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The sun rose pale as a pearl over the White City, casting its towers and parapets in an opalescent glow. A chill spring breeze swept over the mountains and down into the city where it caught the black and white banners high. Eldarion looked to the Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering tall and smooth against the sky. The wind whispered in his ears and brushed strands of his glossy dark hair across his brow. Dawn was the time of day Eldarion loved the best. To him, the White City never looked more beautiful than at first light.

He and the other lords and ladies of Gondor were gathered before the gates of Minas Tirith. Soon those gates would open, sending them out into the world beyond. The armies of Gondor and of Rohan waited on the Fields of Pelennor for their kings. It would be at five days' ride if not more to reach the inland Sea of Rhûn. This was not only the first time that the Men of the West had ridden out in force in more than a decade; it was also Eldarion's first true military campaign. The same was also true for both Elboron and Elfwine, prince of Rohan.

Eldarion felt a confusing swirl of emotions coursing through him as he watched his father embrace each of his sisters. For the most part he was excited, keenly aware that as Captain of Gondor one day he would be expected to not just participate in but lead campaigns such as this. He was also somewhat nervous, as was to be reasonably expected. A third, smaller and less prominent voice whispered words of quiet doubt in the prince's ear. Would he be able to live up to his father's reputation? Would the soldiers of Gondor ever one day look to him with such awe and admiration? Eldarion knew this first impression on the field would be everything moving forward. That concerned him almost more than the thought all warriors must learn to live with; the possibility of falling in battle.

With a final squeeze Aragorn finally prised Almárëa out of his arms. The youngest princess of Gondor only reluctantly let go of her father before asking him for the hundredth time that morning "You promise you'll be home again before Midsummer, Father?"

"Yes Almárëa, I promise. Before sunset on the longest day I will be back in Minas Tirith with you, your sisters and your mother. And so will Eldarion."

Eruthiawen and Túrien exchanged a sideways glance beside Arwen. They were both close enough to womanhood to know that a soldier's promise must always be taken with a dose of caution. The king was a legendary swordsman though, and they were all perhaps less concerned for Aragorn as they were for Eldarion. Even Túrien deigned to give her brother a hug; a rare occasion.

"Be careful out there, Eldarion." Túrien said somberly. Then the usual spark of mischief returned to her midnight blue eyes. "You would rob all the young women of Gondor of a national treasure if you managed to damage that pretty face of yours in a fight."

Eldarion flushed but returned his middle sister's teasing squeeze. Túrien was lithe as a willow and nimble as quicksilver in his arms. Quick as a flash she was already dancing away beyond reach.

"Never mind marring your appearance, just be sure to return as well and whole as you left us." Eruthiawen's embrace was longer, more comfortable and at ease than Túrien's. If she were worried for Aragorn and Eldarion, her calm smile kept such concerns well hidden. "I have no doubt that you are more than ready for this. Still I will ask the Valar to keep an eye out for you, Little Brother."

It was something of a joke between Eldarion and Eruthiawen, one that they had carried on since they were adolescents. Eruthiawen had for a brief space of time been taller than Eldarion, owing to the propensity of maidens to sprout before youths. Gimli had jokingly remarked at the time that between her height and her maturity it would be all too easy to believe Eruthiawen was Eldarion's elder. Even after Eldarion caught up to and surpassed Eruthiawen, she still continued to affectionately refer to him as her 'Little Brother'.

"As will I."

Arwen wore the silver crown of the Queen of Gondor to appear out in the city that morning. Sometimes it was almost easy to forget that their 'Adar' and 'Naneth' belonged to a whole nation, and not just their family. Then Arwen enfolded Eldarion to her heart and he smelt her familiar perfume of night air and lavender. Few people knew that Arwen still walked in the gardens by moonlight, finding reverie as she once had as a daughter of the Eldar. There were many elements of the Queen that nobody saw, facets of her which remained private for only her loved ones to see. The scent of moonlight in his mother's hair was a wonderful reminder of that.

"Be safe, ion-nin (my son)." Arwen whispered into Eldarion's ear. "Stay close to your father, and to the others. Your time will come. For now, remember that you are still very young, and have many years ahead in which to learn and prove yourself."

Eldarion would have been surprised by the way in which his mother always seemed to know his mind, if he were not already so used to it. Nodding, he bowed his head to receive Arwen's kiss on his brow.

"Do not worry Naneth, I will be careful."

Arwen held his face between her long, cool hands for a moment longer before granting him a slight smile. Worry was more apparent in Arwen's gaze than it had been in Eruthiawen's. Then she turned to Aragorn.

"I would say the same to you, meleth-nin (my love). Only rather than urging you to remember your youth, I would urge you to remember your strengths. If the years have made you less fast on your feet and less nimble, they have also made you wiser and more cunning." Arwen chucked Aragorn's chin lovingly. "Try not to let Elrohir and Elladan's teasing from our last visit make you rash."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, capturing Arwen's hand in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Since when have I ever been rash?" He asked, very much bringing Túrien to mind in his expression.

"Since always, Estel." Then Arwen leaned in close and murmured something in Aragorn's ear so quietly that even their children could not hear it. Aragorn did not speak at first, but kissed his wife tenderly before stepping away from her.

"I will." He said, his voice as fervent as if he were taking a sacred oath.

