It had been almost four hours since daybreak, and by some miracle Eldarion still was on his feet. There was so much to do in the aftermath of the siege, everywhere one looked there seemed to be someone in need of a helping hand. 

After fighting their way into the city, Aragorn and Legolas had gone into the Tower of the Moon and not been seen since. Eldarion had spoken to his father briefly though; when he and Malbeth had carried Sufyan up the winding tower stairs, unconscious between them on his makeshift stretcher. Aragorn had emerged from Eruthiawen and Elboron's room - the cloth in his hands conspicuously stained with blood - and helped them settle Sufyan on a bed in another room before sending them away. 

"There is nothing I can give you yet besides hope, Eldarion," Aragorn had said, even as he started gathering more supplies. "Éowyn and I are doing all that we can for Eruthiawen, as we must now do for Sufyan. As soon as we know anything for certain, for good or ill...be assured that I will send for you." 

With the command of the army still under his responsibility, Eldarion had been unable to do anything more for Eruthiawen and Sufyan. He and Elboron met and embraced in the hall outside Eruthiawen's door, both relieved to find one another alive. Little Barahir had been taken by the midwife for tending, and Elboron was almost frantic with worry for Eruthiawen. Eldarion found his own nerves frayed to the breaking point, and to his dismay could be of little comfort to his oldest and dearest friend. And so it was that, when Mistress Eidith at last brought Barahir back to Elboron's arms, Eldarion only lingered long enough to kiss his sleeping nephew's brow before returning down to the city below. 

There was more than enough to be done throughout Minas Ithil. Eldarion was able to throw himself into the work and forget the thousands of thoughts which whirled about inside his head like birds in a storm. He helped to clear barricades, put out fires, carry the wounded to safety, and bury the dead. A single mass grave would be dug for the Easterlings, further north beyond the Vale of the Moon. The fallen men of Gondor (and of Harad) were buried within the Vale, and a rock cairn erected until such time as a proper marker could be built. No one seemed to know what to do about Gïdjls. The young Mûmak lay where he had fallen, his stillness eerie for a creature so vast. Eldarion had tried to ask the lone surviving member of Sufyan and Túrien's entourage what ought to be done for the fallen Mûmak. Unfortunately, Eldarion's command of the Haradrim tongue was too poor to properly convey the question. Not knowing what else to do, Eldarion had asked the first young boys he came across to keep watch over Gïdjls. Using their little bows and arrows, the children were tasked to ensure that the carrion birds circling overhead did not disturb Gïdjls' final sleep. 

Sometime around midday, Eldarion jerked awake with a start. He had sat down for only a moment, while looking out over the still-smoking city from the walls of the Citadel of Night. So exhausted was he though, he had managed to fall asleep while seated, on a stone bench no less. His eyelids felt like they were lined with raw-hide. Scrubbing the bleariness from his face, Eldarion could feel unkept stubble growing out across his chin and cheeks. The events of the past thirty-six hours felt somehow dreamlike, unreal, as if they had happened to someone else. The irritated itching of his chafed wrists and the pain radiating from his wounded arm served as unwanted reminders though. Unable to find the energy to stand, Eldarion watched through dull eyes as Ohtar guided a group of men to leverage pieces of broken gate out of the street below. 

"Eldarion?"

Eldarion started, his heart suddenly racing even as he recognized his father's voice. He tried to rise to his feet, but it seemed that the last of his strength had finally deserted him. The best Eldarion could manage was to lift his head and squint up at his father through the piercing sunlight. 

"Adar...are Eruthiawen and Sufyan alright?" 

With a tired sigh, Aragorn lowered himself to sit next to Eldarion on the bench. He had removed his armor and cloak, as well as his sword. In a rumpled shirt with unshaven cheeks and tired eyes, Aragorn hardly looked like the mighty King Elessar. He looked like a father, worn from worrying for his children. 

"They both live, for now. Éowyn managed to put a stop to Eruthiawen's bleeding, but she has been greatly weakened." The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Aragorn's mouth. "Bergil swears that he has never before seen any soldier lose so much blood and yet still stand ready to fight. He insists that our Eruthia will surprise us all and be walking about by sundown." 

"...And Sufyan?"

The smile immediately fled from Aragorn's face. "Sufyan's condition is very grave, Eldarion. We have bound and braced the ribs as best we can, and he is sleeping with the aid of very powerful sedative herbs. It will take both great strength and great fortune to recover from such an injury though." 

