Elfwine was to be crowned the nineteenth King of Rohan on the 1st of June, as the first foals of the year were just beginning to test their legs and run in earnest across the rolling hills of the Riddermark. The folk of Edoras gathered together in the Golden Hall of Meduseld to witness the coronation, their dark mourning garb officially relinquished to mark the beginning of their new king's reign. The Golden Hall's colorful banners were likewise restored to their rightful places for the first time since Éomer's death, filling Meduseld with the gleam of gold thread on fields of red, green, blue, and white. The shutters covering the skylight over the throne were drawn back, casting a beam of warm sunlight across the dias. There, surrounded by tiny motes floating upward in the light, sat the throne of the king. Empty it was, for now, but soon a new liege would take up the horse lords' ancestral seat.

Eldarion sat in a place of honour upon the first row of benches which filled the hall. To his right and closest to the isle, Éowyn sat straight and fair in a gown of deepest blue. She like Lothíriel wore a black net woven with gems to cover the back of her coifed hair. Across the isle from Éowyn was Gimli, who had also brought a handful of his kinsfolk with him from the Glittering Caves. Lothíriel stood rather than sat upon the dias, and with her were the Second and Third Marshals of the Mark, Ulfred and Haleth. Haleth's sun-weathered face was taut with silent pride; his position as Third Marshal was only just newly granted. The title of First Marshal would be hereafter held by Elfwine now, until the day when it should pass to his own heir. 

When a young woman whom he did not recognize claimed the place to his left, Eldarion was curious. She was a pretty maid, with a pert nose and thick halo of reddish-gold curls barely restrained by a circlet of woven bronze. Her placement next to Eldarion made him wonder if this was perhaps Elfwine's current lady. The rich velvet of her gown and polished shine of the rings on her unblemished hands implied significant wealth and status at the very least. The lady noticed Eldarion looking and flashed him a quick, broad-toothed smile.

Any further curiosities were set aside when the heralds took up the places on either side of the Golden Hall's door and dias. Raising silver trumpets to their lips, they put forth three clear, bright notes that rang throughout the room and echoed before fading. All rose, and turning watched as Meduseld's doors fell back to reveal Rohan's next king. 

Elfwine was magnificent. His hair - brushed until it shone like oiled bronze - splayed across his broad shoulders and the fur mantle that he wore. Gold embroidery shone at his throat, his wrists, and down the entire front of his doublet of emerald velvet. The lining of his cloak was white, and as Elfwine approached the front of the hall Eldarion came to realize that the garment was in fact lined with the feathers of swans. Elfwine walked tall on his journey to the dias, his shoulders thrown back and jaw firm. His eyes fell on Eldarion briefly, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward before turning his attention back to the empty throne. 

Someday this will be you, Elfwine's almost-smile had seemed to say. Eldarion suppressed a sudden shiver, even though the Golden Hall was warm in the waxing days of summer. He found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the crown of Rohan which Lothíriel held in her hands. Behind her, the two Marshals held Elfwine's axe and the Spurs of Helm Hammerhand. These they would bestow upon Elfwine, one by one, until he sat upon the throne of Rohan covered in the heirlooms of the House of Eorl and its kingship. 

Someday this will be you.

A sudden vision passed before Eldarion's eyes, and it seemed to him that he stood then in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. Before him, the black throne of the Steward sat empty upon the dias, and behind it towered the white throne of Gondor. A tall, noble figure sat there in state, and at first Eldarion thought it was his father. Then he realized that no, it was not his father upon the throne, but Eldarion himself. The winged crown of the Reunited Kingdoms rested lightly upon his brow, the Ring of Barahir upon his hand, but when Eldarion gazed up into his own face, he saw a faint longing and sadness hidden there. 

Then the vision was gone as quickly as it had come. Elfwine was kneeling upon the steps of the dias, and Haleth was bestowing Elfwine's axe upon him with a charge to wield it in defense of his people always. This Elfwine accepted, and Ulfred stepped forward next to grant the Spurs. Still Eldarion could not quite shake the image of himself in his father's place upon the throne of Gondor. 

'Thus is the price of a coronation,' thought Eldarion morosely. 'By its very nature, our fathers cannot be there to witness it with us.' 

