The song of a meadowlark was the first thing that Eldarion marked as he slowly left the world of dreams. Lying on his side with the morning sunlight warming his face, he did not open his eyes just yet. Instead, he lingered for a few moments, floating in that soft, undefined space between sleeping and waking. It was so peaceful, lying like this in his apartment in the King's House with the late summer sunrise pouring through the open window, the birds singing in the gardens below, and the city quiet with the lingering stillness of night. This would be a big day, not just for him but for all of Gondor. Eldarion had spent more than a year working alongside the scholars of the Sages' Tier in preparation for this, as well as in coordination with all the provinces of the realm and their leaders. After much planning, negotiation, and deliberation, all the arrangements had been made. Today would be the beginning of a new chapter in Gondor's history.

There was just one thing that would make this moment perfect. Rolling over in bed, Eldarion slid his arms around Galieth. Still asleep, she let out a drowsy murmur. The long waves of her unbound black hair spilled across the pillow, and Eldarion gently brushed enough of it aside to drop a kiss behind her ear.

"Arduil vaer, meleth-nin (Good morning, my beloved)," he whispered, and was rewarded with a smile curling Galieth's lips even as she pretended to still be asleep. "Today is the day..."

With a long, languid stretch, Galieth turned over to face Eldarion. Her eyes remained slitted against the brightness of the dawn, and the leg she draped over Eldarion's weighed limply; an invitation to linger just a little longer.

"Mmmm...are you nervous?"

"No...and yes. It's been four years since the Black House...this will be my first time going back."

Galieth was awake now. Reaching up, she brushed aside the hair from Eldarion's brow. Doing so brought the ring upon her finger into clear view, and Eldarion smiled to see it. They had been wed in March, and even now six months later Eldarion still found himself prone to fiddling with his own mithril wedding band. The celebration had, according to Faramir, been close to rivaling that of his own parents' marriage, so many years ago after the War of the Ring. Eldarion was arguably filled with almost as much anticipation contemplating this coming day as he had been the morning of his wedding. The way Galieth was looking at him now suggested she understood perfectly. She, after all, had been the only one besides Aragorn who had seen the true aftermath of the Black House. Today though, a light would be kindled from that darkness.

"Do you ever think about him?" asked Galieth.

"About who?"

"Rhoss."

"Oh."

Rather than fiddle with his own wedding ring, Eldarion took advantage of the opportunity to capture Galieth's hand and study hers. The stone was an aquamarine, palest of pale blues and found in the Hills of Evendim around Annúminas. Galieth's father, Lord Suiledir had gifted it to Eldarion when he had formally asked her parents for their blessing to marry her. It was almost as if Suiledir had had the stone ready and waiting in anticipation of the question.

"Eldarion?"

Running his thumb across Galieth's knuckles, Eldarion nodded. "I do, sometimes. Mostly I pity him. I have often wondered what might have become of the two of us, were our places and fathers exchanged. Were our natures so very different - he being who he was and I being who I am - that he would have always been destined for villainy and betrayal? Or could Rhoss have been someone entirely different, given half the chance?"

"You see yourself in him."

In the few short months they had been married, Eldarion had come to appreciate how easily Galieth seemed to be able to 'read' him. It was as if his inner thoughts were as clear across his face as a banner. Eldarion now understood this much about Galieth; her kind, generous nature granted her unusual insight into the hearts of others. If there was any difficulty in being Galieth's husband, it was in striving to never take her kindness and generosity for granted. His wife's store of patience for listening to others seemed without end though, and this morning Eldarion was grateful to impose upon it. Some days he could scarcely believe his luck in meeting a woman such as Galieth.

"Yes. Though it may sound naive, I wish I could have helped him. The only thing that set Rhoss apart from men like me, Elboron, Elfwine, and Malbeth was his Rhûnic blood. But we have seen from Sufyan that the Men of the East are just as capable of valour, honour, and love as any descendant of Númenor. Why Rhoss should have been destined for a life of evil - ending in a violent death - has no just answer to my mind. To that end, why should any of the Haradrim and Easterlings who perished in the War of the Ring have had to die? Why would any child of Men seek to harm and slay another, especially so needlessly as Rhoss did?" Eldarion shook his head. "To this day, I don't even know if 'Rhoss' was even his true name."

