat a covered wagon filled with what looked like soft blankets, fresh foods and medicine. Half a dozen elves were gathered around the wagon, and the people of Ithilien began to emerge curiously from their houses as the elves set to work unloading their cargo.

"Legolas!" Eldarion exclaimed. "You...you're here?!"

Legolas smiled, shaking the snowflakes off his head before stepping past him into Faramir and Éowyn's home. "And where else should I be? We received word of the folk of Ithilien's plight and were frankly quite hurt not to have been asked for assistance earlier! As you can see, though the sicknesses of mortals are not something we often deal with, we have some knowledge yet of medicinal herbs and remedies."

"Legolas!" Faramir arrived in the hall, looking no less astounded than Eldarion. "We...we did not imagine that your folk would be..." He fell silent abruptly, his tired face abashed and yet filled with wonder.

Understanding shaded Legolas' smile. "My people are not known for being approachable, I know... I spoke with them at length though, and we agreed that we would be very poor neighbours indeed if we did not offer what aid we could." He looked Faramir and Eldarion over from head to toe. "You both have almost certainly been better, but am I glad to see you among the healthy. Eldarion, I take it that Aragorn is here? How do Éowyn and Elboron fare?"

"Éowyn is well enough, it is Elboron who has been in the most danger of late. Come, Aragorn is with him," said Faramir. 

They led Legolas to the back of the house, where they found the door to Elboron's room slightly ajar. Pale sunlight cast the room in white light, turning Éowyn's hair to white-gold where she reclined fast asleep in a rocking chair. Aragorn was awake though, and he turned to them with a finger to his lips and a smile. 

"Quietly now! Mother and son are both resting peacefully...the winter fever has lost its hold over the house of the Stewards."

A half-gasp, half-sob of relief escaped Faramir as he fell to his knees at Elboron's bedside. "His fever has broken? O, thank the Valar!" Sure enough, when he held a hand to Elboron's brow he found it warm and dry. "Aragorn, we are in your debt beyond measure of repayment. It seems I owe you not only my life and Éowyn's, but now my son's as well." 

Aragorn waved a hand in dismissal. "The only thing you have ever owed me is your friendship and service, Faramir, and that you have given me a thousand times over through the years. However...I do have one request, a command if you will. The House of the Stewards has an unfortunate habit of finding their way to death's doorstep, and I must insist that it ends here!"

A chuckle broke out around the room; the laughter of those who have faced heartbreak and come away unscathed. The sound of a new voice caught Aragorn's attention, and he noticed Legolas standing in the doorway for the first time. A wry smile lit up the king's face, and he raised an eyebrow. 

"Le abdollen," (You're late) he said. 

Legolas grinned. "And you still look terrible." 

"...And you're all louder than a flock of honking geese on a millpond." A voice like gravel on glass rose from the bed, and Elboron slowly opened a bloodshot eye to peer up at them.

"Elboron!" 

Eldarion rushed to Faramir's side next to Elboron. Sure enough, Elboron was awake and present. He grimaced up at Eldarion, flushed pink with returning vigor and a touch of embarrassment. Eldarion's cry awakened Éowyn, and she sat bolt upright in her chair sending blankets falling to the floor. When she realized what was happening, Éowyn joined Faramir in crushing their son in a tight, joyful embrace.

It took nearly a week to restore all the folk of Ithilien to health, and sadly it was not before the small girl-child whom Eldarion and Aragorn had tended lost her struggle against the fever. They remained in Ithilien for her funeral though, and the elves from Legolas' colony planted seeds of golden alfirin and mallos flowers upon the tiny grave. Eldarion did not take ill with fever, nor did Aragorn, and Eldarion had to be all but pried away from Elboron's bedside each day as Elboron recovered. By the time Aragorn and Eldarion returned to Minas Tirith eight days after they had left it, Elboron was well enough to stand next to Faramir and Éowyn to say farewell.

While on the road back to the White City, Aragorn reined old Brego up next to Greyhame to speak with Eldarion.

"Eldarion, I have come to realize something over this past week. You are indeed a man grown, a man with a mind of his own and the means to use it." 

Eldarion lowered his head, expecting and indeed likely deserving to be scolded for his obstinance regarding Elboron. That was not what happened though. 

"No, do not apologize for what is only natural. That being said, the time is more than ripe for you to take on a man's duties. You mean well and have a good heart, but I think a little structure and discipline would also do you good. That is why, upon our return to the city, I intend to make arrangements for you to be appointed and trained as a captain of the Tower Guard." 

"A captain of the guard, Ada?" asked Eldarion. He considered this at length, and found the notion to be one that both pleased and excited him. "I would like that, very much." 

Aragorn smiled, clucking his tongue when Brego tossed his mane in the breeze. "Good, because my mind is made up on the matter. You may be a man grown, but you will never be too old for your father not to have an opinion on your affairs I'm afraid." 

They laughed aloud at that. When he and Aragorn returned to Minas Tirith, the next day Eldarion reported to the Citadel barracks. Meanwhile, spring did indeed come to Gondor early as Eruthiawen had predicted, and that April Eldarion requested and received three day's leave in which to visit Elboron in Ithilien. He took with him Eruthiawen and Almárëa, and together they all went swimming in the waters of the Forbidden Pool, just as Eldarion had promised. Almárëa teased and goaded Elboron and Eldarion into jumping from the high places, and Eruthiawen sang as she combed her fingers through her long wet hair. The moss was cool and soft and green, and the voices of elves reached them at a distance on the wind. 

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