Vowing to tell his father how much he meant to him at first chance when he returned to Minas Tirith, Eldarion tried to make himself be present for the rest of Elfwine's coronation. When Lothíriel placed the crown of Rohan upon Elfwine's head, all rose, and thunderous applause rose throughout the Golden Hall. It did not stop until Elfwine had taken his place upon the throne, at which time the folk of Rohan all bowed deeply to their new lord and liege. Eldarion, representing the King of Gondor as he was, was not obligated to bow to the King of Rohan. He did so anyways, as did Gimli and Éowyn. 

Afterwards, Elfwine went out onto the steps of the Golden Hall, to be greeted for the first time by the folk of Rohan as their king. The trumpets took up a great and triumphant call which echoed down the hillside, and at its sound all gathered in the city looking to the Golden Hall before kneeling. Elfwine stood in the sunlight, the crown of Rohan on his brow and his faithful war-axe in his hands. Whether he looked proud, uncertain, or just a little bit sad, Eldarion could not say. Éomer's son cut a strong and dashing figure though, with Meduseld looming behind him and the city of Edoras paying respect below. 

"Long live the House of Eorl!" Someone shouted from the crowd. 

"Long live the Line of Éadig!" called out another. 

"Love live Elfwine Éotan!" 

"Éotan!"

"Éotan!"

The name, once seized upon by the crowd, grew louder and clearer until it was a chant. Eldarion's admittedly rusty knowledge of formal Rohirric did not yield up that particular word, and he looked to Éowyn for understanding. 

The once-Shieldmaiden of Rohan smiled. "It means 'The Fair', a nickname granted Elfwine by the folk of Rohan some years ago." She gazed out upon the chanting crowd. "So different the people are, from when I was a girl. Their beloved Éadig is only recently gone, and already they know what it is to celebrate and be joyful."

"I'm sure they remember Éomer still, even if they are happy for Elfwine as their new king," Eldarion was hasty to say. 

To his surprise, Éowyn chuckled softly. "Nay, do not mistake my meaning, Eldarion. I am glad that the people of Rohan are so easily able to put aside grief and remember happiness. Too long did the shadow of war and sorrow seem to linger in Edoras in the final days of the Third Age. I only wish that Faramir were here to help me remember how I too might put aside grief for joy." 

 Eldarion was not Faramir, but he hoped it might come as some comfort when he slid an arm around Éowyn's shoulders and squeezed. Her smile at that was true, and so was Lothíriel's when Elfwine at last turned from the people to embrace his family. Together the court of Rohan withdrew inside the Golden Hall; there was much to do in preparation for tonight's celebrations.

OoOoO

The court of Rohan gathered once again in Meduseld as the sun began to set. Gone were the long benches in the center of the hall; in their place tables had been set up along the walls and an open space stood clear in the center of the floor. After the feast there would be music and much revelry lasting long into the night. The fire in the great brazier at the center of the hall had been stoked to blazing, and dozens of bundles of wood sat nearby in anticipation of many hours to come. 

Throughout the course of the feast - a hearty meal of spit-roasted boar, bread, fine cheeses, and ale - the guests took it in turn to approach the head table before the dias and present the new king with gifts. Gimli gifted Elfwine with a magnificent baldric for his war-axe, nearly a full hand-span of dyed red leather wide and inlaid with patterns of tiny diamonds, red topaz, and emeralds mined from The Glittering Caves. When Elfwine slung the belt over one shoulder to try it on, gasps of approval and awe went up throughout the hall. 

Éowyn was next, and to her nephew she gave a round shield made from the wood of Ithilien's yew trees. The pale wood was painted white, and around the boss a golden horse was depicted with a long, gracefully curving neck and flowing mane. The boss itself was engraved with tiny markings, which upon close inspection one could see to be elvish script. 

"A blessing," Éowyn explained. "In the tongue of the wood elves, it asks that this shield remain unneeded, and thus unmarked in our age of peace." 

Elfwine looked up from the delicate artistry of the boss. "A blessing that I hope is answered. This shield is so beautiful, I almost could not bear to use it in battle!" 

A laugh went up from the hall at that, and Éowyn shook her head. "If it came to going without in a time of need, then I think we would all rather see the shield marred than you." 

"Agreed," said Lothíriel fervently from Elfwine's side at the head table. 

When it came to Eldarion's turn, he stood before the hall empty-handed. Elfwine raised an eyebrow at Eldarion, a curious grin peeking out from beneath his mustache. Ignoring the murmurs that were already spreading at royal house of Gondor's apparent lack of gift, Eldarion spoke. 

"Your Grace, I have brought no gift to the Golden Hall tonight...because a feasting hall is no fit place for my family's gift. Unless, of course, I have your leave to bring it forth?" 