Galieth sighed. Extricating herself from Eldarion's arms, she propped herself up on one elbow. Though she wore the fine clothes and jewels of a princess of Gondor nowadays, beneath it all remained the bowstring calluses and lean muscles of a huntress. Eldarion had promised her that they would go riding in the woods of Ithilien, after today.

"I imagine that all folk ask such questions in the face of death and evil. How else do we make sense of our trials, much less learn from them?"

Eldarion smiled. "And that's the heart of it all, isn't it? To thwart harm with good, fear with knowledge."

And therein lay the heart of everything that Eldarion and Galieth had been working toward for the past year. With one more kiss to last the morning, the two of them rose and dressed. Breakfast was waiting downstairs, as well as Aragorn, Arwen, and Almárëa. There would be little time for lingering though; the Black House awaited.

OoOoO

The sun was rising, but from the Vale of Minas Ithil a few stars could still be seen, their tiny lights twinkling even as the sky lightened from black to indigo to blue. The Star of Eärendil most especially remained, glimmering high above the glass roof of the Tower of the Moon. It was from atop the tower that Eruthiawen, Lady of the Vale, bid her ancestor's star a final farewell for the night.

"Garo lend vaer, Athair (Have a good journey, Grandfather)," Eruthiawen murmured. Reaching up, she patted the Evenstar pendent where it lay at the hollow of her throat. "Give our love to everyone in the Blessed Realm."

From the apartments below, the sound of Barahir stirring in his room mingled with Elboron's soft footsteps on the stairs. Today was going to be a very busy day for all of them, and Eruthiawen always rose early whenever she was filled with anticipation. With Minas Ithil rebuilt - better and more beautiful than ever before - it had been easy to add an extra request on Eldarion's wishes. If anything, Eruthiawen was surprised at herself for having not thought of such a thing sooner. No matter; the preparations were all made now.

"Eruthiawen? Are you up there? Bergil says there's a letter from Ithilien bearing Mother and Father's seal," Elboron called from the stairway.

A stealthy giggle from Barahir's room caught both Elboron and Eruthiawen's attention. A laugh like that usually meant their little boy was up to something. He would be all feigned innocence and wide, doleful eyes when confronted, as he had been when caught sneaking the new puppy into his room after bedtime. Another giggle followed by a thump only heightened their suspicions.

With a laugh and one last look to the heavens, Eruthiawen turned to go downstairs.

"Coming, glawar-nin."

OoOoO

Much further away, the ramyahani of Harmindon watched as the very same stars grew fainter and fainter before the coming dawn. When at last even the Star of Eärendil could be seen no more, Túrien hugged her robe about her and stretched. The desert air still hung cool and heavy, but soon the last summer sun would fill every corner of the city with warmth. Water gurgled swift and clear down the heart of a nearby column, its journey ending in a fall of sparkling droplets from the fountain in a corner of the courtyard. Monkeys and birds of paradise chattered sleepily in the gardens, and already the distant sounds of the marketplace stirring to life could be heard. The market would not be the only establishment opening today.

When first Túrien brought Eldarion's idea to Sawda, her adoptive mother had had many questions. One by one though, those questions had been answered, and the idea survived to become first a plan, then a project, now a reality. Many had been wary of the undertaking at first, dismissing it as 'Westerling presumption'. Once Gulim, Yusannah, and Zamira had come on board though, the idea had truly taken on a life of its own. All four ramyahs had even gathered in Pazghar at midwinter to ensure all of Near Harad and Harondor's cities were of the same mind in this undertaking. It was there also that Gulim finally introduced them to her and Tufayl's young son, Navarr. Five-year-old Navarr was just old enough that he would be among the thousands of Haradrim children who took part in today's new beginning. Myriam, at a month shy of four, would have to wait a little while yet.

