From the vast Dome of the Sun in Minas Tirith to the Golden Hall of Meduseld in Edoras, meetings of the lords of the West tended to be conducted in settings of equally befitting majesty. This made the gathering, convened around the paper-strewn table in Elboron and Eruthiawen's study inside the half-constructed Tower of the Moon somewhat out of the ordinary to say the least. The presence of Haradrim as allies at a debate over military strategy was also a first for both Gondor and Rohan. And yet it was so. As Elfwine had requested, all leadership - of Gondor, Rohan, and Harad alike - present in Minas Ithil gathered upon the fifth day to discuss what was to be done concerning the fate of Rhûn. 

"What do the scouts report from Cair Andros, my lord Aragorn?" Elboron, recently prised away from Eruthiawen and Barahir's side, sat next to Éowyn with a thoughtful expression. "Have all remaining Easterlings fled the region?" 

Aragorn - who still wore his rough work shirt with the sleeves turned up after yet another morning spent overseeing the first reconstruction efforts of Minas Ithil's bridge - nodded. 

"Bergil informs me that the rangers in the area have all reported back, with no further evidence of an Easterling presence this side of the Plains of Dagorlad. It seems any remaining stragglers have chosen to flee back to their homeland." 

"For now," commented Elfwine. The king of Rohan sat with his double-bladed axe resting casually across his knees; a silent statement which did not escape notice. "They did so once before, after the Sea of Rhûn."

Éowyn was of a similar mind as her nephew. "Twice have the Easterlings been permitted to flee a field of defeat unchallenged; once in the aftermath of the War of the Ring, and again five years ago. Both times, they have returned to make war upon Gondor." 

"Not only Gondor," added Túrien. She and Na'Man exchanged glances. "Following their defeat at the Sea of Rhûn, traders and warriors alike from Far Harad have brought word of mercenary-like attacks on caravans near the northern border." 

"Was there an apparent goal or pattern to these attacks?" Eldarion wondered aloud. 

Na'Man shook his head. "No, Prince of Gondor. We in Near Harad had taken to dismissing these raids as the concern of the tribes of Far Harad. Suspected 'undue' interest in their lands might have provoked a fresh conflict between Far Harad and Pâzghar, perhaps even catching up Harmindon this time...a thing which Ramyahs Sawda and Gulim have been keen to avoid." 

Arwen touched Aragorn's arm. "It may be that the raids on the border of Far Harad and the siege upon Minas Ithil are unrelated. By all accounts of the deeds of Dagmar in Rohan, Serthîk in Gondor and the attack of the Easterling army, Rhûn and its agents acted in a highly coordinated, calculated manner." 

"Perhaps unrelated, perhaps a symptom of bitterness toward Gondor and its newest ally," Aragorn inclined his head respectfully toward Na'Man, and Na'Man returned the gesture with a touch of fingertips to brow. "On that note, what of Gïdjls?"

"The Bone Mother has seen to the rite of Diyariya Dawîn. Now there remains only to return Gïdjls to the desert that bore him. There death will feed life, as has been our way since the first tribe," said Na'Man with the utmost gravity. 

Seeing the looks of quiet confusion on several faces, Túrien stepped in to translate. "In the Common Tongue, Diyariya Dawîn means 'The Last Gift'. The Mûmakil carry the Haradrim people in life, and so we carry them in death." Reaching up, she touched a new pendent which lay in the hollow of her throat. The white, rough-hewn spindle of tusk stood out starkly against the embroidered hem of her red shawl. "The Bone Mother took enough for Sufyan, Myriam, and I, as well as Qufar, who alone among Gïdjls's drivers survived the siege." A distant look came into Túrien's eyes as her thoughts left the gathering and turned to a room and its occupant in the tower above. "Sufyan will carve them for us, when he is healed." 

"I am sorry for your loss," said Elfwine sincerely, speaking to both Na'Man and Túrien. 