There was nothing Elfwine liked better than a good surprise. The eager glint in his hazel-green eyes gave away what Eldarion suspected; if it were just the two of them, rather than the entire court of Rohan, Elfwine would have been over the table and wrestling the reveal out of Eldarion already. In this moment they were lords of the realm though, and so Elfwine had to settled for a dignified nod. 

Eldarion turned to the main door of Meduseld, and at his signal the guards swung the doors open to the night air. There, waiting at the top of the Golden Halls wide steps, was a groom leading a horse. It was a young animal - more a colt than stallion yet - but when it followed the groom's lead into the hall, its long legs and fine form were more than apparent to the horselords of Rohan. Its coat shone like moonlit water in the firelight, and its mane and tail were long and smooth. No saddle or bridle interrupted the Rohirrim's appreciation of the young animal; so well handled was the colt that it permitted itself to be guided by nothing more than a single lead-rope. 

The horse's hooves echoed upon the floor of the Golden Hall, its ears flicking cautiously at all the new sights and smells. When the groom reached Eldarion they turned the animal over to him, and it nosed his shoulder in recognition. Eldarion took a moment to stroke the horse's velvety black nose before turning one more to Elfwine and the head table. 

"Many years ago, your grandfather gave to my father the gift of a horse...once the steed of his own fallen son Théodred. Brego has borne my father through war and wasteland, home and abroad, for as many years as I can remember. No finer companion could Théoden have granted to Aragorn, and so it is my honour to return Brego's bloodline to the stables where he was sired." Gripping the lead rope, Eldarion led the colt to walk before the length of the head table. "This is Baldor, born to a mare bred by Brego in Minas Tirith. His mother is of the herds of Dol Amroth, from which the Swan Knights choose their mounts. With a parentage from both sea and Mark, it seemed only right that Baldor be ridden by one of similar heritage." 

 The murmuring of the crowd - already approving - now turned to outright applause. The applause only grew when Elfwine rose to step around the table and claim Baldor's lead from Eldarion himself. 

"My grandfather did well in gifting Brego to Aragorn after the Battle of Helms Deep," Elfwine said aloud to the hall. "And now, it seems that generosity is repaid three-fold. This horse is kingly, and henceforth I shall suffer none to ride him but the House of Eorl." 

Then Elfwine embraced Eldarion, and to him privately said "Will you meet me outside, later? There are matters I would like to speak of with you that are not for the ears of all."

Then others from the head table gathered around to admire the young horse, and the two young men were thrust back into their public roles as quickly as they had fallen out of them. Baldor was led from the hall to the stables with much fanfare, and once the feast was concluded musicians struck up music for singing and dancing. For a time, Elfwine was in such high demand that he could scarcely go five paces without being accosted. Eldarion meanwhile indulged in a flagon of mead and a dance or two with the noblewomen of Rohan. The young woman in fine silk and golden curls whom Eldarion had noticed earlier entreated him to a dance, and then afterward attached herself to Elfwine's arm so thoroughly that not even the thickest of crowds could detach her. Her smile whenever she looked up at Elfwine was filled with adoration, but Eldarion couldn't help but notice that Elfwine's own smile grew somewhat strained as the night wore on. 

OoOoO

It wasn't until well past midnight that Eldarion finally noticed Elfwine slipping away toward a side door. They locked eyes, and Elfwine beckoned Eldarion to follow him outside with a nod. Excusing himself from the conversation he had been having with two of Gimli's kinsfolk, Eldarion wove his way across the hall to the doorway where Elfwine had disappeared. 

He found Elfwine sitting in the dark, tucked away on a bench beyond the reach of the nearest torch. The stars were out, but below the sounds of merry-making and the warm glow of many households livened the city. Eldarion took a seat next to Elfwine, and for a while the two of them just sat and savored the silence. 

At length, it seemed that Elfwine had fallen into some deep musings, and so Eldarion decided to prompt him back. 

"Your lady companion seems very charming. I'm afraid I've somehow managed to miss her name though?" 

That seemed to do the trick. Shaking himself, Elfwine huffed out a low chuckle. "Ayleth, granddaughter of Erkenbrand, my grandfather's Marshal of the West-Mark. Actually, that was just the subject of which I wanted to speak to you about." 

"Oh? I'm afraid you know me, Elfwine. Beyond life with three sisters, I know precious little of women and romance." 