"Dêde (Mama)..."

Túrien felt a tug on the hem of her robe. Bending down to Myriam's eye-level, she opened her arms to scoop up her little daughter.

"Good morning șêrîni. What did you dream of last night?"

Lower lip still pouted out sleepily, Myriam pointed at the white seedling in the center of the yard. The young tree was still as slender as a willow and barely taller than old Bakr. It would grow though.

"You dreamed of the tree?"

"Mmmhmm. It was bigger 'dough."

Túrien nodded. "Yes, there is another White Tree, bigger and older than this one. It lives in Minas Tirith, along with your Grandfather and Grandmother and your aunts and uncles. There are many stories about that tree, and the one that came before it. You'll hear them all, as will all the children of Gondor, Rohan, and Harad."

Sufyan came outside to join them, little Arthas stretching peacefully in his arms, and the four of them enjoyed a few moments to themselves before breakfast. They could not linger long; Sawda and Na'Man were waiting for them, as was the City of Many Waters. For now though, the seedling of the White Tree cast its shade upon the young family as the desert sun rose.

OoOoO

The birds gathered curiously on Almárëa's windowsill, little heads bobbing in the rays of morning light as they watched Gondor's youngest princess at her work. Almárëa had never been much of one for sewing, but this was a task worth devoting herself to. Nearby on the bed, her wedding gown lay stretched out in all its glory. One more winter, she told herself. One more winter, and come the spring Almárëa would wed Elfwine beneath the golden eves of Meduseld, with all the nobility of Rohan and Gondor looking on. Until then, she would bide her time, and ensure that every stitch of the cloth she was embroidering was perfect.

By the traditions of Rohan, when a man and a woman wished to be married, they would stand together before all and declare their intention to live the rest of their days as one. Elfwine would take Almárëa's hands in his, and their clasped hands would be bound together, wrapped in a length of cloth woven and embroidered by the bride herself. Every Queen of Rohan going all the way back to the days of Eorl had made her own wedding tie, and Almárëa would do no less. She had even asked to study the wedding ties of both Lothíriel and the late Queen Elfhild, King Théoden's wife. Both women were (and had been) thoroughly accomplished seamstresses, and Almárëa knew that she was up against some stiff competition. With the help of Arwen and Eruthiawen though, even Almárëa was beginning to be proud of her work.

Holding up the length of linen so that the rising sun shone upon it, Almárëa considered the pattern which she had chosen. It was an old knot, one well known to the Rohirrim as a symbol of luck and prosperity. Almárëa had introduced her own twist on it though; the corners peaked and curled in distinctly elvish ways, and the black and white colors of Gondor stood out in stark contrast against the earthy linen. Everyone would see it and know that, though she would be known all the rest of her days as a Queen of Rohan, she had come into this life as a Princess of Gondor. With Elfwine and her father's grand plans of crossing the Ered Nimrais and settling Anfalas, the day may yet come when their two nations grew so intertwined, a person would not know where one ended and the other began. It was this sentiment that Almárëa had embroidered into her wedding tie; two peoples, one future.

The sound of silverware clattering from one floor down caught Almárëa's sharp ears and she stretched, grateful to set aside her needle for a time. With one more appreciative glance at the cloth-of-gold masterpiece that was her wedding gown, she rolled up the half-finished wedding tie and rose. Echos of last night's dream came back to Almárëa once more, and she savored them. Like all the glimpses that Foresight afforded her, she couldn't be sure this dream was anything more than wishful thinking. If she had her way though, she and Elfwine would see it realized. One day, the two of the would stand atop the walls of Edoras, and watch the sun shining upon the golden heads of their many strong, beautiful sons and daughters as they rode across the Riddermark.

One more winter.

