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The ride to Rhûn was long and tedious, but not so bad as Eldarion has initially feared. Once they were out of sight of Minas Tirith the army had begun to relax into what his father had termed a 'traveling mood'. Up and down the columns of soldiers songs occasionally broke out, some more tasteful than others. There were also Elboron and Elfwine to talk with on the long ride, and the three youths swapped dozens of stories involving their own daily adventures and other more noteworthy escapades. Elfwine perhaps was not quite as close to Eldarion and Elboron as they were to each other, him living almost three day's ride away in Rohan. It did not take long though for the newly minted Third Marshal to remember his place in the friendship the three of them had cultivated as boys.

Almost as enjoyable as spending time with his friends for Eldarion was spending time with his father. In Minas Tirith, Aragorn was the High King and there always seemed to be a hundred and one demands on his time. Even in the evenings when the royal family gathered together before the hearth there was always the danger that someone might 'drop in quickly' for a consultation. Out here on the road, Aragorn's only concern was the army, and Eldarion was in the army. When he was not laughing and chatting with Elboron and Elfwine, Eldarion rode at the head of the Gondorion army beside Aragorn. It was rare and precious time at least somewhat alone with his father that Eldarion did not underestimate the value of.

As they rode east the land around them turned grey and sour. On the eve of the second day they had passed the void in the mountains where the Black Gates had once stood. Aragorn, Éomer, Legolas and Gimli had ridden out beyond the army a short ways to look down upon the site from a barren hilltop. Eldarion and Elfwine had watched their fathers from afar, both wondering just what returning to this place meant to them. The Battle of the Black Gates had been where Sauron fell and the War of the Ring won. It was still a grim, melancholy place though, a toothless mouth gaping open on the wound that was Mordor.

"My father once told me that he very nearly lost everything in the War of the Ring." Elfwine had said, gazing across the field at the four old veterans. His green cloak whipped in the wind, mingling with the dark gold tangles of his hair. "My grandparents, his cousin, his uncle, and very nearly my aunt as well, all either dead or gravely wounded. I cannot imagine what it would be like, to stand on the brink of all darkness with almost nothing left to lose but your own life."

"Neither can I." Eldarion replied. "We are very lucky, you and I, that we live in the times that we do. Even if we are still riding out to war."

Elfwine grinned then, shifting on his horse Garulf so that his axe stuck up higher over his shoulder. "That I do not lament. We are young men, and the sons of warriors. What would we do if not follow in our fathers' footsteps?"

"Perhaps tread our own footsteps along paths yet undiscovered?" Elboron sidled up his yellow mare alongside Eldarion and Elfwine.

"Spoken like a son of the great pacifist himself." Elfwine teased not unkindly. "What is it that your father once said? 'I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.'?"

Elboron raised a golden eyebrow at Elfwine, the wind catching soft curls and tossing them onto his brow. "You must have taken his words to heart at least somewhat to have committed them to memory so exactly."

"Aha, he has you there, Elfwine!" Eldarion laughed aloud. "Perhaps there is more of the blood of gentle Dol Amroth in you than meets the eye."

"I think plenty of that bloodline already meets the eye, doesn't it, 'Elfwine the Fair'?" Elboron winked, referring to Elfwine's rapidly spreading nickname.

"Pah, Elboron! You're just jealous that I have more feminine attention at home in Edoras than I can chivalrously manage most days, whilst you have elvish neighbors to distract the eyes of the women of Ithilien."

Their bantering continued on even after Aragorn, Éomer, Legolas and Gimli had rejoined the army. Listening to their sons jest with one another, Aragorn and Éomer exchanged a look that spoke volumes. They both truly savored the lighthearted, carefree manner with which their children embraced life. It was a privilege that had been denied to both of them in their own youths. Still the kings of Gondor and of Rohan knew what they were likely riding into; Eldarion, Elfwine and Elboron did not. Aragorn's heart was sore at the thought of his son's smile being dimmed by bloodshed and battle. It was a coming of age that he could not deny the Prince of Gondor though, just as Éomer could not deny Elfwine his first true battle as a Marshal of the Riddermark.

On the morning of the fourth day there was a somewhat less comfortable feeling in the air as the army broke camp. The Sea of Rhûn was not far; Eldarion had seen it on the maps that the kings had been pouring over the night before. According to the Rohirrim scouts Éomer had sent out, the Haradrim and Easterlings were camped on the western shores of the inland sea. At last report they numbered close to seven thousand. With the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan totalling at nearly nine thousand, Eldarion supposed he ought to feel more at ease than he did. The odds were with them, but this was a strange, grim land and he did not feel any welcome here. Even the skies were grey, threatening of a mid-spring rain. The Ash Mountains of Mordor jutted up like a broken lower jaw on the southern horizon. There was a damp, marshy smell in the air, and strange birds flew overhead. The ground however was not wet, but mostly hard-packed, cold clay. Low bushes grew here and there, and the occasional ground squirrel darted this way and that as the army approached.

Eldarion tried hard not to shudder and drew his cloak across his chest. This land was not particularly dreadful, but there was something hard and bitter in the very earth here that chilled his heart. Glancing sideways at Elboron and Elfwine and the other men, Eldarion was surprised to see that none of them were similarly unsettled. Elfwine clucked at Garulf, drawing closer behind his father's great charger, and Elboron no longer sang as he had done the day before. Still they all seemed wary if not off-put.

Soft hooves on Eldarion's left caught his attention. He turned on Greyhame's back to meet Legolas's clear blue gaze. The elf sat tall and calm astride Arod, the horse's milk-white coat seeming to gleam in the low light. Legolas smiled sympathetically at Eldarion, and the prince knew then that Legolas understood what he was feeling.

