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An hour later saw them all gathered in the Commanders' Tent at the heart of their encampment. Aragorn sat on a folding chair of dark cherry wood in the north of the tent, the flag of Gondor hanging upon the tent wall behind him; a backdrop of black weave and white stars. Éomer sat likewise at the western side, Elfwine standing at his right hand and the mossy green flag of Rohan with its prancing white horse and sun behind them. Eldarion likewise stood straight and alert at on his father's right, Elboron hanging just slightly behind him. Kingsguards of both Gondor and Rohan watched the three men at the center of the tent warily, their gloves tight on the hilts of their swords and spears.

The Haradrim envoys were strange to Eldarion's naive eyes, and he took in all aspects of their appearance as closely as they were watching the lords of the West. Very interestingly, their armor, rather than being of steel or chain instead was fashioned from basketwork components. Their shoulder plates and corset-like midriff protectors were made of dark reddish basketwork with vertical lines of strange beads, bone and amber, decorating the front. Some of the beads were large skull shapes, while smaller beads were bright blue and amber. Their clothing underlay was of ragged dusty-red and red-brown linen, the skirt of the outfit almost layered torn strips. There was a protective burnoose and face cloth that had some stitching to shape it, dyed red or dark brown colors. Even their weaponry, which the guards had insisted surrendered at the entrance to the tent, was in the same reddish colors, and their bows were reinforced with some of the same basketwork as in their armor. Eldarion wondered how simple dried reeds could possibly protect the Haradrim from harm in combat. Then he remembered that most of the Haradrim fought from the backs of Mûmakil, and so had no need for close quarters protection.

The three men wore their black face cloths right up until they stood before the kings themselves. Rather than bow, they lifted their hands, palms inward, toward their faces before turning their palms outward. Aragorn and Éomer likewise inclined their chins slightly in a minimalistic greeting and acknowledgement, as befitting an exchange between enemies. Elfwine, Eldarion and Eomer, being out of the main focus, did not have to make any such gestures. Instead they kept silent, watching every move made by all parties. Only after this exchange did the Haradrim reach up to unpin their cloths, revealing the faces beneath.

All three were of a deep olive complexion, darker than even Elfwine could ever have managed after a long summer out riding in the sun daily. They lined their eyes with a black smudging, similar to ash, which seemed to make the brown within shine like polished stones in a riverbed. All three were also heavily painted, their jaws and cheeks streaked with yellows, browns and reds in all manner of odd patterns. Beneath all that though, Eldarion was able to note some distinctive features of each man.

One was enormously tall, taller even than Aragorn himself. There were bits of grey noticeable in the stubble along his chin and cheeks, and his brow was lined by a lifetime of wind and desert sand. No doubt in his youth, with his height the strength of his features, he would have been a terrifying opponent to come up against. Come to think of it, he still was; Eldarion certainly wouldn't want to square off against him. Even so, there was a slight pull of his iron-gray brows that gave the man a quizzical look that softened his overall imposing presence.

The second Haradrim, the one in the center of the three, was shorter than his companions but no less of a commanding figure. Wild black hair hung down from beneath his head wrap, clinging to the back of his neck and around his ears. Red paint in the shape of talons had been worked down the sides of his nose, lending the man a fierce, peaked look. His dark eyes smouldered like burning coals as his gaze slide from Éomer to Aragorn...and then to Eldarion. Eldarion tried to match those eyes for focus and intensity, but had a feeling his youth was all too obvious to this man of Harad.

On the right of the three, most likely the youngest of the three in his mid-thirties, the last envoy stood staring directly ahead at Aragorn, with an occasional glance sideways at Éomer out of the corner of his eyes. His nose was large and uneven, suggesting it had been broken on more than one occasion. His brows and beard with hugely thick and black, but neatly trimmed. A scar dragged at the corner of one eye, giving him a slightly lopsided appearance. Even if all these things took away from what might have been a handsome visage, they gave him a sense of age that put him on par with the other two Haradrim.

"We greet you, O Kings of the West." The Haradrim in the center spoke, his words heavily accented with a very round, almost throaty enunciation. "I am Na'Man, Chieftain of Harmindon." He spoke to Aragorn and Éomer in turn, keeping his lean frame directed at the space between the two make-shift thrones.

"I am Tufayl, Chietain of Pazghar." The third man with the war-torn face and thick brows spoke, his words low and smooth.

"And I am Bakr, Chieftain of Abrakhân." The first, tallest and oldest Haradrim chieftain's voice was amazingly low, lower than the best baritone singer Eldarion had ever heard. Even a dwarvish war horn would have been hard pressed to match such a voice.

"On behalf of Gondor I offer you greetings, Chieftains Na'Man, Tufayl and Bakr." Aragorn said, nodding to each in turn. The silver crown of the line of Númenor glimmered in the pale sunlight streaming in from the tent door.

"Rohan likewise greets you, Men of Harad." Éomer's words were tight, his jaw clenched as rigidly as his shoulders. "Long have your people and ours met as worthy foes on the battlefield."

"Will you take some refreshment?"