OoOoO

Aragorn and Arwen's happiness was bittersweet as they listened to Eldarion, Galieth, and Almárëa talk about the coming day over breakfast. Though the three of them made a lively discussion, the fact remained that there were two chairs empty at the table of Telcontar. Aragorn and Arwen had long thought themselves used to the absences of Túrien and Eruthiawen. Almárëa's impending wedding brought into sharp relief that which they already knew; their children were grown. Eldarion at least would remain though, and for that they were immensely grateful. As his father's heir, Eldarion's place was and would always be in Minas Tirith. Today was his moment though; an accomplishment which belonged completely and entirely to Middle-Earth's next generation.

That was why, when Eldarion stopped in the doorway and looked back expectantly, Aragorn smiled and shook his head.

"Go, Eldarion. Go and enjoy the day which you and your sisters have worked so hard this past year for. If we are there, the people will look to us, and that would be a discredit to you and your efforts."

Still hesitating, Eldarion looked beyond the door to where Galieth and Almárëa were waiting outside in the courtyard of the White Tree. Beyond, a small group of scholars and lords were also waiting, as well as Malbeth and Ohtar in their fullest city guard regalia.

Arwen added her voice to Aragorn's. "This will be your legacy, Eldarion, not ours." Then she smiled, and made a small shoo-ing motion with her hands. "Go on, ion-nin! Tell us all about it tonight!"

Eldarion grinned and nodded. "I will," he promised. And then he was off, taking Galieth's arm and following Almárëa to join the lords and scholars gathered in the Citadel.

Aragorn and Arwen did follow a short ways though. Stepping out into the courtyard, they went as far as the shade of the White Tree. As the departing group turned the corner down into the city, Eldarion stopped to look back once more. The King and Queen of Gondor raised their hands to wave, and their son waved back excitedly before turning and disappearing around the bend.

"And so rises Eldarion, future King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor," said Aragorn.

"Someday, meleth-nin, but not yet," Arwen reminded him.

"Not yet," agreed Aragorn. He knew though, as did Arwen, that they both felt the beginnings of winter in their bones. Every year brought more frost to their heads and less lightness to their steps. Day by day, Aragorn and Arwen grew older. There would come a day, someday but not yet, when Aragorn would pass the crown and throne of Gondor to Eldarion, and greet the end of his days with eyes open and heart full. There would come a day when Arwen would lay her beloved Estel to rest, say her goodbyes to their children, and walk for a time beneath the fading eves of Cerin Amroth. There the last light of the Evenstar would finally die, and the world of Middle-Earth would know only their memory as its people looked to the future.

Someday, but not yet.

OoOoO

When Eldarion stood before the Black House, he felt none of the dread or fear which had once filled his every memory of the place. Perhaps it had something to do with the change in the Black House's appearance; the king's banner hung from every window now, and a crowd of people gathered before it as the morning sun rose high. Every eye fell expectantly upon Eldarion as he, Galieth, and Almárëa stood at the head of their entourage.

Rhoss had been right about one thing at least; a part of Gondor's proud Numenorian heritage had grown neglected over the centuries. The universities of Númenor once nurtured some of the brightest mortal minds in all Middle-Earth, second only to the knowledge and wisdom of the elves. Throughout the years of war, the schools of Gondor had over time become a silent casualty.

It was, Eldarion believed, one of the reasons why enmity had been permitted to grow and fester between the folk of the West and East in the first place. As a young man of twenty-four, he himself had been all to keen to go to battle against people about which the only thing he understood was that they had been Gondor's enemies in the War of the Ring, and thus must be Gondor's enemies still. Now that he had walked in the gardens of Harmindon, seen giants dance, and witnessed firsthand the honor and bravery of a chieftain's son, Eldarion could scarce imagine raising a hand in anger against the people of Harad. Perhaps someday the same might be said for the people of Rhûn. Eldarion no longer hid the scars on his wrists; if he could learn to wish for peace with Rhûn, so too could others.

