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Chapter Text

It was a beautiful mid-summer night in Dol Amroth. The stars and the moon shone brightly above. Their pure brilliant light reflected off of the drawn blades of two combatants as they circled around one another on a cliff beside the sea.

Five spectators flanked the swordsmen in a semi-circle. There was a distinguished white-haired knight serving as a judge, and then each combatant was supported by two seconds. And then one of those seconds was accompanied by his bodyguard.

"You know, I think this is how regular work-a-day fellows like myself get fired, your highness," that bodyguard remarked in a good-natured aside.

His highness the Lord Elboron, heir to the princedom of Ithilien and oldest grandson of Elessar Telcontar, King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, murmured back, “Don’t worry, Alagon. I’m only here as a second, and if anyone’s hide gets nailed to the wall for this, I’ll make sure it’s mine.”

Alagon chuckled, and then muttered ruefully, “I know that you’re as good as your word, Sir, but I’m fairly certain that this is exactly the type of thing Lieutenant Borlas said I wasn’t to let you get yourself involved in when he handed you over to me.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that specific,” Elboron protested. Dueling was, after all, legal in Dol Amroth. The practice had been banned in most of Gondor and Arnor during the years immediately following the Ring War. Part of the reason for that ban was the King’s response to a duel Elboron’s father Faramir had fought with a mind-sick soldier, a man who had blamed Faramir for the death of his brothers at the Battle of the Pelennor. Elboron knew that his father still blamed himself for many of those deaths. Knowing that, and knowing his father, Elboron could believe that Faramir had been unable to deny the grieving man’s demand that he meet him sword-to-sword. But he understood his grandfather’s feelings on the matter as well. Faramir had only been following orders on the Pelennor. The deaths hadn’t been his fault. And Faramir’s death at that point wouldn’t have helped anyone, but Elboron was perhaps somewhat biased in that regard.

The ban on dueling had originally been intended to apply to Dol Amroth as well, but Prince Imrahil had objected on the grounds of it not being worth the trouble to enforce. Dueling had a long historical tradition in Dol Amroth, its founding prince, Prince Imrazor, having fought no less than fifty duels, forty-five of which he’d won. Dueling to the death had always been taboo in Gondor’s only semi-autonomous principality, but duels to the satisfaction of honor, or to first blood, whichever came first, were still permitted, albeit not without certain proprieties being required.

Proprieties which had all been observed, Elboron had made sure of that at least. He’d at first tried to convince his sergeant, Landir, the challenged party, from going through with the whole ordeal to begin with. But when Landir had confessed that his future wife had been accused of lewd behavior with her own brother, and that the accuser, one Sir Raevor, had refused to recant his bitter words unless Landir met him in single combat, well . . . what was a good officer to do but stand as his man’s second? Even if said officer was angling for what he felt was a well-deserved early promotion, it was the thing to do.

Besides, Landir was a good fellow. Orphaned in the wake of the Ring War, he had grown up in one of the orphanages founded by Elboron’s adoptive grandmother, Queen Arwen. Without the advantage of parents or noble blood, Landir had worked and sweated his way into the highest position a non-commanding officer could hold in the Reunited Kingdom’s army. Sir Raevor, on the other hand, was in Elboron’s considered opinion a good swordsman but otherwise an entitled donkey’s ass.

The problem that had led them to the cliff overlooking the sea and the old sandstone castle had begun when Sir Raevor wooed Landir’s betrothed, Tiril Fendoriel. Fendor, Tiril’s father, had been a knight in service to the old Lord of Lossarnach, putting Tiril, at least in Raevor’s opinion, well out of the social reach of Landir, a potter’s orphaned son.

Elboron knew and even loved a number of people who would have agreed with that sentiment, but Tiril and Landir had not, and that was all that mattered to Elboron. Tiril had spurned Raevor, apparently in less than diplomatic terms. Given Raevor’s general disposition and attitude, Elboron found it hard to fault her for that. Raevor had responded to this romantic disappointment by announcing at the party for Landir and Tiril’s betrothal that Tiril was unfit for marriage due to having dallied with her own brother.

Landir and Tiril’s available recourses were to force Raevor to recant by proving before a court that his words were untrue, or to meet him in a duel and prove by winning it that he spoke falsely. Proving Raevor a liar in court would have meant airing his accusations again in public, which while Tiril was willing to do, Landir understandably wished to avoid. As did Tiril’s brother Thoron, who served this night as Landir’s other second. Tiril herself was apparently unaware of the duel, as she didn’t wish to risk her husband’s life over mere words, however incendiary. Elboron had some sympathy for that point of view, but Landir was one of Elboron’s men, and if Landir was determined to go through with this, then Elboron would stand by his side.

Raevor was a more skilled swordsman, but Landir had spent more time in actual combat. If Elboron had been a betting man, he would have put his money on Landir.

Of course, that was only true if Raevor didn’t cheat. Elboron stiffened and put his hand to his sword-hilt as the dark-haired young knight once again reached for his belt knife with his off hand.

“Sir Raevor,” scolded the duel’s judge, a retired navy lieutenant, “If you draw a secondary weapon, Sergeant Landir will win by default.”

“Minas Tirith slum trash!” sneered Raevor, spitting at his opponent. Landir, to Elboron’s pride, kept his tongue and his temper, waiting patiently for Raevor to make a mistake.

“You know,” Elboron’s bodyguard Alagon drawled, “I’ve been reliably informed by our Haradrim allies that Minas Tirith doesn’t even have slums.”

“Southron-loving scum!” Raevor added, turning his head to glare at Alagon just long enough for Landir to land a solid blow to his side. Landir kept good control of the blade, slicing through Raevor’s fine tunic with only enough force to cut him lightly. But blood there was, and blood ended a duel in Dol Amroth.

Elboron sighed in relief, anticipating chilled wine and cinnamon cakes with buttercream frosting, and even better, their arrival to the evening’s festivities at Prince Imrahil’s castle before anyone in the family noticed his delayed arrival to the after-dinner revelry. After all, while duels themselves might be legal in Dol Amroth, Aragorn had long ago decreed that none of his children were permitted to be involved in them, either as duelist or second or witness. It had apparently been the subject of a long argument between Imrahil and Aragorn, which had ended, much to Faramir’s disgust, when both of them agreed that Faramir had been out of line in getting into the duel with the mind-sick soldier. Still, it was a prohibition which stood to this day, and not one that Elboron was in a hurry to find out whether his normally tolerant grandfather still felt it necessary to enforce.

“Sir Raevor, you have been wounded. Sergeant Landir is the victor. Desist and drop your weapon, Sir!” yelled the judge. Raevor, unheeding, drew his dagger and threw it at Landir, at the same time hefting his sword and preparing to go after the unprepared sergeant with that as well.

“Oh, Raevor would be this type of idiot!” Alagon griped, and then was just a hair too slow to catch his lord as Elboron threw himself between Raevor and Landir.

“Valar-curse-it-all, my Lord!” Alagon yelled, tackling one of Raevor’s seconds before he could go to the cheat’s aid, “THIS is how bodyguards get fired!”