Eldarion looked around the city square to where other such partings were taking place. Mothers, sons, uncles, nephews, fathers, sisters, all were gathered to see their soldiers off to battle. He caught sight of Elboron standing at the foot of the statue of a Gondorian horseman with Faramir and Éowyn. Their goodbyes were even harder still than Eldarion's, no doubt. Faramir as Steward of Gondor could not leave the city by law so long as the king was absent. Everyone this side of the Misty Mountains knew of the Lady Éowyn's exploits in battle during the War of the Ring, but the White Lady of Ithilien was likewise retired from combat. That left Elboron to ride away to Rhûn without the watchful presence of either his mother or his father at his side.

Faramir released Elboron from a tight hug just in time for Éowyn to shower her son with yet another wave of advice.

"Be sure you clean your sword after every skirmish, no matter how small it may seem. Blood will eat away at the blade as sure as sunrise, and dirty your sheath as well." Éowyn was saying.

"Yes Mother, I will remember." Elboron said with the slightly exhausted air of someone who has been given a long list of other things to do and not do.

"And above all, stay close to Aragorn, Éomer, Legolas and Gimli." Faramir said. "They have promised your mother and I to watch over you in our stead, as they watch over Eldarion and Elfwine."

Éowyn stepped in and wrapped Elboron in one more embrace, her long white cloak enveloping them both. The dawning hours seemed to suit Éowyn as well; she shone pale and crisp like the blossoms on the White Tree in the courtyard high above. White gold was in her hair, never fading to silver but turning straight to snow like the first frosts of winter.

"Your father and I are so proud of you, Elboron. I know I have told you this before, but you truly are the best of both of us." She said. "Be brave, and be safe."

It took some time before Faramir and Éowyn both were ready to relinquish Elboron. Eventually though they broke apart and approached the royal family. The three of them bowed in deference to Aragorn and Arwen before everyone greeted one another as old friends. They were soon joined by Éomer and Lothíriel, as well as their son Elfwine. The prince of Rohan was sporting the beginnings of what promised to be a rather impressive honey colored beard to match his father's. Elfwine's boiled leather armor already had a few nicks and scratches on it, but on the whole looked quite as new as Eldarion and Elboron's shining plate mail.

While their parents conversed, the noble children of Gondor and Rohan likewise gathered a short distance away in the square. It had been some time since they had all seen one another together, and they eyed one another curiously. Túrien and Almárëa had changed a great deal since their last visit to Rohan, and Elfwine had likewise filled out nicely toward full maturity.

"I hear you recently were named a Marshal of the Mark, Elfwine. A great honor at your age to be sure." Túrien commented, eyeing the heavy axe whose red leather handle jutted up above his shoulder. "Although I daresay your weapons look almost as green as you."

Elfwine just shrugged and smiled, his dark green eyes twinkling proudly. He was a striking young man, and many were already calling him 'Elfwine the Fair' for his resemblance to his maternal grand-sire, Prince Imrahil.

"Third Marshal, like my father before me." Elfwine said. Eldarion could tell he was trying hard not to boast. "I may not have been in the saddle as long as some, but I hope I have enough heart to fill the difference. I hear you and Almárëa are becoming horsewomen the likes of which could make a Shieldmaiden of Rohan proud."

"Túrien rides like the wind!" Almárëa exclaimed, her long brown curls bouncing in her excitement. "The filly your father gifted us is grown now, and surely must run as fast as Shadowfax ever could. Riding her feels like flying!"

"That may be something of an overstatement, Almárëa." Eldarion commented dryly. "Shadowfax was one of the Mearas, the Lord of all Horses. No horse, not even Brego or Arod could match him."

Elboron pointed toward the gates where their horses waited patiently beyond the throng. "I would take Baneth over a hundred Shadowfaxes any day. Her loyalty and love are beyond measure. "

"Loyalty is a virtue that I think I too would prefer in a horse over speed." Eruthiawen said. The rising sun was catching sparks of fiery red in her hair where it fell in shining waves down the front of her pale yellow gown. "Especially in battle, when fear might make the hearts of both men and beasts shudder."

"Indeed, my lady, just so. No doubt your horse Dior must love you greatly, the way he follows you even after you dismount." Elboron smiled at Eruthiawen.

"Have you seen Gimli?" Almárëa asked, craning her neck trying to see above the crowd in the square. "He promised me a present before he left today."

Túrien scoffed, but pointed the way all the same. "Almárëa, you are liable to grow spoiled from all the gifts you seem to keep receiving. I saw Gimli with Legolas over by the horses, just there. You will have to hurry though, the army leaves soon I think."

Hiking up her rosebud red skirts, Almárëa went dashing away. Sometimes soldiers and their loved ones saw her coming and stepped aside for the little princess. For those that did not see, Almárëa slid around them with speed and balance most impressive even for a young slip of a girl like her. It was a good thing that she ran; less than a minute later the clear ringing of silver trumpets filled the square. The time had come to depart the White City.

Climbing into the saddle on Greyhame's back was somewhat more difficult than usual in armor. With some effort Eldarion pulled himself up and settled in for what was sure to be a long ride. He had no idea how his father managed to look so at ease in his own armor with the heavy royal mantle fluttering behind him. He wondered if the Rohirrim weren't slightly more practical with their leather armor for riding. Certainly Elfwine looked as comfortable as could be in the saddle alongside Éomer. Then Elboron sidled his horse up to Eldarion and they shared a knowing grimace. At least they could be uncomfortable on the long ride together.

With their banners flying high the kings and princes of Rohan and Gondor rode out through the gates of Minas Tirith. The soldiers on the Fields of Pelennor greeted their lords with a rousing cheer. Eight thousand in all fell into a long column behind the kings. They unfurled like a steel and leather ribbon across the plains and away toward the east.

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