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The sharp ringing of steel against steel echoed throughout the Training Grounds of Minas Tirith, a familiar sound in the city's second tier. Eldarion and the other officers were putting the summer's newest recruits through their paces this morning, the better to assess how next year's companies would be assigned. 

It had only been a few short weeks since Eldarion's return to the White City, having left Elfwine to his new life and throne in Edoras. Young and untried though Elfwine was, it seemed to Eldarion that Rohan's new king thus far enjoyed the full support of all his realm's most notable. All, that was, with the exception of the household of Erkenbrand, once-Marshal to King Théoden. Before Eldarion had departed for Gondor he had had to witness the aftermath of Elfwine breaking off his courtship with the Lady Ayleth. Needless to say, Elfwine was decidedly in old Erkenbrand's ill favour, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future. 

That being all said and done though, now there was Túrien's arrival for the Great Council to look forward to, as well as much to be done regarding Eldarion's duties with the City Guard. For the past year Aragorn had little by little been withdrawing his involvement with Gondor's armies. Consequently, this meant that more and more of the management of their soldiers fell to Eldarion. This was a good thing in that it meant elevated influence and authority for Eldarion amongst the ranks of the men. It was also a bad thing in that so much of Eldarion's time was demanded, some nights he even slept in a bunk in the city barracks rather than return to the Citadel. 

Again on the bright side though, this meant that Eldarion had not had far to go this morning to supervise the pre-dawn training drills. He stood to one side of the yard with Ohtar and Malbeth, a sharp eye following the movements of the new recruits. Most were newly come of age at twenty-five, their freshly minted status as men making them eligible for service. Most were also largely inexperienced with swordplay, with the exceptions of any born and raised the sons of noble households. Thus it fell to Ohtar to introduce Gondor's newest soldiers to the forms and footwork of the blade. Eldarion also taught when he could spare the time, having been practically raised sparing with his father since childhood. 

"Knee over ankle," Ohtar reminded one recruit who had a habit of fighting unbalanced. 

"Yes sir!" came the quick reply, unsubtly tinged with an unmistakable edge of nerves. 

Eldarion remembered well the uncertainty of those first few weeks in uniform. As the prince though, he had had something of an advantage in that he started out a ranking officer straight from the first. Then again, perhaps in another light one could consider that a disadvantage. Eldarion would never cease being grateful to Ohtar and the other men of the City Guard for the patience they had shown their young captain during his first year of duty. Now it was Eldarion's turn to be patient when he noticed another repeat offender. 

Leaving Ohtar and Malbeth's side, Eldarion circled the training yard toward a pair of sparring recruits. Reaching out with his wooden training sword, he tapped one soldier at the crook of one over-bent elbow. 

"Near ward position calls for the blade to be held behind and downward, not sideways, Hallas. Try not to need reminding a third time." 

The young nobleman turned away from his sparing partner, momentarily bristling in annoyance. When he realized who it was that had interrupted him though, Hallas was quick to bow. 

"Yes, Your Grace." 

Eldarion left Hallas to undoubtedly fall back into side-sweeping the ground with his sword, shaking his head. Noble-born soldiers were far less enjoyable to teach than the sons of common folk; more often than not they came with an unduly lofty impression of themselves and their skills. Being reduced back to the basics alongside their common-born counterparts rarely went over without at least one or two snits from the year's new recruits. 

His circuit of the yard complete, Eldarion returned to where Ohtar and Malbeth were calling the class inward. After a few instructions regarding that afternoon's guard shifts, Ohtar dismissed the soldiers for their midday meal. Wooden training swords were deposited into barrels at the edge of the yard with a clatter, and one by one or in little groups the young men dispersed. 

Once sure they could speak freely without being overheard, Eldarion approached the two lieutenants with a raised eyebrow. 

"Well? Give me your professional assessment, Ohtar. Any promising skills in this newest batch?"

Ohtar shrugged and rolled his eyes. "There are a few that know half of what they're doing, enough to not lop someone's ear off once they get their hands on actual steel. None of them have the proper respect for their craft though, not like we did when I was a boy."

"You were young in different times, Ohtar," Malbeth reminded him. 