Eldarion had been expecting as much, but his shoulders still slumped in despair. "Should we send for Túrien, and Myriam?" 

"I think that would be wise, but not just yet. There are still Easterlings in the area, broken and fleeing though their forces might be. Tomorrow, if Sufyan still lives, I will ask Faramir if he would be willing to return to Minas Tirith, so that your mother and the girls might be free to come to us here." 

Eldarion nodded. Once more he rubbed his hands across his face, as if he could somehow return some feeling to his flesh. Everything felt numb, and had been since The Black House. Looking up, he noticed a wooden bowl filled with water, a cloth, needle, thread, and various other tools of a healer in his father's hands. Thinking that Aragorn had come to ask him to help tend to the many wounded, Eldarion tried to find enough strength to force his legs to stand. 

To his surprise, Aragorn caught him by the shoulder and gently pushed him back down. "I have done what I can for Eruthiawen and Sufyan. It is beyond time that I tended to you, ion-nin." 

"Me?" Eldarion flexed his arm and felt the torn flesh where the spear-tip had poked him burn. Any bleeding had long since stopped though. "It is nothing all that serious, there will be time to stitch it up later." 

"That is not the only wound you carry though, is it?" 

When Aragorn's eyes fell meaningfully upon Eldarion's hastily bandaged wrists, Eldarion's first, unexplainable instinct was to shy away. Watching his son's face intently, Aragorn set down the bowl and cloth on the bench and held out his hand. 

"Here." 

Slowly, reluctantly, Eldarion gave his father his arm. With deft movements, Aragorn set to work undoing the buckles on Eldarion's bracers. Rolling back the sleeves and untying the strips of linen from around Eldarion's wrists brought a quiet frown to Aragorn's face. Eldarion was a little taken aback too. The angry purple-red wire welts and crusted spear wound looked far worse in the light of day than he had thought them to be. 

Stretching the arm with the spear wound out for him to work on first, Aragorn soaked the cloth in the gently steaming water and began washing away all of the dried blood. Eldarion sat in silence as his father worked, watching impassively as unmarked skin began to reappear beneath the grime of battle. The sounds of people working in the city below reached them where they sat, filling the silence for a time. 

"Eldarion...will you not speak to me?" 

Not understanding, Eldarion looked up. "What more is there to speak of?" 

Aragorn sighed. When he wrapped his warm, calloused fingers around Eldarion's forearm just above and below the wire marks, there was understanding in his old, grey eyes. 

"What happened in The Black House? You have not been yourself since." 

"...I have already told you what Serthîk and his folk intended. You yourself said it was a lie, and nothing more." 

"I did," said Aragorn. "But there is more to it than that, isn't there?" 

And then, just like that, the secrets which Eldarion had been refusing to speak even to himself came rushing up to the surface like a great tidal wave. Clenching his hands into fists, he had to look away from his father even as he began to talk in a breathless, wavering tumble of words. 

"I feel like I failed you. You, the House of Telcontar, and everyone. I am not half the man you are...that an heir of Elendil ought to be. If I were, I would not feel the way I do now. Everything feels changed, as if I see the world through a veil of fear and doubt. Though I tried so hard to have courage throughout that terrible, terrible night, it seems as if I have no courage left now to face its memory. I flinch from shadows and hide from my friends. My body no longer feels like my own, like I am an impostor wearing my own face. I am ashamed, Adar, because I know I should be better than this...and I know that you would be, were you in my place." 

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, his hand tight on Eldarion's. Eldarion was not finished though. 

"And there's more. Even before The Black House, I failed in my duty. I did not report my suspicions about Rhoss to you. I did so partially out of pride, yes, concern for my own impression in the eyes of the men. But there was another reason. I kept secret my encounters with Rhoss because he intrigued me. It thrilled me, to know that there was someone out there who knew of secret happenings, and was willing to hint at what he knew to me, and me alone. It made me feel powerful, and I enjoyed it. Here was something dark and dangerous, which only I had knowledge of, which only I had the power to seek out. I underestimated Rhoss, and he knew that. He and Serthîk used my weakness, knowing that I would come straight to them when Almárëa was taken. They knew I would not reveal them, or at least guessed I wouldn't. They were right." 