"As we are all sorry for yours." Legolas spoke gently to Elfwine and Éowyn. "Éomer was to us a dear friend. To you, he was a father and brother. What Dagmar and her Easterling accomplices did to the House of Eorl was villainy, utter and evil." 

Elfwine had told Éowyn the full truth of the death of Éomer, and even now the White Lady of Ithilien's knuckles creaked as they tightened upon the arms of her chair. It was with the utmost dignity that she accepted Legolas's condolences though. 

"Justice has been done upon the old wretch, Dagmar," she said in a tight, dangerously calm voice. "We know it was through Serthîk and his followers that she came to possess the aconite though. Dead they may be too, but the root of all their evil started in Rhûn." 

"Indeed. Which is why I propose that Rhûn cannot be allowed to walk away unchecked this time." Standing, Elfwine faced the room and all in it, one by one. "Gríma Wormtongue once accused my father of war-mongering. His words were lies, and I assure you all that I am no more of a lover of bloodshed than my father was. I will not, however, allow the evil that has been done to those whom I hold most dear to go unanswered. That is why it is my intention to lead the Rohirrim in force into Rhûn." 

"Rohan goes to war, then?" asked Arwen. Her question held no judgment, nor was her voice admonishing. When she fixed the fathomless grey eyes of the Peredhil upon Elfwine though, the young king found he could not help but try to explain himself. 

"I do not seek war with the unarmed and helpless. That is not nor will ever be Rohan's way. There are structures in place within Rhûn though; dark temples and twisted leadership, from which these continued attacks against the West are no doubt sprung. My intention in Rhûn is to see the worship of Morgoth driven from the land, and the removal of those in power who rebuild the Easterling forces time and time again for the purpose of war." 

"Rhoss did mention that it was the knowledge of the temples of Morgoth which inspired the aims of his father, Serthîk," said Eldarion. As if right on cue, the recently un-bandaged welts on his wrists prickled and began to itch. 

"Exactly!" Elfwine pointed across the room at Eldarion. "One fanatic and his followers nearly murdered the heir to the throne of Gondor...succeeded in murdering the King of Rohan and very nearly his heir too! If not for Gimli's generosity and my mother's keen eye, I would surely be dead. Can we really afford to not intervene in Rhûn, when so much has been threatened, so much lost to their schemes already? What more might we lose next time? Will it be Myriam's generation who next faces the choice of giving themselves up for a loved one? Will Barahir in his turn have to watch a parent die by treachery, and wonder if he is the next target?" Elfwine threw out his arms wide. "I say we have a duty to our children, to confront the darkness which has plagued our homelands since before the War of the Ring. Then and only then will the legacy of Sauron be truly broken." 

 It was a passionate speech, passionately delivered. It certainly hit home with more than a few people, if the troubled looks on Elboron and Túrien's faces were any indication. Na'man sat forward in his seat, unlacing weathered fingertips to clap upon his knees. 

"I can speak only for the people of Harmindon...but I suspect that Pazghar and Abrakhân would be of similar minds, if they were here. Harad has no wish to return to the days of war. At long last, peace and plenty has come upon our people. The markets of Harmindon throng with lively business, the waters of the Na'Man ab Jubayr flow heavy and sweet above our streets, and even the poorest hovel does not starve. Our memories of war are filled with only grief and scarcity. But-!" Elfwine wisely closed his mouth to allow the chieftain to finish. "All these bounties of peace have come to Harad in no small part because of our friendship with Gondor and Rohan. If Rohan will cross Rhûn's borders...then they will not do so alone." Na'Man's sharp, hawk-like features hardened. "I also would not see the harm done upon my son go unanswered." 

"And a truer friend Rohan and Gondor could hardly wish for," said Éowyn. A small smile warmed the White Lady's face as she gazed at Na'Man. "The house of the Stewards will never forget what Sufyan did for Elboron and his family." 