Elboron was too busy avoiding Raevor’s blade and keeping himself between the enraged knight and his sergeant to laugh, otherwise he might well have. Faramir, Borlas, Beregrond, and Orohael had hand-picked Alagon to be Elboron’s primary bodyguard, and would probably not fire him over this, even if Daerada Aragorn wanted them to. But Elboron had little time to think on that, as Raevor’s other second had dodged Alagon and the judge and was on his way to help his idiot friend.

“Hold!” bellowed an authoritative and irritatingly familiar voice, “Hold in the name of your Prince!”

Elboron hid a smile as he disarmed the white-faced Raevor, thinking to himself that this might be the first time he’d ever been glad to see his cousin Alphros! The family’s cheerful troublemaker and the future Prince of Dol Amroth was five years older than Elboron, and had often teased the more quiet, earnest, and scholarly Elboron while they were growing up. Of course, now they were both adults. Alphros had settled down and was now married to Elboron’s beloved aunt Melyanna, Aragorn and Arwen’s older daughter. And to be fair to Alphros, this was at least the second time that Elboron had been glad to see him. The first had been that time with the sand burrs.

“Well-met, nephew!” roared Prince Alphros merrily, slinging a bulky arm around Elboron’s more slender shoulders as his soldiers took the protesting Raevor and his compatriots into custody.

“Alphros.” Elboron greeted his cousin levelly, knowing from unfortunate experience that pointing out that he didn’t like being called Alphros’ nephew would just result in more teasing. “Kind of you to appear in such a timely fashion. Sir Raevor is apparently in need of a reminder as to Dol Amroth’s time-honored rules of dueling.”

“Always happy to remind one of my Swan Knights of such important procedures, Bron,” Alphros replied airily, but with a chilling look towards the now cringing Raevor. That particular knight’s evening did not improve as Alphros consigned him to the custody of the angry dueling judge. Elboron couldn’t find it in himself to regret Raevor’s unhappy fate. He was too much concerned with his own immediate future.

Alphros pulled Elboron, Landir, and Alagon aside as they re-entered the castle complex.

“You will never guess how I heard about your activities tonight, Bron!”Alphros remarked jovially.

With an internal groan that matched Alagon’s loud sigh, Elboron asked hopefully, “Tiril came to the guard when she realized that Landir and her brother weren’t out drinking in anticipation of their marriage as they had claimed?”

“No. Well, yes, she did – you have a good woman in her, Sergeant Landir.”

“Don’t I know it,” said that worthy with a self-conscious grin, “I’m sure that she’s none-too-pleased with me at the moment, though.”

“That was my guard captain’s impression, yes.” Alphros said with no small amount of sympathy, “Why don’t you go ahead and see what you can do to make it up to her? I need to have a few words with my cousin and his man here.”

“Yes, your highness,” agreed Landir. After all, what more was there to say? He did give Elboron an apologetic look over his shoulder, which Elboron appreciated. It wasn’t as if Landir had known about Elboron’s grandfather’s rather stringent position on dueling, but it was generally frowned upon to get the heir to a princedom into the middle of a fight, however inadvertently.

“Go ahead, Alphros,” Elboron asked, figuring that he might as well get it over with. “Tell us who sent you out after us tonight.”

“Well,” began Alphros with a sympathetic smile that made the hairs on the back of Elboron’s neck rise in fear, “My grandfather and your grandfather were taking a post-prandial stroll around the northern balcony . . .”

Elboron did groan at that. Alagon smacked his head with his hand, and then he smacked Elboron’s shoulder for good measure.

“When they happened to see a duel on the cliff opposite them. You’ll never guess who recognized you first, Bron,” Alphros continued airily.

“Daerada Aragorn,” guessed Elboron.

Alphros outright laughed, the louse. “No. Did I forget to mention? Our venerable elders were accompanied by three young, impressionable boys.”

Elboron closed his eyes and sighed. “Elion, Elros and Kader all saw me jump between two armed men, didn’t they?”

“I think that’s a fairly safe bet, yes. Elion recognized you first. Observant boy, your baby brother. And he worships you,” Alphros reported with a wholly unnecessary amount of ebullience. Elboron fought an urge to push Alphros into the fountain beside the orange trees. A not-uncommon urge, when it came to Elboron’s interactions with Alphros.

“So, guess who wants to talk to you now?” Alphros concluded, with another irritating grin.

Elboron didn’t bother to guess. Great Uncle Imrahil wouldn’t be pleased, but it would be Daerada Aragorn who wanted to talk to Elboron. And "talk" certainly meant "lecture and scold."

“Oh, and Borlas, who is here keeping an eye on Elion, would like to have a word or six with Alagon.”

“Perhaps I could be fired instead?” Alagon asked hopefully.

Chapter Text

Alagon went off bravely, if mournfully, to meet his fate. That left Elboron alone in the castle’s sea-side garden with his cousin Alphros. Imrahil’s oldest grandson didn’t seem to be in a hurry to drag the one-time bane-of-his-summers to face patriarchal justice. Instead, he shoved Elboron into one of the singing fountains, taking the younger man entirely by surprise.

Alphros could be impetuous, Elboron knew that full well, but he hadn’t expected his cousin to give into Elboron’s own favorite – yet never indulged – impulse!

Elboron emerged from the hip-deep water sputtering and wiping an orange blossom off of his face.

“Alphros, what in Valar’s name?” Elboron demanded, almost too taken aback to be angry.

Alphros reached a hand down, but instead of offering it to help Elboron up, placed it on top of Elboron’s head and pushed him back under the water again.

“Alphros!” Elboron objected, once he had caught his breath. Pushed too far, he splashed some of the chilly, orange-scented water directly into his cousin’s face.

It was Alphros’ turn to sputter indignantly, which he did for only a moment before laughing. With water dripping off of his neat red beard, he grinned and finally offered Elboron a hand out of the fountain.

“Oh, don’t glower at me like that, bratling,” Alphros scolded, “You would have had to change clothes before meeting with Ada Aragorn anyway. Unless, of course, you want him to see that tear on your left sleeve left by that idiot Raevor’s blade?”

Elboron looked at his sleeve, startled. “I didn’t realize that he’d gotten that close.”

Alphros, evidently irritated again by that evidence of inattention during combat, smacked Elboron's wet shoulder.

“Ow!” Elboron objected. He blushed as he realized how young he must sound.

“If you’d parried just a touch sloppier on your left side, then you’d be saying an orc-ton more than ow, Elboron!” Alphros lectured, “In fact, if you weren’t already due a memorable scolding from Ada Aragorn, I’d be ordering you to extra arms practices myself!”

Elboron was renowned in his family for being calm, patient, and kind. He was also the cool-headed one who had, when absolutely necessary, snitched on Alphros, Eldarion, and Theodwyn when one of them – usually Alphros – had thought up some particularly daring and stupid childhood adventure. But even the calm one can be pushed too far, especially by hypocrisy!

“Alphros, you …. I …. I don’t even know where to start!” Elboron said forcefully, “You’ve been in how many duels, yourself! And yet here you are, lecturing me!”

Alphros tilted his head, as if considering that. Then he laughed. Slapping his thigh in merriment, he confessed, “Seventeen duels, but in only one of those was I the challenger. And for that, both Ada and Daerada blistered my ears and had me running errands for them. And if I’d been even first courting Melyanna then, your Daerada would have had me scrubbing floors at the Healing Hall until I wore holes in my knees.”