"Oh aye, and we knew then that a well-handled sword could be the difference between living and dying. We grew up knowing that warfare was not a game, or a means of inflating your reputation at court. These boys wouldn't know an orc raid if it bit them on the nose." 

"I do believe that was somewhat the point of the entire war, my friend," Eldarion chuckled. "It is hardly lamentable that Gondor has not had to wean my generation on fear and bloodshed." 

Remembering just who he was speaking to, Ohtar reined his frustrations in enough to speak more evenly. "It's not that they show no promise, my lord. Some of them are even quite good. I would like to take a little hot air out of the heads of some of our young lordlings though..." 

"Like you did with our beloved Captain?" asked Malbeth with a teasing smile at Eldarion. 

Eldarion clipped Malbeth on the side of the knee with his training sword. "I hardly think I came to the City Guard with an attitude such as the likes of Hallas. If you like though, I can adopt one now and set you to training the night patrol for a month?" 

"Oh no, I prefer my routine exactly as it is, thank you very much." 

Ohtar cleared his throat. "On that note..." His tone suddenly grew quiet, and he glanced around to ensure that none of the recruits were still lingering nearby. "...Did the investigation ever turn up who was responsible for that incident with the statue in the Sages' Tier? You remember, the one from earlier this spring?" 

"How could I forget?" said Eldarion, suddenly sobered. "No, I fear not, Ohtar. The fifth circle was searched thrice, and a reward was even posted for information. If anyone knew anything though, they did not come forward. There have been no further incidents though, and so my father and I are tentatively treating that night as an isolated incident of ill-humoured mischief."

Even as Eldarion reassured his lieutenants though, a chill ran down his spine as the memory of Rhoss' words came back to him. 

'The shadow never truly dies, Prince. How could it, when even fading stars leave darkness in their wake?'

They had never found the ones responsible for the painted Eye upon Gandalf's statue, nor any trace of the shadowy stranger who whispered from the dark. Rhoss knew who had left the marking, of that Eldarion was sure. Perhaps he had even done it himself. Eldarion chose to hope that was not the case though. He preferred to imagine Rhoss' cryptic words as a warning. To discover otherwise would completely destroy any chance that the Eye was the work of mere miscreants. 

With these uneasy thoughts playing his mind, Eldarion felt much better once he and Malbeth had traded in their practice swords for actual steel. Tegil hung comfortably at Eldarion's side, and the weight made Eldarion smile at a far fairer memory. 

OoOoO

"Your first sword?" Elboron had asked, eyes shining with excitement as the older boy showed off his sixteenth birthday present. 

"Adar had it crafted with alloyed mithril," said Eldarion proudly. "See how it shines white in the blade?" 

"Father..." Elboron had looked to Faramir where he sat nearby, unsubtly keeping an eye on the boys even as he pretended to draft up an official missive. "When might I be of an age to have my own sword?" 

"You'll be sixteen the year after next," said Faramir. "We can discuss such a thing then. Until that time, take comfort in knowing that a single pen is far mightier than a hundred swords, and you have several in your desk this very moment." 

Elboron turned back to Eldarion with a smile that barely hid his adolescent disappointment. "In that case, it seems I have you bested in the grand scheme of things, Eldarion." 

"Not so!" Eldarion exclaimed. A sudden idea had come to him as he listened to Faramir and Elboron. Lifting his new sword up so it caught the light of Ithilien's soft sun, he declared "I shall name this blade Tegil, or 'pen' in the Sindarin tongue. And so, I will have a sword that is - as you said, Faramir - far mightier than a hundred others!" 

OoOoO

Remembering Faramir's laughter and Elboron's dramatic groans lightened Eldarion's thoughts considerably. With an affectionate pat to Tegil's hilt, he bid Ohtar and Malbeth take their own midday meal and departed for the Citadel. Busy though he may be, today was not a day for soldiering. Túrien was due in Minas Tirith any day, and their father was expecting him. 

OoOoO

Eldarion found Aragorn taking his own meal - more a late breakfast at this point after an unusually busy morning - in the parlor of the King's House. Aragorn held a fork in one hand and a letter in the other, the morsel of chicken hovering apparently forgotten in midair. An expression somewhere between joy and anguish twisted his face. 