Legolas looked to Aragorn. "What says Gondor of these plans? My folk are few in number and will answer no further calls save one, and that is reserved for the western sea. As for myself though, you know my heart, mellon-nin. I go where you go, now and always."

"Adar?" Eldarion too looked to Aragorn for Gondor's decision. 

Aragorn sat long in silence, deep in thought. Then his distant gaze shifted to Arwen, and it seemed to those gathered that the two said much to one another without need of speech. Arwen knew that Aragorn was thinking of Eldarion, of Eruthiawen, of Túrien, and of Almárëa. All four of their children had suffered more in the past week than either of them would have wished for an entire lifetime. If their children could have been spared such hardship, both Aragorn and Arwen knew that they would have paid whatever price to see it so. Once Arwen had imagined that her youngest daughter would remain soft and merry all the long days of her life. There was wisdom now in Almárëa's eyes though - in the eyes of all their children - that had been hard-won and dearly bought. Children could not stay soft forever, but now there was a new generation to protect. Arwen laid her hand upon Aragorn's shoulder, and the King of Gondor decided. 

"If Rohan and Harad will go to Rhûn, then Gondor will be with them. We will not, however, enter those unhappy lands in force." 

"What do you mean?" asked Elfwine, his puzzled expression mirrored by Elboron and Éowyn alike. "Can there be any other way? Rhûn will surely retaliate with blade and bow and beast as soon as we cross their borders." 

Aragorn spoke calmly, the authority of his words holding even bold Elfwine at ease. "They will...if they feel they have no other choice. Like Harad though, Gondor has no desire for the return of the days of war. If we enter Rhûn, we do so as a single, small party, armed sufficient to defend ourselves but with the intention of observing only. As you said, Lord Elfwine, there are indeed old and twisted forces at play in Rhûn, forces which should be uprooted if ever there is to be true peace. To invade a defeated, broken nation in arms as conquerors is not the way of the West though, and I would not have it so even after all that has transpired. I hope you can understand my reasoning in this, Elfwine...Éowyn...and forgive me for it." 

"What if the Easterlings are bent upon meeting this single, small party with violence?" asked Elboron. "To enter enemy lands as part of an envoy, rather than an army, is to take a terrible risk." 

"Sometimes confronting an enemy with an outstretched hand is necessary, if one is to win trust," said Eldarion. 

"Indeed," Túrien agreed, glancing sideways at Na'Man and fingering her new bone pendant. 

Elfwine was incredulous. "You would offer the hand of friendship to the people who murdered my father, then? Who nearly murdered Eldarion, Almárëa, Elboron, and Eruthiawen?" 

"Peace, King of the Mark," said Arwen. "Of friendship with Rhûn I think we are agreed no one is ready to speak just yet. But if, as you say, your intention is to cast out the darkness that remains inside Rhûn, then first you must seek to find what light there may be. After all, no realm is wholly good or evil."

"What about Mordor?" asked Elfwine, just a touch sarcastically. 

Aragorn raised an eyebrow as his younger counterpart's nerve. The faintest ghost of an amused smile was playing at the corner of Arwen's lips though, and so Aragorn's reply held a note of equally conversational irony. 

"No realm of Men is wholly good or evil." An arch glance from Legolas sent him amending the statement yet again. "No realm not comprised entirely of orcs, goblins, and trolls. Acceptable?" 

"Quite," said Legolas placidly. 

This little exchange went far toward bringing down the temperature of the room. Elfwine stood considering all that had been said, chewing his mustache with his chin in his hand. Éowyn took the opportunity to second Elboron's concern from earlier. 

"If it is to be as you say, Aragorn, then what of the proposed party to Rhûn? Who would be daring enough to risk such an expedition? Anything could happen once across the border. We defeated Rhûn at Minas Ithil, yes, but that does not mean the Easterlings are now are utterly defenseless."