Sobering slightly, Alphros gave Elboron a sympathetic half-smile. “And tonight, you, my little nephew, you have managed to offend my poor-father-by-law greatly. He particularly abhors dueling. You almost never get into trouble, but when you do, well . . . you don’t play around, do you Bron?”

Elboron brushed back a lock of red hair that had escaped from the leather thong at the base of his neck. “I suppose you’re right.”

“That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you,” Alphros confessed, reaching out to pull a confused Elboron into a one-armed embrace.

Elboron laughed uncertainly. “That when I do find trouble, I drown in it?”

“That you’re willing to risk anything for the people you care for.” Alphros corrected, ruffling Elboron’s hair into even more of a mess.

“Thank you, Alphros. I suppose.”

“You’re welcome, you straitlaced brat. Now, I want you to promise me that you’re not going to let tonight’s bout of idiocy stop you from asking Ada Aragorn for what you want.”

Elboron tilted his head, lost again. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not granted. Not until you promise. You never ask for anything you want.”

“Alphros, I have no idea on Arda what you’re going on about.”

Alphros raised one skeptical red eyebrow. “Captain-General Galdoron submitted your name to be considered for promotion to junior captain. Surely you knew?”

“Of course I knew. The question is, how did you?”

“I’ve been serving as Daerada’s delegate to the Army’s promotions board,” Alphros patiently explained, “Everyone who has worked with you is in your corner, but your age is counting against you. And there are those who … well, no one who knows you, but there are those who say that you’re only up to be the youngest captain in a decade because you’re the King’s grandson.”

That wasn’t anything other than Elboron had expected. And really, what was the harm if his promotion wasn’t approved? Provided that he didn’t get himself killed, or worse, do something to disgrace himself, he’d surely have the chance to try again, when he was older and more experienced. But he wanted to be able to make a difference now. To have the authority to give soldiers like Landir the chance to prove themselves as commanders despite their birth and lack of training, and the influence to guide knights like Raevor toward careers more suited to them, such as sanitation.

“Promise me.” Alphros repeated himself, laying a hand on Elboron’s wet shoulder and squeezing firmly, “that you’ll at least let Ada Aragorn know that you want the promotion. The board is split, and the decision may be left to him. He should at least know that you think you’re ready.”

“I promise.”

Alphros grinned, “Good man. Now, come on. Let’s get you changed into dry clothes before I take you to meet your fate.”

Elboron sighed. “We’d best hurry. I wish we had time for dessert though.”

Alphros laughed. “You missed dinner, Ada Aragorn wants to see you to ask you about nearly getting yourself killed tonight, and you’re thinking about dessert?”

“It’s cinnamon cake tonight,” Elboron explained. He’d loved cinnamon cake since he was a small child.

“Eh. Cinnamon cake is fine enough I suppose,” Alphros allowed,”but it’s too dry without the buttercream sauce, and there’s never enough to go around.”

“Really? I’m always served two bowls with mine.”

“What? No wonder you never ask for anything – it’s just given to you!”

“Maybe it’s not me,” Elboron theorized, doing his best to hide a smile, “Maybe it’s you. Maybe the cooks remember the time you let a flock of chickens and a sheep loose in the kitchens as well as I do.”

“But that was when I was thirteen, and it was in Minas Tirith!”

“You do know that at least three of the cooks who work in Dol Amroth’s kitchens trained in Minas Tirith, don’t you?,” Elboron asked, “Including Cellaras, for that matter.” Elboron was very fond of the tall, dark haired young woman who had been his sister Haleth’s and his aunt Gilwen’s childhood companion. Cellaras’ step-grandfather, Magordan, had been Elboron’s grandfather’s bodyguard, and her grandmother Mairenwen still ruled as the chief cook of the citadel in Minas Tirith.

“Well, I knew about Cellaras, of course,” said Alphros, “But she’s not just a cook. She’s a friend.” Alphros paused in thought.

“She’s Gilwen’s best friend,” Elboron noted, thinking of another reason why Alphros might not get enough buttercream sauce, “And isn’t Gilwen still upset with you for trying to talk Uncle Imrahil out of offering her a commission in the navy?”

“Well, yes, but it was for her own good. She’s a good warrior for her size, but the navy isn’t like the army. The navy sees combat with pirates nearly twice as often as you soft army lads.”

“I think you’re wrong,” said Elboron, noting another attitude that he wanted to counteract whenever he was promoted to captain and consulted on recruiting, “but I know that your heart is in the right place. None of us want to see Gilwen hurt.” Although really, Elboron would be a little bit more worried for the pirates, if he cared at all about pirates. What his younger aunt lacked in size, she more than made up in fierceness.

All too soon they were in front of the door to the King’s suite.

“It's not too late to run away and become a fisherman,” Alphros jested.

“Don’t tempt me.” But Elboron knocked on the door anyway. He loved his grandfather. He wanted to be back in Aragorn’s good graces sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t Aragorn who opened the door, but rather Aragorn’s seven-months pregnant daughter Melyanna.

“Elboron!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

Elboron hugged her back, but carefully. He still felt uneasy around pregnant women, at least when he’d grown up with them and still had trouble seeing them as mothers instead of playmates!

Pulling back, Melyanna scrutinized him carefully. Amused but a little irritated by the drama, he returned the favor. Melyanna was a great beauty, and pregnancy hadn’t changed that. She looked like a softer, curvier version of her famous mother Arwen. Luminous gray eyes gazed out from full sooty black eyelashes, complimented by rosy cheeks and a perfectly proportioned nose. Melyanna’s dark wavy curls were half-pulled up by strings of white pearls and shining beads of blue cat’s eye jade. Her adornments complimented her gown. She wore a white underdress embroidered with tiny ships picked out in pearls and iridescent glass beads, prominently displayed by her advanced pregnancy. Her bell-sleeved overdress was the darkest shade of Dol Amroth blue, drawing out the slight hint of heather blue in her gray eyes.

“You scared us, ‘Bron. Please don’t do that again unless it is absolutely necessary,” Melyanna scolded gently.

“I’ll try, ‘Anna,” Elboron promised his aunt, who had inherited her mother’s knack for inspiring sincerity without offending pride. Looking beyond Melyanna, Elboron had to smile as he saw three boys in fine clothing hastily abandoning their strategy game to greet him.

“My favorite imp and goblins!” he smiled, and braced himself so that he could embrace all three of them at once without falling over. With one ear he heard Melyanna greeting Alphros, but the boys claimed almost the entirety of his attention. His baby brother Ecthelion, called Elion, and the twin princes had the propensity to do that. Or at least, if one’s focus wasn’t entirely on them, one often regretted it later!

“What happened?” asked Elion quietly, in between Elros’ and Kader’s more dramatic comments about the duel and how much trouble Elboron was likely in because of it.

Elboron bent his knees slightly so that he could look his baby brother in the eyes. Elion, like Elboron, had their mother’s cornflower blue eyes. Instead of Elboron’s short red-gold ponytail, Elion’s shoulder-length hair was a wavy golden-brown, like the hair of their uncle Eomer-King of Rohan.