His terrible secret at last revealed, Eldarion closed his eyes and hung his head in shame. His father had been tested during the War of the Ring, and he had passed that test. When offered The One Ring, all the power and darkness that it represented, Aragorn had turned it away. He, Eldarion, had been unable to do as much when offered the secret whisperings of a single, mysterious man. He had failed, as Isildur had failed if not worse. 

"Eldarion...look at me." 

Eyes reddened, jaw clenching, Eldarion forced himself to look up into his father's gaze. To his surprise, he saw neither anger there, nor judgment. There was not even pity in Aragorn's face. Instead there was only sadness, soul-deep and piercing. Aragorn reached up and took Eldarion's face in his hands, refusing to let him look away again. 

"We are not gods, Eldarion, nor are we elves or wizards or even hobbits, with their boundless love of food and cheer over hoarded gold. We are Men, you and I...which means that failure and weakness are as much our birthright as honor and grace are. You were beguiled by the unknown...and you have paid for it, as so many others in our bloodline have before you. But Eldarion-" Aragorn shook Eldarion slightly, even as Eldarion's gaze tried to slide downward in shame. "You did not fail. You showed courage, and selflessness in the face of cruelty. You gave yourself up for your sister, and in doing so surely saved Almárëa's life. And you have showed honor, in admitting to your mistakes and being brave enough to face them, a task which even the wisest have often failed to accomplish." 

"I still cannot help but know in my heart that you would have done better, Adar, were you in my place..." choked out Eldarion. "Why is it that even now, I cannot put behind me all that has passed?" 

A small, sad, and ever-so-slightly sardonic smile quirked at Aragorn's mouth. "How you have managed to grow up in my household and still somehow see me as faultless, I shall never know. I am not perfect, Eldarion, far from it in fact. I have made decisions which have resulted in failure, even costing others their lives."

"That is the price of kingship though, is it not?" 

"Not necessarily. I have often thought upon and regretted my choice to prevent Théoden from killing Gríma Wormtongue, after our arrival at Edoras with Gandalf. Did you know that?" 

Eldarion shook his head. 

"It was unwise, a hasty wish to be merciful in the moment which cost hundreds of lives later on at Helm's Deep. Had Gríma not been allowed to flee Edoras, Saruman would never have known about the weakness in the Deeping Wall, which he exploited at great cost to Rohan and its allies." Now it was Aragorn's turn to look downcast, his voice falling to a murmur. "I lost a friend that night, one who perhaps may have lived, if the battle had gone otherwise." Regaining himself, Aragorn once again spoke firm yet gentle to Eldarion. "I am not the only one who has made choices which they regret. Faramir also lives to this day with the guilt of having led his company in the attempt to retake Osgiliath. He was acting on his father, Lord Denethor's orders, yes, as Éowyn and many others have told him time and time again. Faramir knew though by that time that his father was more than half-mad, and his decision to obey cost not only his near-death, but the deaths of every man who rode out with him that day. It has taken him a long time to forgive himself for that." 

Eldarion had known of these events, in more or less general terms, as did everyone who heard the tales of The War of the Ring. To hear them framed like this, in terms of failing and regret, was altogether different. He felt something, a certain softening within him. Looking back on his actions of the past season took on a slightly different light, one not entirely cast in the brutality of self-blame. 

"Oh ion-nin..." Aragorn brushed away the streaks of dirt and sweat from Eldarion's stubbly cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You have learned a harsh lesson these past few days, and I can only wish that it need not have been so. Such is the hard-earned price of wisdom though. It does not come through time alone...often the best source of wisdom is failure. Answer me this; if you were to be approached by one such as Rhoss again in the future - a stranger with uncertain motives and more secrets than answers - would you be so quick to give them your trust?" 

"No!" Eldarion cried, the memory of Rhoss' crazed green eyes looming over him lending anger to his vehemence. "Never! Never again will I have dealings with those who use doubt and darkness as their ally."

"And that, Eldarion, is the wisdom you have gained from all this. It is a shame, that it must come at the cost of a measure of your trust and innocence, but such is the nature of this life." 

Letting out a long, low breath that he hadn't even known he was holding, Eldarion met Aragorn's gaze, clear-eyed and filled with new peace. Slowly, he nodded; he understood. With a bittersweet smile, Aragorn leaned in and rested his forehead against Eldarion's. Father and son sat together like that for a long moment, the late summer sun on their backs and blue sky overhead. Around them, the city of Minas Ithil smoldered in ruin, and birds sang from the mountains and rooftops.