"Not a claim you'll be able to make forever. Someday, it will be not just expected...but insisted upon that you'll marry and father heirs for Gondor's throne." 

'Ah,' thought Eldarion. 'So that's what he's gnawing at.' To Elfwine he said "And, now that you are King of Rohan, you are feeling a similar weight of expectations I take it?" 

Elfwine let out a groan that Eldarion had not been expecting. When the younger man dropped his head - still encircled by the crown - into his hands, Eldarion instinctively reached out to comfort him. He laid a hand on Elfwine's arm and squeezed. 

"Much has changed for your family, this past month. You needn't marry straight away, especially not with your father's death so recent." 

"It's not that. Well...yes, it is...but only partially." Elfwine leaned to peer sideways up at Eldarion, and his usually cheery smile was this time sardonic. "I am a terrible lover, Eldarion."

Now that did surprise Eldarion. "How so?! The Lady Ayleth seems quite well pleased with you, and even Éowyn was saying earlier that you make a fine couple." 

"Aye...Ayleth is well pleased with me. They all have been. The trouble is that I have never been able to make myself grow as fond of them as they are of me. Believe me, I've tried, knowing that the bloodline of Eorl is in my keeping."

"What do you mean? You are not fond of Ayleth, then?" 

Elfwine sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and rubbing the sides of his nose. "Not in the way a man should be, if he has any honorable intentions toward a lady. It's been the same every time. The young women of Edoras dog my steps, praising my appearance and honoring my rank. Their happiness when I ask them to court me is so infectious, I almost convince myself that surely I can learn to love and admire them in return. All of my courtships have ended the same way though; I eventually come to realize that I do not return their feelings as they ought to be, and break things off. The look on their faces when I tell them..." Again, Elfwine sighed. "I hate breaking hearts, Eldarion, and I am sick to death of it."

To this Eldarion had no answer. His parents had instilled in him early on that one must never lead another on falsely, using the story of Éowyn's bruised affections for Aragorn during the War of the Ring as a prime example. To hear of Elfwine's romantic failings was disappointing, but also understandable. As the heirs to their respective realms, the expectation was that they would one day extend their family bloodlines. In that regard, Eldarion mused, he too was failing rather utterly. He and Elfwine were both still young though, with many years ahead in which to find real love. 

"Elfwine..." He shook Elfwine's shoulder gently. "Your father just recently died, and now you have the lordship of Rohan to contend with. If your heart is not in courting, then I think you ought to end your suit of the Lady Ayleth and have done with it. She is not a child, she will surely survive the loss of even your company." Elfwine's expression remained downcast, and so Eldarion tried a different approach. "Or should I say, especially your company. You may be 'Elfwine the Fair', but you are still Elboron's brash, loud-mouthed little cousin in my mind." 

"Pah! Mind how you speak to a king, princeling!" Elfwine laughed though, even as he moved to cuff Eldarion's ear. 

They lapsed once more into silence. The sounds of the celebration inside served as a constant reminder though that their absences would not go unmarked much longer. Indeed, they were probably already being missed. 

"Did I ever tell you that our parents once hoped Túrien and I would take an interest in one another, as we grew older?" 

Eldarion stared at Elfwine, incredulous. "No, you definitely failed to mention that! It is just as well you did not; you couldn't handle Túrien on your best of days." 

"You're probably right," chuckled Elfwine. "I don't know how that Haradrim lordling of Túrien's keeps up with her all day, every day." 

The more Eldarion thought about it, the more he didn't know how he felt about the notion of Elfwine married to one of his sisters. He already regarded Elfwine as just as much a brother to him as Elboron (perhaps ever-so-slightly less, but there was the distance between Minas Tirith and Edoras to thank for that...). Fate had laid out their fates on different paths though, and Eldarion spared a thought to look forward to Túrien's arrival for the Great Council meeting at the end of the month. 

"We should probably go back," said Eldarion. 

Somewhat reluctantly, Elfwine rose to his feet. "Come on then. Even if I cannot find my heart's own among the women of Edoras, perhaps you might have better luck. Let us go and see if we can find a Shieldmaiden to match Gondor's princeling!" 

"......"

Without any suitable rebuttal that would not also double as a potential insult to the King of Rohan and his people, Eldarion had no choice but to let Elfwine steer him back into the bustle of the crowded hall. Ayleth was waiting, and was quick to reclaim her place at Elfwine's side. This time Eldarion understood perfectly the veiled wince on Elfwine's face. 

Such was the nature of hearts and crowns. 

OoOoO