“A friend in my unit needed my help.” Elboron explained. With a wince, he added, “I should perhaps have spent more time thinking of alternative ways to assist him.”

“You don’t say,” interjected Elboron’s grandfather wryly. Aragorn stood in the just-opened doorway of the guest suite’s office, his arms crossed and his head tilted in a way that Elboron knew betokened amusement as well as frustration.

“Ah . . . hello, Daerada,” Elboron managed.

“Hello, dearion-nin. You and I are due a talk,” said Aragorn, both fondness and exasperation plain in the tone of his voice, at least to the grandson who had grown up mostly in the same household as his regal grandfather.

“Yes, Sir,” replied Elboron, already resigned to that outcome.

Elion, on the other hand, clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and turned to face off against the King of Men.

“Elboron was just trying to help a friend!” Elboron’s unasked –for diminutive supporter said fiercely, “He shouldn’t get into trouble for helping a friend!”

All of the adults in the room, and Elros and Kader, stared at the nine year old Lord. Alphros started chuckling, but stopped abruptly. Elboron was fairly sure that Melyanna had elbowed him into silence.

“Shut it, Elion!” hissed seven year old Elros through clenched teeth.

“You don’t want Daerada to get mad at you, too!” Kader added.

Aragorn startled the twins and Elion by laughing.

“I’m not angered by Elboron’s support of his comrade, but rather by how he chose to go about doing so,” said Aragorn affectionately, “And I’m hardly going to punish Elion for standing up for his brother.” The King pulled his nine year old grandson into his arms and kissed Elion’s golden-brown curls.

“Now, why don’t you and the twins change out of your formal clothes so that you can go with Great Uncle Imrahil down to the beach to see the phosphorescent tide?”

Quick glances were exchanged between the three boys.

“But, I thought that Great-Uncle Imrahil said that he would only take us if we behaved well . . .”

“And Kader . . .”

“Or someone who might have been Kader but wasn’t necessarily Kader,” corrected Prince Elros, “put pepper in . . .”

“No, it was me,” Kader admitted shame-facedly, “I put pepper in Lady Eithril’s buttercream sauce.”

“But it was only because she called Melyanna a . . .”

“She said something mean about Melyanna,” Elion interrupted, sparing his listeners from hearing whatever unkind thing Lady Eithril had actually said about Melyanna.

“Oh, Kader,” Melyanna scolded sweetly, “Lady Eithril behaves so foolishly so much of the time. I don’t care what she says about me.”

“Yes, well, that aside,” Aragorn interrupted, now clearly amused, “your great Uncle Imrahil and I have recently been reminded that there are much worse mistakes than putting pepper in someone’s food . . .”

“Yes, like dueling,” quipped Kader with a cheeky grin.

“Don’t push your luck, Kader,” said Prince Imrahil, who had followed Aragorn out of the study along with his second oldest son Prince Erchirion, “You and your co-conspirators will be washing dishes tomorrow morning for an hour after breakfast, to help you learn not to take liberties with others’ food. You will also be apologizing to Lady Eithril. But because the three of you were otherwise well-behaved, I will still take you out to the beach tonight to see the glowing tide. That is, of course,” the veteran father and grandfather added thoughtfully, “if you still want to go?”

Three adamant affirmations followed that question. Melyanna charitably offered that she and Alphros would go with Imrahil and the boys. Her intent was probably to help Imrahil with the boys, although Melyanna was too tactful to say so. Alphros gamely agreed that they’d be happy to go along. Alphros almost always enjoyed spending time with the three high-spirited boys, he often said that they reminded him of himself, Eldarion, Veantur, and Theodwyn. That statement was slightly insulting to Elboron, since it left him out and he’d usually been there too when they were children, but he was sure that Alphros didn’t mean it that way.

"No, daerion-nin," Imrahil declined fondly, "You and Melyanna should run along to the dancing and enjoy yourselves. You'll both have less time soon enough, once your little one arrives." The affectionate expression on the Sea Prince's face betrayed his pleasure at that upcoming event. The Prince of Dol Amroth had nine grandchildren, but Melyanna and Alphros' baby would be his first great-grandchild. Aragorn already had two, courtesy of Theodwyn.

“Besides, Erchirion, Aerandir, Ynithe and Immeril have already agreed to accompany us,” explained Imrahil, “And Borlas has volunteered Alagon’s assistance as well.”

Elboron felt badly for his bodyguard. Keeping up with the royal twins and his little brother at the beach at night was no easy task. Still, if that was all that had happened to Alagon, he’d gotten off easily. Which was perhaps only fair, as the only reason Alagon was in trouble at all was because of Elboron’s decisions.

The decisions which Elboron was now obligated to explain to his grandfather. Although that might actually be preferable to the beach excursion, if his cousin-by-law Ynithe kept trying to throw her daughter Immeril at him!

Sure enough, Ynithe targeted Elboron with a particularly warm smile, "Perhaps you could join us in a little while, Elboron dear. Immeril would so love to hear more about your travels in Arnor, wouldn't you, darling?"

Elboron felt a pang of sympathy for the wincing Immeril. His second cousin, Erchirion and Ynithe's daughter, was just twenty years old, beautiful and sweet-tempered. In the unsolicited opinion of Ynithe and a number of the other lords and ladies of Gondor, she would make a near perfect wife for Elboron. The young royal lord himself felt nothing beyond cousinly fondness for the painfully embarrassed Immeril.

Fortunately, Daerada Aragorn saved them both further discomfort. "Some other time, perhaps, Ynithe," he said, laying a hand on Elboron's shoulder, not heavy enough to hurt, but with enough weight to be reassuring, "I am not sure how long I will require Elboron's company this evening."

"Yes, Aragorn." Ynithe agreed, but the match-making light in her eyes told Elboron that she would try again. He couldn't quite find it in himself to be grateful for the conversation he was about to have with his grandfather, but at least it would put off another encounter with the 'find-Elboron-a-wife-will-he-nill-he' brigade. With Eldarion married and a father, the next most eligible bachelor in all of the two realms was Elboron himself. Being posted in rural Arnor the past several years had been a welcome reprieve from such intense interest in his marital status, but now that he was back in Gondor, it had all begun again.

It's not that Elboron didn't want to get married some day! It was just that he wanted to fall in love first. And, being who he was, Elboron didn't just have to fall in love, he had to fall in love with a woman who could handle the thought of becoming the wife of the future Prince of Ithilien, and all of the duties and public attention that came along with such a position. So far, those two conditions had yet to coincide. The only woman Elboron had felt he might be able to fall in love with with hadn't been willing to leave her village in Arnor, let alone deal with everything that came along with marrying the son of the Prince of Ithilien and the grandson of Elessar Telcontar.

At least his father and grandfather were sympathetic to Elboron's point of view. In fact, his whole family was, even if they did keep encouraging him to go to balls, parties, picnics, and fairs. 'Thank the Valar that Alagon is single,' Elboron though to himself, 'not only is he good company, he's also charming enough to make most of the ladies forget about me!'

In the hub bub of getting most of the party equipped with water shoes, towels, and light cloaks to guard against the breeze, Elboron and his impending fate were largely forgotten. By everyone except for his brother Elion, who fixed his grandfather Aragorn with a warning look on his way out the door. It was an impressive glare for a nine year old! Elboron had to choke back a laugh, not just because of the inherent ridiculousness of the situation, but because he was fairly sure that it was a glare that Elion had learned from their grandfather Aragorn!