"You have your mother's heart, Eldarion." Legolas spoke in a low voice, quiet enough that even Elboron riding next to Eldarion did not turn. "An elvish heart within a mortal breast. People are shaped by the land they call home, and this is an unhappy country." The Mirkwood elf shifted ever so slightly. If Gimli behind him was overhearing their conversation he made no sign. "I too feel the sorrow here. The shadow of Sauron has been upon this place for a very long time, and such a shadow lingers on even after the daylight breaks."

"Will Rhûn ever come to know the light?" Eldarion asked. He did not doubt that the sun shone here as it did anywhere else in Middle-Earth. There was a very large difference between sunlight and a true dawn though.

Legolas did not answer. Instead he lifted his fair face to the air and closed his eyes. In the distance over the hoof beats of the army Eldarion heard a bird trill. Then Legolas smiled and looked back to Eldarion.

"Perhaps, with time. Fortify your spirit, Aragornion. Even in dark places light can be found. My own heart tells me that hate cannot fester forever in the hearts of those who dwell here. Now that its source is extinguished, the darkness will recede with each passing generation."

"Very optimistic of you." Gimli commented from behind Legolas. So the dwarf had been listening in after all. "There are still enemies enough here for my axe I think."

"And for my bow." Legolas replied. "These are not orcs though, and I perhaps go into this battle with less relish than I might once have."

"Hmph." Was Gimli's only answer. They all lapsed into silence as they rode on.

Eldarion was just about to try to engage Elboron once again in conversation when Aragorn abruptly stopped his horse at the front of the army. The sky was grey and close, making the world feel only as wide as the eye could see. They stood atop the edge of a long downgrade, littered with sharp grey rocks and swat plants. In the distance they could see a plane of water as vast and flat as a silver mirror; the Sea of Rhûn.

The sea was massive, stretching on so far into the distance that Eldarion could almost believe it was a true sea. Only by squinting could he just barely make out a far shoreline at the eastern horizon. An island sat in the middle of the inland sea, almost large enough to encompass all of Ithilien. It was not the sea nor the island that really caught Eldarion's attention. It was the army encamped on its western bank.

"And so the Men of the East await us." Elphir, son of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth commented. "They might have picked higher ground to camp on though; we could run right over them from here."

Aragorn did not answer. He and Legolas exchanged a glance before the king ran his keen grey eyes over the landscape. The only way down onto the plains between here and the Sea of Rhûn was by what looked to be a fairly narrow channel in the hillside. Their forces would be funneled, and unable to charge as one complete unit. It was clever really; the Easterlings and Haradrim may have the low ground, normally undesirable territory. The natural geography of the land ensured that any advantage the Men of the West might have taken from their position was completely erased.

"Éomer." Aragorn spoke. "The spears of the Rohirrim are longer, and could no doubt be of the most benefit at the vanguard. I do not ask this lightly of you, but will you and your people lead the way down toward the sea?"

The King of Rohan nodded, his mouth a somber line over his rapidly greying beard. Turning his horse about to face his to his standard bearer, Éomer gave the order.

"Sound the charge. Haleth, you'll follow the king's banner. Elfwine, bring your company in at the rear before the forces of Gondor."

"We will be right at your back. Ride like the wind."

Aragorn clapped Éomer on the shoulder, giving the weathered leather armor a squeeze. Éomer did likewise and the two kings broke apart to order their own troops. Elfwine gave Elboron and Eldarion an exhilarated smile before taking his place at the head of his company. The men of the Third seemed perfectly happy with their young Marshal, and Eldarion wondered what it might feel like to have his own command someday.

"Eldarion, Elboron, with me."

Aragorn called over the two of them. Bringing Baneth and Greyhame up alongside Aragorn's black stallion, they settled in between the king and Legolas and Gimli on Arod.

A horn blew from the Sea of Rhûn, eerie and oddly sweet. If there was a sound Eldarion could have ascribed to this land, it would have been that. It was echoed discordantly a few moments later by another horn, this one long and punctuated by several short barks. The war horns of Rhûn and Harad sent a chill down Eldarion's back. It was both a defiant song and the cry of a wounded beast wrapped together in one. Then Eldarion saw them.

"Mûmakil." He breathed, recognizing the towering behemoths of Harad.

They stood in a line of at least twenty, the pounding of their heavy feet shaking the ground all the way from the seashore. The dying light of the day cast their long shadows along the ground, over-reaching the spears of the Easterlings at the forefront of the eastern army. Eldarion's grip on his sword's hilt within its sheath tightened.

Then the horn of Rohan sounded out, true and proud as a sunrise. At Aragorn's word the horn of Gondor was added to its ally, and together the two sang out in an equal and opposite chorus against the horns of Rhûn and Harad. Their sound buoyed Eldarion and lifted his spirit. A sense of pride in his people and these soldiers warmed him from the inside out. The banner of Gondor fluttered overhead; seven white stars rampant on a field of black sable crowning one white tree. If all the men behind him could fight for Gondor, so could he.

"When the battle is joined, I want the two of you to stay within eye-sight of me." Aragorn murmured to Eldarion and Elboron. "Fight back-to-back if it helps to keep your flanks defended. If all else fails, call out and I will come to your aid. I will always come at your call, so long as there is breath in my body."

"I know, Adar." Eldarion said. His father's seriousness made the reality of the moment even more austere than the ringing of the horns.

Aragorn reached out then for Eldarion's hand. Taking it, Eldarion returned the gentle pressure on his fingers before letting go. Then the horn of Rohan sounded a charge and Aragorn drew his sword Andúril.

"For Gondor, and for Rohan!"

And then they were flying down toward the land-locked sea, there to meet the warriors of the east who awaited them with beast and blade and bow.

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