When Eldarion straightened up, his heart felt lighter than in what felt like years. There was one more thing though...one last question which weighed upon him. 

"Adar...Galieth told me that she loves me." 

That drew a raised eyebrow and what could have been a smile from Aragorn, beneath all the care and weariness. "Did she now? And what did you say to her?" 

Eldarion grimaced. "...Nothing. Or at least, nothing deserving of being called a proper answer. We left Minas Tirith shortly after, and I do not know what I shall say to her when next we meet." 

"Ahhh....I see. Well, in this matter, there is unfortunately not much council which I can give you. Will you tell me though what it is that you are thinking?" 

Somehow words came far less easily to Eldarion now than they had just minutes ago. He cast about in vain for the best way to describe his own uncertain feelings. 

"I...when I was a boy, I sometimes imagined the sort of person I might one day grow up to marry. I imagined fair elven ladies, like Naneth was when you met her in Rivendell."

"Was?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow at Eldarion, a note of humor in his voice. 

"Ah!...That is...she is still-" 

With a chuckle, Aragorn waved aside Eldarion's stammering. "Go on, ion-nin." 

"It's just, when I first met Galieth, there was no moment of 'this is the one for me', no certainty like so many others seem to feel. Túrien knew pretty much as soon as she saw Sufyan that she wanted him, and likewise Elboron has been in love with Eruthiawen since we were all children. You loved Naneth from the moment you met her, as did Elrond with Celebrían and Beren with Lúthien. I am very fond of Galieth; she is one of the kindest, most selfless, and most patient people I have ever known. It is also very flattering how flustered she always gets when she is around me. There is much to love about her, but I don't know if I am in love with her. I imagine I could be, given half the chance, but how does one ever possibly know?" 

 Still smiling, a little sad but with much warmth in his eyes, Aragorn shook his head. "Oh Eldarion, one never truly knows. That is half the magic of love; the uncertainty of it all. You conveniently forget that, while Elboron loved Eruthiawen for many years unspoken, it was not until he made his intentions toward her clear that our Little Queen openly returned his affections. Elrond, Celebrían, Beren, and Lúthien were all elvish - or at least one on part - elvish romances, and thus cannot be properly compared to love amongst mortals. Even your mother and I began rather inauspiciously; I ran after her through the woods crying 'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!', and I suspect that she first stopped and talked to me that day largely out of amusement for this scruffy human boy who called her by her great-great-grandmother's name. Every day since then has been simply a choice; a choice to love one another, because we felt in each other a kindred spirit with whom to face the world." 

When his father put it like that, Eldarion couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of a young man running after an elf-maid, calling her by another's name. He remembered how Galieth had tried to bow to him when first they met, and how scarlet her cheeks had gone when he had curtsied in return. 

"In the end though, the only advice I can truly give you is this; listen to your heart, and be honest. Your choices are always your own, but now that Galieth has offered you her heart, you owe her your honesty if nothing else." Reaching down, Aragorn took Eldarion's half-bandaged arm into his lap once more. "I will also tell you something which a wise woman once told me. When our ancestors first came from Númenor, do you think they found the White City, ready-built and waiting for them at the foot of Mindolluin?" 

"No, of course not," said Eldarion. 

"No indeed. Anárion found a field, a mountain, a river, and said 'We can build here'. It is much the same with love. To find a 'happily ever after', first you must find a place to build." 

So much had been said in the past several minutes, Eldarion hardly knew where to begin with it all. He felt drained, more exhausted than he could ever remember being in his entire life...and yet somehow lighter than before as well. It must have shown on his face, because Aragorn finished fastening the bandages around his arms and patted the bench. 

"Rest now, Eldarion. You have been without sleep for entirely too long. There is nothing more for us to do just now. Lay down your head, and I will watch over you for a while." 

Hard and cool though the stone bench might have been, it suddenly seemed to Eldarion like the most enticing of feather beds. He found himself leaning, then reclining, then curled on up on his side with his head cushioned against his father's leg. The sun was bright overhead, but Aragorn lifted a corner of Eldarion's cloak to drape across his eyes. 

Losto, ion-nin...(Sleep, my son)," he murmured. 

And sleep Eldarion did. 

OoOoO