Chapter Text

The royal apartment was suddenly quiet in the wake of the boys’ departure with their many chaperones.

Aragorn had watched them go, the expression on his face warm yet bemused. When they were alone, he turned to Elboron and asked, “Am I really so frightening that Elion feels the need to protect me from you?”

Elboron surprised himself with a chuckle. “You’re not scary, Daerada. Elion is just protective, despite being the baby of the family.”

Aragorn gave him a mild look, “And why should being the baby of the family disqualify someone from being protective of their siblings?”

Thinking of his uncles Elrohir and Elladan, and how protective his grandfather Aragorn was of them, Elboron grinned and conceded, “No reason it should, I suppose. Although I think that spending time with Elros and Kader has honed Elion’s big-brotherly instincts.”

Aragorn smiled, “Next thing I know, I’ll have another Mithiriel on my hands. Did you know that she stopped talking to me for two weeks when she was eleven just because I decided that you and Eldarion had earned a second spanking for going to Osgiliath without permission?”

“As I recall, Daerada, you had to bribe her with chocolates, shopping trips, and taking all of us to Emyn Arnen in order to get her to forgive you?”

“Mmm. Yes,” said Aragorn, shaking his head in fond resignation, “Although she and Melyanna didn’t want me to buy them anything when I took them to the markets. They just wanted me to spend more time with them. Mithiriel claimed that I spent more time with you, Eldarion, and Theodwyn. At first I was horrified that she would even think such a thing. Then I was even more horrified, because I realized that she was right.”

Elboron smiled sadly. He knew how important equality was to Mithiriel, and she could be almost as perceptive as she was determined. Being around her when she was intent on a cause could be exhausting, but he missed her greatly nonetheless.

“I only wish,” Aragorn continued, giving Elboron another chiding look, “That Mithiriel had come to me to explain why she was upset with me BEFORE she decided that I wasn’t worth talking to,” his expression growing sterner, Elboron’s grandfather added, “Or, more recently, that you had come to talk to me – or Imrahil – or even Alphros, before deciding that getting involved in a duel was the best way to handle your sergeant’s difficulties!”

Elboron flushed, frantically running through what he might have done differently. “Daerada, I’m sorry,” he began, “but I had to stand up for Sergeant Lindir.”

Aragorn took a deep breath and pulled Elboron into his arms. He cupped the back of Elboron’s head with one broad calloused palm and held Elboron tightly against him with the other.

“I am so proud of the man you’ve grown into, grandson-mine, but I could have lost you tonight.” Aragorn loosened his hold, his hands moving to Elboron’s shoulders so that he could push him just far away to look him in the eye.

“I saw how close Sir Raevor’s blade came to slicing through your brachial artery on the cliff. Were you hurt?,” Aragorn asked, his gray eyes intent.

“No, Sir, I’m fine,” Elboron assured, hoping that his grandfather would never know how close Raevor's sword had actually gotten.

Aragorn’s keen eyes narrowed. “In our family, the adjective ‘fine’ has been used in respect of a multitude of conditions. Please trust me when I tell you that you would be in much more trouble for concealing an injury than you are now for volunteering to second in a duel. Now, Elboron, are you hurt?”

“No, Sir.” Elboron said. He hesitated, and then confessed, “He got close enough to cut my sleeve, but Alphros threw me in a fountain, so I’ve already changed.”

Aragorn’s gaze turned from intent to amused. “Well, that does explain why your hair is wet.” The King gently stroked an escaping red-gold tendril and smoothed it back into the neat black velvet ribbon securing Elboron's short pony tail at the nape of his neck.

Elboron held still for the ministration, pleased at the show of affection in this moment although normally he would have tolerated it with rolled eyes and a patient expression. Still . . . “Alphros is such a hypocrite,” Elboron couldn’t help but complain, “He’s been in seventeen duels. As a duelist! I serve as second in one duel because the bride-to-be of a friend was falsely accused, and . . .”

“Seventeen?” interrupted Aragorn with a frown, “I thought it was fifteen.”

“Ah . . .” paused Elboron, who hadn’t realized that he would be getting his cousin into trouble.

Aragorn rolled his eyes, “It seems that I also need to have a talk with my son-by-law in the near future.”

“Don’t tell him I told you?”

“I’ll do my best," Aragorn agreed with a wry smile, "but our Alphros is a sharp lad, he’ll likely figure it out from the timing. You can always tell him it was payback for him tossing you in the fountain, but the truth – that you didn’t know that I didn’t know - will probably be the better defense.”

Elboron sighed. Alphros had only recently started treating him as one of the adults, rather than a tagalong little kid to be shaken off if possible. To his surprise, as much of a pain as he’d often found Alphros, Elboron was reluctant to lose his new-found confidence.

“Don’t worry, Bron,” Aragorn said, laying a hand on his grandson’s shoulder to reassure him, “Alphros is much more mature than he was when you were all children, and it’s clear how much he respects you. He’s hardly going to hold something like this against you.”

There was a clear hint of ‘and Alphros shouldn’t have been trying to hide something like this from me, anyway,’ to Aragorn’s words, but Elboron ignored that for the time being. He promised himself that he’d give Alphros a warning if he had the chance.

“Now,” began Aragorn in a steely tone, gesturing towards the study, “Why don’t we have a seat, and you can explain why agreeing to be Sergeant Landir’s second instead of reporting the situation to your captain struck you as a good idea, my very intelligent grandson.”

Elboron took a seat. It didn’t seem like a good time to say that he’d rather stand. He knew what that tone of voice from his grandfather meant, even though he'd only heard it directed towards him but a handful of times in his entire life. Elboron resolved to keep his report to just to the facts, and to do his best not to disagree with his grandfather's points. It was a mistake he'd heard his cousin Alphros, his uncle Eldarion, and even his father Faramir make during similarly unpleasant interviews with Daerada Aragorn, and it was a mistake that Elboron meant to avoid if at all possible.

"Sir Raevor challenged Sergeant Landir to a duel, after alleging the most foul calumnies . . . "

"I heard what he alleged," Aragorn interrupted, his voice still hard although his eyes were softer, "Sir Raevor is the sort who gives knights a bad name. Move on to why you didn't just go to your Captain and have him rearrange Sergeant Landir's duty schedule until you had a chance to speak to someone else about having Raevor shipped out to some unpleasant post."

"Ah . . . I did think of that, of asking Captain Fangion for aid, but, he's well, somewhat traditional."

"Meaning?"

"I was concerned that he might have more sympathy for Raevor's position than for Landir's plight."

Aragorn stilled. "Really?"

"He's not a bad sort, but he's . . . well, I am worried that he would have advised Landir to let Tiril go, because she's above his station."

"Talk to him and find out what he would have said, had you asked for his aid," Aragorn commanded, "And if it's what you think, then I want you to ask General Galdoron to have a word with him."

"Me? But, I'm just a lieutenant!," Elboron objected.

"No, you're not." Aragorn leaned back in his chair, his gray-eyed gaze steady on Elboron, as if waiting for his grandson to figure this out on his own.