"Adar?" asked Eldarion, concerned. "Are you alright?" 

When Aragorn looked up, there were tears - of happiness or pain Eldarion could not yet tell - on his whiskered cheeks. Apparently without words, Aragorn offered the letter to Eldarion to see for himself. When Eldarion recognized his mother's elegant handwriting he rushed to read on. 

My beloved Estel, 

To receive your letter was cause for much joy amongst us, but also much sorrow. The tidings of Éomer's sudden passing brought great grief to us all, but most of all to poor Elboron. He took the news hard, and none can doubt that there was much love between him and his uncle. We have assured him that you and Eldarion will most certainly be offering Lothíriel and Elfwine all the support that is within our power to give, and upon our return south we will of course be stopping at Edoras. On that note, we have decided to cut our visit to Annúminas short, and depart ere the leaves of autumn begin to turn. With fair roads and clear skies, we hope to be at the gates of Minas Tirith before the first frost. I must confess that the thought of returning to you and Eldarion sooner than planned heartens me even as we mourn for Éomer.

All is well in Annúminas. Lord Derufin governs with a sure and trusted hand, and the Dúnedain grow more to resemble their Númenórean ancestors with each passing generation. I too have sorrowful news to share though, and my heart is still sore at the thought of it. Our brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, have make their final choice at last. They will take ship from the Grey Havens, from there to rejoin their kin in the Blessed Realm forevemore. Before we departed from Rivendell for the last time, they bid me tell you that some goodbyes are best left unsaid. Their wish for you is that you fondly remember your days of youth spent together, while keeping your heart and mind turned to the days yet before us. An easier thing to say than to do, I know.

This letter cannot be all tidings of sorrow without a measure of happiness. It is for that reason that I shall tell you this, even though Eruthiawen had suggested no announcement be made yet out of respect for Éomer. Eruthiawen and Elboron wish to seek your blessing to be married. They both understand of course that they have mine and Faramir's approval, and Faramir vouches for Éowyn's surely boundless joy at such news. You and I know however how deeply Eruthiawen and Elboron have always respected your opinion, as well as tradition. Therefore, meleth-nin, I thought it best to tell you now, so that you will have time to compose yourself before our return. We both knew that the day would be inevitable when some young man would take it upon himself to claim our Little Queen, and I for one can truthfully say that there could be none more worthy of her than Elboron. He also has Almárëa's approval, which apparently counts for more than one would think (I shall tell you more when we are reunited, rest assured our youngest retains her talent for getting exactly what she wants in all things). 

Although we have no intention of dallying upon the road as we make the long journey south, I think we will stop briefly for a time in Buckland again. Merry would hardly forgive us if we were to pass by without calling upon him, and now that news of Éomer will have surely reached the Shire I think the company of friends would be a boon to us all. As I have also said, we will of course pay a visit to Lothíriel and Elfwine in Edoras as we return home by way of the Gap of Rohan. 

Even though many leagues and weeks still part us, I shall look forward eagerly to the day when we are all once again together as a family in Minas Tirith. Please give Eldarion and Túrien all my love, and Sufyan as well. It grieves me not to be there for Túrien's visit, but perhaps this way you and Eldarion shall have a proper chance to enjoy her company uninterrupted. 

I shall look up at the stars each night as we travel, and tell them of the love that still grows evergreen in my heart, that they might carry my words across the sky to you. 

Until we are together once more, meleth-nin. 

Your wife,

Arwen

To think that he would never see their uncles Elladan and Elrohir again, nor visit the Last Homely House of Imladris, grieved Eldarion. The news of Elboron and Eruthiawen mingled such sadness with excitement and joy though. Elfwine owed him five castars. Unlike Elfwine, Eldarion had never given up hope that Elboron might find his courage where Eruthiawen was concerned. Many might have mistaken Eruthiawen's inborn shyness - a trait she had long worked to overcome with poise and practice - for aloofness. Beneath all that though, Eldarion had long thought it apparent that Eruthiawen was at the very least deeply fond of Elboron, if not equally as revoltingly twitter-pated. Thank the Valar that their respective awkwardness was complimentary to one another. As for what role Almárëa might have had in all of this, Eldarion did not doubt it likely involved sabotage in one form or another. Poor Prince Hakon wouldn't have stood a chance. 