That was why, for the past year and then some, Eldarion had devoted nearly every waking minute to the dream of restoring formal education to the world of Men. Eruthiawen of course had taken to the idea immediately, and she and Elboron had designed spaces for not one but three schools within the Vale of Minas Ithil. Túrien had had a little more work to do in Harad, not least because many among the Haradrim were wary of imposed Western influence. Once Túrien assured everyone though that not only would learning about other lands be a boon to Haradrim society, but also a chance to ensure that all Haradrim children knew their own people's history and skills, Sawda had become her greatest supporter. She and Sufyan had also organized a system by which the schools of Harad and Gondor might benefit from one another's knowledge by exchanging scholars and scribes to teach in their respective cities and towns.

Elfwine hadn't personally been very fascinated by the idea, claiming that all a child of Rohan needed to be happy and wise was an open sky and a horse. The matter had been rather taken out of his hands though by a surprisingly forceful alliance between Lothíriel and Almárëa. The dowager queen and future queen of Rohan had joined forces to ensure that Rohan developed its own education system, and from that moment on the realization of such a system became all but inevitable. Once Elfwine realized that the undertaking would unfold with or without his participation, he lent his support and even came up with an idea or two himself. For example, the dwarves of the Glittering Caves had agreed to send three scribes to lecture in the school of Helm's Deep each year, in exchange for the rights to mine any deposits found in the Ered Nimrais during restoration of the Dimholt Road. It was an arrangement that suited both parties quite well, especially seeing as Elfwine had agreed that teaching the jealously-guarded dwarvish tongue need not be part of the deal, in exchange for a twenty percent cut of any precious ores that the dwarves happened to find. Between the two of them, the dwarves of the Glittering Caves grew vastly wealthy, and the people of Rohan would someday come to be known as some of the best merchants and business-folk in all of Middle-Earth, in no small part thanks to the many Rohirrim children who would grow up begrudgingly learning their sums beneath the exacting eye of a dwarvish teacher.

Meanwhile, in Ithilien, Faramir and Éowyn reached a similar accord with Legolas and his people. The elves of Ithilien needed no promises of wealth or resources though; the promise that the memory of their people would live on through a legacy of knowledge and language was enough. Throughout the waning days of the Eldar, many an elf had lamented that the world of Middle-Earth which they loved so dearly would inevitably come to forget them. Now though, they had a means of leaving the mark of their people upon the minds of Men. And so it was that the children of Ithilien (and the Vale of the Moon) learned to speak the Sindarin tongue just as perfectly as their Numenorian ancestors. They also learned some of the Silvan tongue, and as much Quenya as Legolas himself knew to pass on. The languages of the elves have a magic all their own though, and so it was not just words that the young people of southern Gondor learned. Many claimed that there was something about those folk - a certain grace of bearing and quiet wisdom - which hearkened back to the days when Middle-Earth was young and elves and Men ran the wooded paths of the world side-by-side.

In Minas Tirith, the Black House would be the heart of Eldarion's achievement. Once a dark, dusty archive, inhabited only by scrolls and the occasional lonely scribe, the Black House was about to begin its life as a university. On Eldarion's insistence, not just children of the nobility would be schooled within its walls. Farmer's sons, cobber's daughters...all levels of Gondorian society would be represented in the Black House's first class. Eldarion had especially seen to it that the children of Haradrim merchants in the White City would also be welcome. To that end, the Haradrim tongue and customs would be one of the many subjects taught to Minas Tirith.

Galieth had also had a hand in planning the curriculum. Entirely by her own efforts, she had organized an exchange of young people between the cities of Minas Tirith, Annúminas, and Dale. She and Lady (now Queen) Ragna had planned it so that, each year, a handful of young people would travel between each city, there to spend twelve months being hosted amongst the folk of the north and south respectively. In this way, the woodland wisdom of the Dúnedain, as well as the Adûnaic tongue of their ancestors, would not be foreign even to children born in the heart of the White City. In the years to come, King Hakon would even convince King Thorin Stonehelm to allow a delegation of these exchanged students to visit the vast halls of Erebor each winter. Thus it was that the tombs of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews - known to all who had heard the tale of the One Ring in its entirety - became rather famous even amongst Men.