Abruptly Elboron remembered the course of his last similar discussion with Aragorn, over a year ago in Annuminas. The catalyst for that discussion had been Elboron's prophetic dream of his sister Mithiriel in trouble, which Elboron's then-captain had been unwilling to credit. Instead of commanding that poor soul to do his bidding and commandeering his squad, Elboron had gone absent without leave on his own to rescue Mithiriel with just his bodyguard Borlas for company. Elboron winced as he realized the parallel between that situation and this, for he knew how very much his grandfather hated repeating himself.

"No, I'm not." Elboron agreed unhappily, "I'm also the heir to Ithilien, and your grandson. I have a responsibility to act as a high-ranking leader of the Two Kingdoms, even when I am only a lieutenant, if I judge that the circumstances require it."

"Which means . . ." Aragorn drawled helpfully, still stern but clearly at least a little relieved that Elboron had caught the gist of his lecture without Aragorn having to spell everything out.

"Sometimes I have to go over my captain's head and act the Prince."

"Which would have meant in this instance . . ."

"I should have asked Alphros for help."

"Or a more senior Captain, but yes, Alphros would probably have been fine," Aragorn agreed, "Although Elphir, or Imrahil, or Erchirion, or anyone with sufficient authority to get Raevor immediately reassigned would have been acceptable."

"And now I have to find out whether Captain Fangion really would have made a bad call, had I asked for his aid. And if he would have, then I need to find someone with sufficient rank to explain to him that the Two Kingdoms no longer work that way," Elboron paused, "But wouldn't the ranking senior captain in Dol Amroth be sufficient? Would I really need to go to all the way up to General Galdoron?"

Aragorn favored him with a wry smile. "At least now you're thinking along the right lines. A pity it took you almost getting skewered on a prejudiced idiot's blade to get us here."

"Sorry, Sir," Elboron offered, shame-faced.

"Next time, just ask for the appropriate help, Elboron, even if you must pull rank as your father's son and my grandson." Aragorn ordered kindly. "I don't want to have to have this conversation a third time. Particularly not when your lack of judgement and unwillingness to ask for favors puts your life at risk."

"Yes, sir," Elboron agreed.

His grandfather offered Elboron another wry smile, only this time his eyes danced with sympathy and a touch of ruefulness. "Very well, young man. In addition to talking to Captain Fangion and making the appropriate arrangements if you haven't misjudged the man, you will be spending your free mornings sparring with myself and Alphros. You will also be volunteering at the House of Healing during half of your next three off-days. Perhaps stitching up wounds and making poultices will help you to remember the consequences of your actions."

"Yes, sir." Elboron paused as he reflected on what had actually been said, "Wait, did you say half?"

"Just half." Aragorn favored him with a fond, exasperated expression, one that Elboron had often seen aimed at his father Faramir. "Left to your own devices you work entirely too hard, Bron-nin. And mind that I only want you working on your off days, and not on your free seventh days."

"Yes, sir," Elboron agreed, with a grateful smile, feeling that he'd gotten off rather lightly, all things considered.

"Don't worry me like that again, Elboron."

"I won't, sir."

Aragorn sighed in resignation, "You probably will. And even if you don't, I'll still worry. You won't understand until you're a parent," Aragorn told him, inviting Elboron to take a seat opposite him, by the large open windows facing the sea.

"And that won't be anytime soon, despite cousin Ynithe's machinations," said Elboron firmly.

Aragorn chuckled. "Oh yes, and those of the other council matrons. My poor grandson, it's no wonder that you've taken to hiding behind Melyanna's skirts."

"I'm not hiding, exactly." Elboron extemporized, "I've just missed her." And he'd be grateful when Mithiriel and Theli arrived before Melyanna gave birth, in part because hiding behind Mithiriel's skirts was even more effective than hiding behind Melyanna's! Ynithe was occasionally even afraid of Mithiriel.

"Hmm, yes," Aragorn commented, amused by the antics of his offspring, "And your next youngest sister has not been shy about telling me that she, too, is far from having children, although she also has not been shy about telling your Uncle Imrahil that it is none of his business whether she does or doesn't."

Elboron looked up at that, and saw a shadow of worry pass over his grandfather's face, a shadow which he suspected was echoed on his own. More than just prophecy and magic ran in the Dol Amroth line. There was a fragility as well, and Mithiriel's premature birth after their heavily pregnant mother had been poisoned by a Southron spy had left Elboron's next-in-age sister physically frail from birth. Elboron knew that Aragorn and his elven uncles Elladan and Elrohir were all glad that Mithiriel had married a healer of Theli's caliber, and some of why that was. But Imrahil's worries, that the physical strain of pregnancy would make Mithiriel's sometimes mercurial moods and physical health so much worse . . . that Elboron did not understand.

"Daerada?" He asked softly, "Would you mind if instead of the House of Healing, I volunteered with the mind healers?" It had been the mind healers that Great-Uncle Imrahil had asked Mithiriel to speak to, when she told him that she and Theli would have children if they wished, no matter what he was afraid of, or what had happened to her grandmother Finduilas, whom Mithiriel so resembled.

"I think that is a rather good idea, Elboron. I have no objection," Aragorn answered thoughtfully, "I do have a request. Share with me what you learn, would you?"

"I will," Elboron promised.

"Good lad," Aragorn praised. Patting Elboron's shoulder and nudging him up, the King of Men went to his desk and retrieved an untidy file from one of the a larger drawers. Aragorn paged through it quickly, then handed it to Elboron, retaking his seat beside his grandson.

Elladan only had to look at the slanted, messy handwriting to make a guess at who had compiled this particular file.

"Uncle Elladan's research?"

"Hmm, yes. His and several others'. On mind diseases. Review it, if you have time, and use it to inform your time with the mind healers."

"I will," Elboron promised again, placing the file on a nearby table to take with him when he left.

For a time the two sat in companionable silence, listening to the crashing of the waves, the rush of the wind, and the very distant sound of music from the revels on the other side of the old sandstone castle. Elboron signed, stretching out his long legs and lifted his stocking-clad feet up to rest on the edge of the low window sill and wriggling his toes.

"New boots?" Aragorn asked, amused.

"New boots." Elboron confirmed. "They're harder to find away from the large cities, and the cobblers here in Dol Amroth are good. Plus, it's nice to have my own salary to buy things with. Not that Ada and Nana have ever begrudged me anything useful like boots." Eowyn had raised the occasional objection to the amount of money Elboron and Mithiriel spent on books and scrolls, which the more scholarly siblings felt was unfair, since she'd never objected to Theodwyn's and Haleth's weapons. Elboron had recently observed that Eowyn seemed more than happy to buy Elion any healing scroll or tome that took his fancy, but he had declined to make an issue of it.

"Mmm. Your father's money management skills have improved over the years, at least," Aragorn commented, a hint of laughter in his voice. It was a family joke that Faramir could manage to juggle the finances of all of Gondor, but was hopeless at keeping track of his own personal accounts.

"I think he mostly lets Naneth deal with their household finances." Elboron said tactfully.

Aragorn laughed aloud at that. "He's a wise man, your father. He managed to marry someone who is strong where he is weak."