Aragorn raised a hand to signal a page with a tray of water and fruit forward. The boy did not look at the Haradrim as he hurried to place the tray on a small table to one side. Neither Na'Man nor Tufayl made a move toward the food. Bakr however stepped over and picked up a pear, biting into the sweet flesh. Eldarion got the sense that this was a man too at ease with the world to stand on ceremony. His musings were confirmed when Bakr casually unwound the rest of his head wrap to toss back over one shoulder, revealing a gleaming bald scalp inked with a myriad of strange and incredible black patterns. Eldarion thought he could just see a black eye tattooed into the very back of Bakr's head above the nape of his neck before he turned.

Éomer leaned forward in his seat, his green and gold-trimmed cloak falling forward about his shoulders. There was an impatient light in the King of Rohan's eye.

"You have come to us bearing the white flag of truce, and so here we all stand. What is your purpose for calling such a meeting in the wake of your defeat?"

Tufayl's lip curled slightly, giving his damaged face a grim sort of humor. "Not our defeat, Horse Lord. The only loss today was that of the Easterlings."

"Why was that so? I am curious." Aragorn asked.

"We are not and have never been Sauron's fanatical servants in the manner of Easterlings." Tufyal's words dripped with scorn. "To fight for the Dark Lord in the War of the Ring was less a choice and more a necessity for our people."

"And so you abandoned your last remaining allies in their final hour?" pressed Éomer. "Hardly an act worthy of praise."

Na'Man's hawk-like brow arched. "Perhaps not, if you are an Easterling. We suggest you see it as a gesture of good faith on our part."

"You come seeking terms for a truce then, I take it?"

Eldarion could hardly believe his father could speak with such a straight face while Éomer was staring a hole through the side of his head. No doubt this was exactly the turn of conversation that the King of Rohan had been warning them all about. Rather than let things proceed in their current direction organically, Éomer interjected swiftly.

"Even if you claim not be have been defeated today in battle, you are still in a rather poor position to be asking terms, Chieftain Na'Man. It is not the typical way of war for the losers to be making demands of the rightful victors."

Immediately Tufayl and Na'Man's hooded brows knitted together and their expressions grew dark. Bakr alone seemed unperturbed, still snacking on his pear. Eating the last bite, he set the core back on the platter before clearing his throat and speaking.

"You are right, King of Rohan, it is not the typical way. Still, we have come here today to ask that you treat with us as equals. Why should you do that, you ask, when as you rightly point out you have won the day? To you I say then; what of tomorrow? Long has Harad felt itself a lesser, a second-class people under the heel of the West. Why else do you think we turned to Sauron, when his agents came to us promising green lands and good waters? Hear our requests, negotiate with us a people different but equal to your own, and perhaps things need not return to the way they were before."

Na'Man spoke as Bakr turned away to pour himself a goblet of water. "Bakr speaks what is in the hearts of many Haradrim chieftains." He looked directly at Aragorn with his smouldering black gaze. "The stewards of Gondor have long done ill by us, your neighbors. Will you, the returned ranger King, finally amend these ills and make Harad your ally?"

This speech from the chieftains of Harad produced a profound effect on the occupants of the Commanders' Tent. Éomer appeared deep in troubled thought, fingering his greying dirty-blonde beard as he eyed the Haradrim. Eldarion exchanged a glance first with Elboron, then with Elfwine. Elboron looked bright, hopeful even, his honest interest in Bakr and Na'Man's words plain to see. Elfwine's expression was a little more guarded, but his main focus seemed to be on his father and how Éomer would react. For his own part, Eldarion was unsure what to think. The Haradrim and the Easterlings had been synonymous with 'enemy' in Gondor for the duration of his entire life and well before then. Never once had he been given any evidence to the contrary that these strange men and their enormous war-beasts could be anything other than hostile presences. Still, now that he saw Tufayl's quizzical guardedness, Na'Man's blunt words yet sharp gaze, and Bakr's nonchalant wisdom, he found himself curious and wanting to know more of these people than just their weapons of war.

Finally Aragorn spoke, lacing his fingers together beneath his chin. "And what would Harad ask from the West, in exchange for peace and fealty?"

"We want Harondor, the lands your stewards of old wrestled from our people and branded South Gondor. We want access to the mouth of the mighty Anduin river at Pelargir, to trade our goods and sail where we may. We want to pass freely through the lands of Ithilien, Lebennin and Dol Amroth without being seen as intruders, as the folk of Rohan freely mingle with those of Gondor in the Eastfold and Anórien. In short, we want to restore Harad to its proper place in the south of Middle-Earth."

Tufayl rattled off this list plainly and without hesitation, as if he had been reciting it in his own mind for some time already. Eldarion's mind immediately went to the maps of the realm, and his stomach dropped. Harondor had been a part of Gondor for centuries. Lying just south of Ithilien across the Anduin, it was a sparse yet undeniably striking territory, littered with stratified cliffs, winding valleys of stone and short, sharp grass. Harondor was also an enormous stretch of land, almost the size of Rohan itself. Giving over South Gondor would mean essentially placing the Haradrim at Ithilien's doorstep. A glance over his shoulder at Elboron revealed that the Prince of Ithilien's son remained optimistic, if not somewhat more guardedly so. Eldarion wondered what Legolas and his colony of elves would think of having Haradrim for neighbors.