"Agreed, Éowyn. Indeed, to pretend our enemy is now toothless would be the height of arrogance. That I why I propose a group large enough to defend itself, yet small enough not to be seen as a party of war. Fifty men, no more...and no Mûmakil." Aragorn looked apologetically to Na'Man. 

Na'Man's frown was deep enough to knit his brows together. Túrien leaned in and whispered to him in the Haradrim tongue, and though his scowl did not lessen, he nodded as the two of them briefly held council together. At length he leaned back in his chair, and it seemed to Eldarion that Túrien's expression held much sympathy. 

"Very well, King of the White City. You say we enter Rhûn as a scouting party, and so the Mûmakil shall remain here, the better to assist in removing Gïdjls away to the shifting desert sands. I must tell you though...I am not over-fond of horses." 

There was something subtly chagrined about the way in which Na'Man spoke his pronouncement; a veiled wince and a shifting in his chair. It occurred to Eldarion then that fiercesome Na'Man, the Hawk of Harmindon, was in all likelihood afraid of horses. The notion of a man who spent his life training and riding Mûmakil being uneasy around such comparatively small animals almost surprised a chuckle out of Eldarion. A deadly look from Túrien froze his face into perfectly reaction-less mask though. 

"We shall see to it that you are provided with the finest, most well-trained horses that the stables of Minas Ithil and Ithilien can provide, you and any men whom you wish to accompany us into Rhûn," Aragorn was saying. 

Na'Man inclined his head, showing no further indication of unease. "Thank you, that would be very well." 

"Elfwine...?" asked Elboron.

Elfwine shook himself, as if he had been surprised out of an intensely deep line of thinking. To Eldarion's surprise, Elfwine stared him down directly out of everyone present. 

"Eldarion, you are willing to pursue this course as well? You, who came within a hair's breadth of dying beneath a Morgul blade?" 

Aragorn was King of Gondor, not Eldarion, and so it had not even occurred to Eldarion that his opinion on the matter might in any way contradict his father's. All eyes were upon him though, including those of Aragorn and Arwen. King he may not have been, but yet for some reason it seemed all were prepared to wait upon his answer. Eldarion knew his thoughts in this, and when he spoke to Elfwine it was with conviction. 

"Serthîk, the man who threatened us - Almárëa and I both - is dead. Rhoss, the man who beguiled then betrayed me, is also dead. Dagmar, the woman who poisoned Éomer and nearly you, is either dead or very soon to be. The Easterlings who attacked Minas Ithil, slew Gïdjls, and wounded Sufyan, are slain, scattered, and defeated. To my mind, justice has been done. If we act out of vengeance now, how can we ever hope to see true peace in our lifetime?" Eldarion looked up at Elfwine, fully taking in the king who now stood in place of the boy who had once sang beside him on table-tops in The Splintered Shield. "I was not the one most wronged by the deeds of Serthîk and his followers. The choice of Rohan's course in the matter of Rhûn is still, and always, yours."

Elfwine answered slowly, his words laden with private emotion. "Rohan's course is forever entwined with that of Gondor, our lasting friend and ally. The Oath of Eorl began this alliance, and ever since our two kingdoms have walked in step beside one another. If Gondor goes to Rhûn to seek understanding, then how can Rohan go seeking vengeance?" He and Éowyn shared a pained look, and Eldarion appreciated their struggle to act from a place of such grief as Éomer's death left behind. "It shall be as you say, King Aragorn. One party, armed for defense rather than war. When do we leave?" 

"Will three days suffice? I would prefer to linger here in Minas Ithil a little while longer, the better to see both Sufyan and the city on their way to recovery. There will also be preparations to be made as far as provisioning men and horses for the journey." 

"Three days." Elfwine agreed to Aragorn's terms with a nod. "In three days' time, we shall see what manner of darkness still clings to its last foothold in Middle-Earth."

As so their council was adjourned. As all rose and began to depart the room, Eldarion went straight to Aragorn's side.

"Adar...By your leave, I must go to Rhûn." 