Elboorn wondered for a moment if that was a subtle dig at Elboron's own current lack of marriage prospects, but decided it was subtle enough to politely ignore, even if it was. Despite the scolding, he was in a charitable mood. So much so that he actually wanted to join his aunt and his cousins and friends at the ball. His grandfather had said nothing of Elboron being barred from the festivities, and Elboron did love to dance. But it was nice to have the entirety of his grandfather's attention for a little while, now that the paddling itself was over. Aragorn had always done his best to make time for his children and grandchildren, but, well, he was a busy man.

Hopefully too busy to catch up with Alphros over those two duels he apparently hadn't known anything about, at least any time soon. Aragorn loved Alphros dearly, but Alphros out of all of Elboron's generation drove Aragorn to distraction. Elboron had overheard Aragorn complain to Faramir and Imrahil that they relaxed their standards for proper behavior for Alphros, because he reminded them so much of Boromir. To the child Elboron, his half-uncle Boromir had been almost a real person, someone he'd only heard about, but whom he'd heard so much about that he expected him to come wandering in the door someday, great and golden, loud and cheerful and boisterous and wind-blown. Of course, that had never happened, but for being a dead man, Boromir's shadow loomed large over Elboron's generation. Elboron believed that Alphros being like Boromir still brought a fond gleam to many eyes.

However, given how much trouble Alphros had gotten in over the years with every elder of Elboron's acquaintance, Elboron didn't think that reminding them of Boromir had made them go any easier on him. But then Eldarion thought that Aragorn went easier on Elboron because Elboron reminded Aragorn of Faramir, and Elboron had never noticed that, either. But in truth, Elboron had gotten off relatively easily compared to his cousin, after Amrothos' tenth duel. Of course, it had been the tenth! But Elboron had also gotten off fairly lightly compared to what he'd heard had happened to his father, after what had been Faramir's first and only duel that Aragorn knew about. Elboron winced on his father's behalf at the very thought.

"Whatever is wrong, daerion-nin?" His grandfather's worried voice queried, a deep reassuring bass rumble through the chest Elboron was leaned up against. It was a sound and a vibration which meant safety in every way.

"Nothing, Daerada." Elboron hastened to reassure him, "It is just that . . . I had expected you to be angrier. About the duel itself, I mean. I know that you had forbidden any of us to get involved in one, and . . . I had just expected you to be more upset, I suppose."

"A duel is a stupid way to die," Aragorn said sternly, "And it certainly is not something I want for any of you. But why do you say that?"

"Well, everyone says that you were so angry with Ada when he participated in that duel on the way home from Theoden-King's funeral just after the end of the Ring War, and . . . "

"Who is this everyone?" Aragorn interrupted, mildly amused.

"Ah," Elboron paused uncomfortably, remembering that Daerada did not particularly like it when one told tales out of school.

"Go ahead," Aragorn said, "I promise that I won't go looking anyone up for a lack of discretion. This time."

Elboron gave him a relieved smile, then answered, "Ada told me about it, once. Not about how upset you were, but just that it had happened. Dervorin and Legolas and cousin Amrothos have all said that you were truly angry with Ada that day."

Aragorn snorted, "Oh, Amrothos wasn't even there. But 'truly angry' is fair enough. You are old enough to know that story, and I know that your father would tell you his side of it were you to ask him. So I will tell you my side, and why I was so truly angry with him for dueling."

As he spoke, Aragorn sat up, keeping Elboron in the circle of his left arm but rearranging their positions enough so that he could look his grandson in the eyes.

"Faramir fighting in that duel was the first time I felt truly scared after the end of the Ring War," Aragorn explained quietly, "it was the first time I realized that I could be so frightened with Sauron gone. Faramir had disappeared during one of our frequent stops on the ride back to Minas Tirith. That in and of itself was not unusual. All of us had many demands on our time. What was unusual is that he returned with a furious Legolas in tow. And thank the Valar that Eowyn convinced him to take Legolas with him, for if it had not been for Legolas reporting what had happened, none of us might have ever known that the duel was even to take place until after it was over."

His grandfather paused, his attention fixed somewhere in the long-ago past.

"Ada said that a mind-sick soldier had challenged him to the duel?," Elboron prompted, remembering that much from when his father had told him about the duel as a teenager.

"Yes," Aragorn confirmed, "Faramir was challenged to a duel to the death by an army veteran. The man's spirit had been broken by the war, and then all three of his brothers died on the Pelennor during the Ithilien Rangers' last great sally-forth."

"The one that Lord Steward Denethor had ordered, that Ada disagreed with but led anyway when the old Lord Steward insisted?" Elboron asked.

"Yes, that one." Aragorn paused again, but something told Elboron that he was more likely to keep going if he wasn't interrupted.

At length, Aragorn continued, "You must understand, Elboron. Something in your father broke that day, when his rangers died almost to a man on that field. Despite all I've done and everything that your mother and our family have done to heal that wound to his spirit, it is still one of the deepest scars he carries, and it is one that will likely never mend. And that so after decades . . . at the time of that duel, the wound was still very fresh indeed. And he was different then, less careful but also less confident. Given his guilt and how much he thought he owed the mind-sick man who had challenged him, I didn't know which Faramir was going to show up to the duel at dawn that morning. Would it be the competent warrior and canny survivor, or the fumbling swordsman I saw from time to time on the practice courts on his off days? I was afraid that I was going to have to watch your father die in front of me."

"But you didn't," Elboron reminded his grandfather, "Ada came out of that duel without even a scratch."

Aragorn glowered, "Aye, he did. After blatantly ignoring two openings that would have ended the duel but likely wounded the idiot to death, in order to try a much chancier disarm that could have seen him dead if he'd mistimed it by an instant!"

"But he didn't," Elboron reassured, "He got it exactly right."

"Yes, and I was proud of him," said Aragorn, exasperated even though it had been over thirty years, "but I still wanted to wring his neck. On a good day, yes, Faramir was a better swordsman than that mind-sick, bitter fool, and he was improving all the time. But on one of your father's bad days, well, let us just say that one of my first priorities after I got to know him better was making him spend time with the best swordsmen I knew."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, still lost in the past. "And your father was utterly unapologetic about the whole affair. In fact, he told me that because it was legal and his own personal matter as the former captain of that idiot's brothers, it was none of my affair!"

"That was very . . . " Elboron hesitated at calling his father foolish, "ah, very short-sighted of him."

"Mmm," Aragorn agreed, "One might even call it foolish, or petulant. At the time I just reminded him that he had already learned several times over that his personal safety was very much my affair, and that he should have planned accordingly if he did not care for the consequences."

"That seems fair." Elboron agreed cautiously, not wanting to take his father's part, even if he did have a great deal of sympathy for that younger Faramir.

"I thought so too, but Faramir was of another mind at first. When he finally figured out that I had been worried about him, he changed his tune, although that was more Arwen's doing than mine. At the time," Aragorn confessed wryly, "He told me that I was his King and his friend, but not his father. We had to go the round-about of my being his friend, his commanding officer, and his heart-brother before he'd even consent that he'd even earned a lecture from me, and that was before he knew about everything else I expected him to do to make it up to me!"

Elboron mentally goggled at the audacity of his father when Faramir had been about his age. That, and, "He actually told you that you were not his father?"