So many good things would come of this day, but now it fell to Eldarion to take the first step. Quite literally so; as he had told Galieth earlier, this would be his first time inside the Black House since that terrifying night so long ago. With so many expectant eyes upon him, he did not openly show his hesitation, if indeed he felt any. Taking Galieth by the hand, with Almárëa right behind them, Eldarion followed the path through the crowd to the Black House's front door. The shadow of the building was cool when it fell upon them, and from within arose the smell of beeswax and parchment. Eldarion's hand tightened upon Galieth's...and she squeezed back. Then, together, they crossed the threshold and went inside.

Once inside, the atmosphere was altogether different from last time. Everywhere, scholars, patrons, and most especially students of Gondor's new school stood smiling, rich tapestries and bookshelves laden with leather-bound volumes lining the walls around them. Eldarion and Galieth greeted some of the lords and ladies present, but the general momentum kept everyone moving further inward toward the stairs. Rather than up, the main staircase of the Black House went down...toward the lecture theaters housed in the bedrock between the Fourth Circle and the Fifth. The white-gold glow of dozens of chandeliers led the way, and the excited din of many voices echoed off the polished walls as the crowd followed Eldarion down.

As everyone else followed the hallway at the bottom of the stairs to the wide-flung double doors into the largest lecture theater, Eldarion, Galieth, and Almárëa turned instead down a narrow side corridor. It led to the backstage of the lecture theater, and it was from there that Eldarion would make his entrance. Although he had protested often and loudly that he was no special expert on any particular field, the decision from the lords and ladies of Gondor had been unanimous; he, Eldarion, would deliver the opening lecture of Gondor's first new school year. Many a night he had spent fussing and fretting over his speech, with many helpful suggestions and edits from Galieth. He had thought it best perhaps to start at the beginning, and thus spent many weeks reading the lore of the making of the world...The First Music of the Ainur. All the words flew out of Eldarion's head though when he noticed something at the end of the hall.

Galieth and Almárëa noticed Eldarion stop in mid-stride. When they saw what he was looking at though, they understood and waited.

It was little more than a storage closet, with a plain wooden door and a draw-bolt latch. Eldarion had been so sure of his impending death as he sat alone in that dark, empty place. That moonless night seemed like a lifetime ago, or perhaps something which had happened to someone else. How strange, that Eldarion's journey had led him in entirely new directions by way of old, familiar paths.

"Eldarion...are you ready?"

Almárëa's voice was soft, unusually gentle. There was recognition in her eyes when Eldarion met them. No doubt she felt the significance of that little room just as deeply as Eldarion did.

Galieth stood silent between Eldarion and Almárëa in the half-lit corridor. Then she turned and reached up. Her fingers found the burner of a nearby lantern, and with a twist, light rose to fill the space. The shadows fled from the brightness of that single little flame, and suddenly the three of them were standing in just another hallway. The buzz of voices reached them through the stones. Everyone was waiting.

Slowly, surely, Eldarion nodded. "Come. It's time."

OoOoO

When Eldarion strode out onto the floor of the lecture theater, the hum of anticipation quickly fell into silence. The table of dark stone had been removed, and new boards of slate ringed the space, blank and waiting to be filled with knowledge. As Eldarion looked up into the many faces in the seats, he saw so much possibility. The eyes of the children stared curiously back at him, many simply in awe at the presence of Prince Eldarion of the House of Telcontar.

Lifting his gaze to the very topmost row of seats, Eldarion couldn't help but smile. His mother and father had come after all. Standing very quiet and unobtrusive at the back of the theatre, Aragorn and Arwen smiled encouragingly down at their son. Not even Galieth and Almárëa, sitting in the front row with the other nobles and patrons, had noticed their presence. That was no doubt what Aragorn and Arwen wanted, and so Eldarion turned his attention back to the room.

"It all began with a song."

~ The End ~