Aragorn, strangely enough, did not seem surprised by this request. He did sigh softly though, his weathered brow creasing. 

"I had hoped you might be willing to return to Minas Tirith, to inform Faramir of all that has occurred here and help him govern in our absences. If the worst should befall us in the east-" 

"I know. But Adar, this is something I must do. I must see the land which shaped Serthîk and Rhoss with my own eyes, and know for myself if there is any hope to be found." 

Aragorn gazed upon his son's determination, seeing not only that but also the need for understanding which roiled beneath. "You will be King of Gondor after me, Eldarion. It is for this reason that I both agree with you...and must insist that you remain behind." 

A slow, almost nostalgic smirk tugged at the corner of Eldarion's lips. 

"Do you command me not to go with you, Father, or do you just forbid it?"

Eldarion had spoken those exact words to Aragorn once, years ago when he was a man just newly come of age. Aragorn remembered the surprise he had felt at being challenged for the first time by his grown son. Now there was no surprise, only bittersweet knowledge that he could no more protect Eldarion from the world now than he could then. 

"I neither forbid nor command you. Instead I only ask of you one thing, ion-nin. If the worst should happen, and our venture come to ruin, you must swear to me that you will flee. You must return to Minas Tirith, with or without me, and never once look back. Do I have your word on this?" 

Only such a request could have brought Eldarion as close as he came then to abandoning his desire to see Rhûn. How could his honour live with such a thing as to leave his own father behind in peril, nevermind his love as a son? Aragorn would have it no other way though. Neither could the kingdom of Gondor, for that matter. 

"Let us pray to the Valar that it never comes to that," he said fervently. 

"Your word, Eldarion," Aragorn insisted. 

"...I swear, Adar, I will return to Minas Tirith, no matter what happens." 

OoOoO

In the highest room atop the Tower of the Moon, Almárëa, Eruthiawen, and Galieth sat looking out over the vale below. They passed Barahir back and forth between them in turns, and currently the baby rested comfortably on Galieth's lap. 

"He really does have the Peredhil eyes," Almárëa remarked. 

Sure enough, Galieth couldn't help but be entranced by the calm, mesmerizing gaze of little Barahir. Even at only a week old, he seemed to look straight into a person...through them even. It was the same gaze that his mother had trained steadfastly on Galieth. Eruthiawen's copper hair floated about her shoulders in a shining river, catching the gleam of the sunlight shining through the panes of Minas Ithil's glass-domed observatory. It was another radiant summer day, but just the slightest hint of rain on the horizon darkened the northern sky to stormy blue. 

"Galieth," said Eruthiawen. 

"Yes, my lady?" Galieth managed to tear her attention away from Barahir's mesmerizing stare to look up at Eruthiawen. 

"When first you came with us from Annúminas, you pledged yourself to my service as lady-in-waiting." 

"Aye, as you and Princess Almárëa were so kind as to offer me the post in the first place." 

Eruthiawen smiled. Rising - still slowly and somewhat gingerly - she went to where Galieth and Almárëa sat with their skirts about them on the floor rug. Galieth was quick to rise, thinking Eruthiawen wanted Barahir back. She shifted the baby into her arms and offered him forward. Eruthiawen's attention was all on Galieth in that moment though. 

"I release you from my service," she said, placing a hand on Galieth's shoulder. 

Almárëa made a noise of protest from the rug, and Galieth's face fell. 

"...Have I done something to displease you, Your Majesty?" she asked dejectedly. 

To Galieth's surprise and confusion, Eruthiawen tipped back her head and laughed. It was a beautiful sound, filling the tower dome like a pealing bell and making Barahir scrunch up his little face in happiness. It may have been Galieth's imagination, but she even thought she heard a bird burst into song in reply outside the tower window. 

"No! Quite the opposite!" Taking Galieth by the elbow, Eruthiawen led her to sit on the bench where she herself had been reclining moments before. "Now that Eldarion is courting you though, he ought to do so as a lord to a lady, not with your time and attentions still beholden to his sister."