Éomer rumbled low in his throat but held his silence. Harondor was not in any way under the sway of Rohan, and so the Haradrim's requests held little to no impact for his own country. It was obvious that Éomer was not in favor of the idea of surrendering such an enormous territory to a former enemy though. He and Aragorn met one another's eye, and Éomer shook his head ever so slightly. Aragorn's brow twitched in what might have been a frown. Then he addressed the Haradrim.

"Your requests, while not entirely unreasonable for a sovereign nation and potential ally, are nonetheless no small matters. I cannot make any promises, but I will give you my word that I will take your terms back to Minas Tirith for discussion. I may be king, but I do not make decisions for my people unilaterally."

"No doubt." Bakr set down his empty water goblet. "You will, of course, want to bring our terms to your queen, The Lady Evenstar."

Then Aragorn smiled, a little surprised that these Haradrim chieftains would know how closely he discussed all matters of governance with Arwen. "Yes, there you are quite right, Chieftain Bakr."

"Return to your city and deliberate, King of Gondor." Na'Man said. "I suspect though that you do not yet truly understand the people whose lives you are deliberating on. Thus I would like to extend an invitation to yourself, Queen Evenstar and your children to come and see Harad for yourself." He turned to Éomer. "I extend the same invite to you and your family, King of Rohan. My people would gladly host you in Harmindon, where we all might meet. That is, if you will consent to accept the invitation."

Aragorn thought for a moment before answering. "I cannot speak for any but myself, but I will accept your invitation."

Na'Man smiled then, and the embers behind his dark brown eyes truly shone, the effect magnified by the dark paint smudged around them.

"We will look to your coming before the first day of autumn then, King Aragorn. What say you, King Éomer?"

Éomer chewed the edge of his mustache, a habit Eldarion knew for a fact that Lothíriel would chide him for if she were present. His bushy brows looked like two caterpillars trying to fight one another for dominance. Finally the King of Rohan squared his shoulders and sat straight on his seat.

"I cannot give my answer at this moment, Chieftains. As you well know, enmity between our two peoples runs deep, and before Rohan extends the hand of friendship I must seek the counsel of not just my inner circle, but minds both wiser and further-seeing than mine."

"Very well." Tufayl replied. "We will anticipate your coming with King Aragorn all the same though, know that. Gondor and Rohan are two nations too closely linked to diverge on allegiances, I think." Éomer nodded curtly, but seemed to consider these words at length.

"You have given us much to think on today, Chieftains of Harad." Aragorn stood, signally that this negotiation had reached its conclusion. "Éomer, are we both agreed that the Haradrim shall be allowed to quit the field today with no further confrontation from either Gondor or Rohan? The same likewise and opposite to you, Chieftains? The Easterlings are scattered and fleeing into the hills beyond the sea. Let us consider this battle over, and return to our hearths and homes."

"Agreed." Came the chorus from all the men in the Commanders' Tent.

Oghan showed the Haradrim from the tent, and Eldarion watched them go before letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Everyone else likewise sagged as the tension from moments ago quickly dissipated.

"Well, that went rather well?" Elfwine offered, clapping a hand on his father's shoulder. Éomer massaged his brow and did not answer, but Eldarion saw the corner of his mouth quirk a little.

Elboron chuckled, brushing back a few blonde curls that were threatening to fall over his brow. He really did look quite beguiling when he did that. "Considering that there are hundreds of years of blood between West and East, I think I am safe in venturing that that might have been the longest civil conversation any man of Gondor or Rohan has had with a Haradrim in this generation."

"I think you may be right there, Elboron." Aragorn said, removing the crown from his head. "For my part though, I think that is quite enough of negotiations for today. What do you say?" He smiled, looking around at all gathered in the tent. "Shall we start making preparations for the return journey?"

The encampment came down quickly, with all the men of Rohan and Gondor working to pack up their supplies and load them onto the army supply wagons. Gimli had to be settled into the back of one of those wagons; Aragorn had point-blank refused to even consider the possibility of his injured friend traveling on horseback. Legolas had taken some of the indignity out of such a mode of transport by joining Gimli on the wagon, leaving Arod free to canter about on the periphery of the army. Still, listening to the dwarf grumble, threaten and bluster had soothed some of the lingering guilt Eldarion still felt over the charge that had resulted in Gimli's leg being crushed. For all his endless protests, Gimli never once bemoaned the actual events which had led to his crippling, and for that Eldarion would be eternally thankful to him.

As they rode up the thin road to the top of the ravine which they had first entered upon by battlefield by, Eldarion looked back toward the Sea of Rhûn. In the distance he could see the Haradrim army moving out as well, the Mûmakil visible as gigantic silhouettes against the sinking sun. No war horns sounded out this time, and the sound of thousands of voices reached him on the wind. He wondered what stories and songs the Haradrim would pass amongst each other to make the journey home go by? Then Elboron rode by and tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him back to the present moment. Urging Greyhame forward up the hillside, Eldarion sought out Aragorn and fell into place at his side. They had fought their first battle and survived, and now they were going home.

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