Looking up, Eldarion found his father watching him, no doubt waiting for his reaction. Eldarion too felt both the bitter sting of loss mingled with the buoyant glow of happiness for Eruthiawen and Elboron. He realized then that he had thoroughly crumpled both sides of the letter in his grip. 

"...I am sorry for Elladan and Elrohir's leaving, Ada. I know how close the three of you were when you were my age." 

Aragorn held out a hand to Eldarion, and Eldarion went to his side. When Aragorn gazed up at his son, a vast depth of feeling was written in his eyes. 

"I do wish they would have let me bid them farewell," said Aragorn softly. "But that was never their way. It is very like Elladan and Elrohir, to slip away unremarked into the grey mists of time, even if it seems an unfitting end for the tale of the sons of Lord Elrond Half-Elven." 

"This year seems to be one of much sorrow," Eldarion sighed. 

"Sorrow...yes, but not utterly. Your mother knows my heart well; I can think of no one I would rather see wed to our Eruthiawen than Elboron. That boy has been like a son to our house already, and practically a brother in all but name to you I think." Aragorn smiled then, and Eldarion's heart filled with happiness at the realization that he and Elboron were indeed to become true brothers now. 

"This is wonderful news, and about time too! Can you imagine, Ada? It seems only right that our family should be thus bound to that of the Stewards. I cannot help but feel like it was somehow meant to be." 

Aragorn chuckled at that. "It does feel right, doesn't it? Perhaps fated, even. Even so...I will be hard-pressed to surrender yet another one of your sisters to the bonds of marriage. Valar forbid that I shall someday soon have to endure such a request of Almárëa...to say nothing of the day I watch you, my eldest, be wed."

Eldarion was about to say something to the effect of small yet mighty Almárëa scaring any potential suitors off when he was cut short by the sound of a distant horn. It was still quite far off, but Eldarion recognized it clearly from their days spent in Harmindon (and before that, a not-quite forgotten battle upon the shores of the Sea of Rhûn).

"Is that...?" 

Aragorn and Eldarion exchanged a look. Leaving the letter from Annúminas on the table, they hurried from the King's House and out into the Court of the Fountain. Already there were many courtiers gathered, as well as several Citadel Guards. All rushed to the parapets, there to gaze out across the fields of Pelennor. When the lords of Gondor recognized their king and prince approaching though, they were quick to draw aside and make room. 

"My lords, are we under attack? Should we call up the guard?" asked an older statesman anxiously. 

Eldarion almost burst out laughing. There in the distance, slowly following the course of the river Anduin toward Osgiliath, was a single Mûmak. Even from so far away though, Eldarion could tell that this beast was hardly arrayed for war. It was, in fact, such a young male that its tusks had hardly grown but halfway down to its knees. An ornate howdah rode on the Mûmak's back, and Eldarion could just make out two flags flying on the very top. One, yellow with a black design which could only be a serpent, was no doubt the flag of Harad. The other was a telltale black, the emblem of which even now surrounded them upon the Citadel of Minas Tirith; a white tree. 

"Oh yes, my friend," said Aragorn gravely, his face perfectly straight. "I fear we are under the most grievous attack this city has ever faced. You see, upon that there lone Mûmak, my daughter Túrien even now approaches." 

That was too much. Eldarion let out a burst of laughter that ended in a full throated whoop of excitement. The lords of Gondor could titter all they wanted about such a display from a grown man; Túrien was here! Without any further delay, Eldarion rushed to signal the gatehouse to throw open its doors and welcome their guests. 

OoOoO

Meanwhile, upon Gïdjls' back, Túrien looked up at the White City as it grew ever larger before them. She had spared no detail in ensuring that all three of them - Gïdjls, Sufyan, and herself - were arrayed in the full splendor and regalia of the Haradrim people. She couldn't wait to see the looks on her father and Eldarion's faces. Sufyan came up from behind the driver to join her, and when Gïdjls shook his head and made them all scramble for grip, breathless with surprise and laughter, Túrien thought she had never been happier. 

It was good to be home. 

OoOoO