Almárëa - having caught on to Eruthiawen's intentions - also smiled up at them. "Ever since we met, you have always treated us with the utmost respect and deference. Your humility does you credit, Galieth, but no more should you conduct yourself as a servant. You are a lady of the Dúnedain, and you are our friend. From now on, you must be our equal, just as Sufyan, Elboron, and Elfwine are." 

Galieth was deeply touched, but also deeply uncertain. "Lady Eruthiawen...Lady Almárëa...I don't know what to say. How can I possibly present myself to the people of Minas Tirith, of Gondor, as any manner of equal to the members of the royal house? My family is not of noble blood by birth; we simply came into the titles of nobility when King Aragorn established our people in Annúminas after the war. At the heart of my nature, I am a daughter of hunters and rangers, born and bred to the winter forests and clear waters of the north." 

"As are we," said Eruthiawen with a knowing smile. Her long fingers found the Evenstar pendant where it hung at the hollow of her throat. 

Drawing her legs under her, Almárëa edged forward to curl up beside Galieth's feet. "You forget, our father was once the ranger known as 'Strider'; a lone, travel-stained figure who wandered the wilds and drank ale amongst the farmers of Bree. It is only by the heroism of the Fellowship, the strength of the Ringbearer, and the courage of friends, that myself, Eldarion, Eruthiawen, and Túrien live in royal households, wear fine clothing, and bear royal titles. We just as easily could have been born to run the paths of Fornost alongside you and your kin."

"We just as easily might not have been born at all, if the War of the Ring had gone otherwise," added Eruthiawen. 

"I am glad then that all happened as it did," said Galieth shyly. "The world would be a poorer place without the House of Telcontar." 

"And the House of Telcontar would be a poorer place without your presence." Barahir's tiny face stretched in a yawn, and his eyelids began to slide low. Galieth gazed in wonder at the little life she held in her arms, and at the two wise, beautiful, noble women who seated her in their midst and called her their equal. "...But Eldarion and I have only just started courting!" She blurted out. 

Almárëa batted the reminder aside as if it were little more than a fly. "Considering that its taken nearly thirty years for someone to catch our dear, oblivious brother's attention, I think you can believe with iron-clad certainty that Eldarion is not the sort of man to enter into these sorts of things lightly. Now that you've caught him, Galieth, I think you had best prepare yourself for the notion that you may just be stuck with him!" 

Galieth was blushing bright pink right to the tips of her ears. "I can think of worse fates. Being his sisters, this may not be the first thing you notice when you look at him, but your brother really is unfairly handsome." 

Now Eruthiawen and Almárëa both broke into a gale of delighted laughter. Barahir's grey eyes widened for a moment in surprise. Then, seeing all was well, he promptly resumed drifting away toward his latest nap. 

"Oh he's handsome alright," said Almárëa. "And naïve, a magnet for trouble, and stubborn as a mule when the mood takes him. You had also best be ready to plan him a guided tour when it comes to matters of romance. In that arena he is utterly hopeless." 

"He's not completely unromantic!" Galieth protested. "Just the other night, he invited me to watch a shower of falling stars with him!" Her blush only intensified at the memory, but she bravely soldiered on. "I can think of few evenings more lovely than that; watching the trails of silver and blue sail across the night sky and making wishes as they passed." 

"Ah! See, Eruthia...progress already! She's only been out of your service for five minutes, and already she freely argues with us on Eldarion's behalf!' 

Eruthiawen giggled behind her fingertips even as Galieth tried desperately to back-pedal. "Indeed, and how refreshing it is! Before you know it, mellon-nin, you'll be ready to debate against the likes of Túrien and Éowyn!"

"Not in this lifetime!" declared Galieth with a shudder. 

Eruthiawen and Almárëa couldn't help but agree. A smart warrior knew to pick their battles wisely. 

OoOoO