Aragorn arched an eyebrow than laughed ruefully. "He told me that on a number of occasions, during our first year together."

"But he didn't know either, did he? Not then?"

"Fortunately for him, he did not know at the time of that duel." Aragorn's expression darkened, "As you may not know, Gondor's laws regarding duels at that time permitted a senior male family member to take the place of the challenged, or the challenger."

"You would have taken Ada's place in the duel with the mind-sick soldier? But you were - and are - the King!"

"I would have insisted that Faramir let me take his place." Aragorn said firmly, "And I would have had Ethiron and Elrohir keep a hold on him during the duel to make sure he didn't try anything." Wistfully, Aragorn added, "And had Boromir still lived, the whole mess would probably have been stopped before it got even half started. Boromir might have been able to actually talk some sense into your father over the whole affair."

Elboron couldn't argue with that. Alphros, who reminded everyone who had known Boromir so much of that lost hero, certainly had a way for talking Eldarion, Theodwyn, and even Elboron into doing things they otherwise never would have thought of.

Thinking of that made Elboron remember the promise he'd made to Alphros earlier this evening, to tell his grandfather that he felt he was ready for a promotion to captain. And Aragorn did seem to be in a listening mood, and not that angry with Elboron about the duel.

"Daerada," Elboron began, "Did you know that I'm up for promotion to captain?"

Chapter Text

Aragorn grinned, and straightened up in his seat with pride. "I did. And that you're the youngest lieutenant since the war ended to even be nominated. You should be proud, Bron. Your father and I are very proud of you, and so is Eldarion."

"Thank you," Elboron accepted, unable to hide a blush. The pride of two such great heroes as his grandfather and his father meant the world to him, and it warmed his heart to know that his half-uncle Eldarion, who was like an elder brother to him, was proud as well. He often felt overshadowed in his family. His whole generation struggled with that to some extent, being the children and grandchildren of the Ring War heroes. But Elboron didn't have Eldarion's boldness, Alphros' panache, Theodwyn's orcs-may-care courage, Mithiriel's quickness, Melyanna's golden sweetness, Haleth's cleverness, or Gilwen's fire. At times he felt himself the quietest, least remarkable of member of his family. To be recognized for achieving something on his own, for doing it better than anyone else had in decades, well . . . that was quite something. Elboron was tempted to leave it at that. But he'd made a promise, and he'd see it through.

"Daerada, I want you to know, that I want the promotion. That I think I'm ready.," Eldarion ventured, explaining further, "I already do half of the shift assignments for Captain Fangion, and I prepared most of the patrol routes for my last captain. They've asked my opinion about not just those matters but also promotions, rationing, supply, discipline, and education. And I have so many ideas!"

"You really are your father's son," Aragorn marveled with a father's proud gaze, "All quiet fire and innovation. You remind me so much of our Faramir, but writ whole."

Elboron blushed again, honored beyond words. Aragorn chuckled and patted his cheek.

"And like Faramir again," he chided, " part of what you want is not to have to obey orders when you think you know better than your superiors how things should be done."

"That's not it!" Elboron quickly denied. At his grandfather's skeptical eyebrow, he amended, "Well, that's only PART of it."

Aragorn smiled indulgently, only a little smug at having been correct. "I know, daerion-nin. And I want to hear your ideas, whether you are promoted on this go-round or not. But I'm not going to step into the promotions board's affairs, and I know that you wouldn't want me to." Aragorn frowned, "Actually, that's part of your reoccurring trouble that got you into bother again tonight. You're too unwilling to use your influence." With a crooked grin, Aragorn theorized, "Perhaps giving you a promotion would at least give you fewer heads to pull rank on."

Elboron choked on a laugh that he turned into a cough. "That's not a good reason to promote me."

"No, and you really aren't ready. Don't be hurt or offended, daerion-nin," Aragorn quickly added, "No one ever is. And don't think badly of yourself if you aren't promoted this year. You really are very young for it, and . . ." Aragorn paused, and then went to shut the windows.

Elboron stared, and then sat straight up to attention. The windows in the Dol Amroth castle were almost never closed. That Aragorn was closing them now meant that he wanted to discuss sensitive official secrets with Elboron. Which did happen, from time to time, but hardly ever with Elboron on his own. It had happened sometimes between Aragorn, Eldarion, Faramir, and Elboron, or between just Faramir and Elboron, but never before between just Aragorn and Elboron.

Aragorn retook his seat, and with a serious expression began, "In the next year, your father and I, and the Captains-General of Gondor and Arnor, are planning a ten percent recruitment increase across the board - army, navy and silent service. As you can imagine, we'll need more than a few extra captains to accommodate that. If you're on the short list now, and you don't make it, well then, next year will almost certainly be your year. Provided, of course," Aragorn said in his wry, fond way, "that you keep your nose clean between now and then."

"But . . . that will be astronomically expensive," Elboron murmured, his mind working over that shocking new intelligence, "and the logistical and political implications are . . ."

Aragorn sat back and smiled, proud and fond.

Suddenly worried, Elboron had to ask, "What will the Rhunnim and the Haradrim think? The peace has held since the last war in Harad and since Theodwyn's marriage to Tarkhan, but if we start building our army up, what will they think?"

"Smart lad," Aragorn praised, "I'm sending your father on a diplomatic tour this coming spring. First to Taduin to speak to Amrothos, and then to the capitals of Near and Far Harad. He is going to urge Taduin and both Kingdoms of Harad to increase their military expenditures to the same extent."

"And who are you sending to Rhun?," Elboron asked.

"You tell me, clever boots."

Elboron considered it for a moment, then decided, "Naneth. You're sending my mother, because she can make an unofficial but official visit as the grandmother of their future Chieftain-of-Chieftains."

"That," Aragorn said, with an approving nod, "and also because the Rhunnim have nearly as much respect for Eowyn as they do for our Theodwyn. One of the primary deities the Rhunnim worship is a horse goddess, and your mother and sister are esteemed as highly there as we esteem high priestesses of Yavanna here."

"That's well enough for Rhun. They always have surplus riders interested in joining their army," Eldarion murmured contemplatively, "But Harad . . . they lost too many soldiers in the wars. They'll have to conscript, and that means slaves getting dragged into the army in their masters' places."

"Your father is going to offer on behalf of Gondor to pay one sixth-value for every slave conscripted, if the Emirs and the Beys of Harad agree to free them after their twenty year conscription is over, or when the army no longer requires their services."

"How are we going to pay for that . . . Wait, Uncle Elladan?"

"Yes. He's willing to sell five breweries, a gold mine, three rather prosperous quarries, and a number of smaller interests. And the Haradrim may well be willing to accept that deal. Emir Kader and Jalila's brother both find slavery personally abhorrent, and have imposed laws preventing the enslavement of captives and outlawing piracy. And yet the number of slaves available on the markets in Harad and Khand has increased during the same time period, as have reports of piracy. Why do you think that is?"

"If it's not Harad, or at least the Emirs don't know about it . . ." Elboron thought about it, "then it's either Khand, or renegade elements within one of the those two kingdoms." With a wince at being disloyal to his beloved elder sister, Elboron added, "Or renegade elements within Rhun. Rhun is huge. It's impossible to keep track of it all."

Aragorn gave him another approving nod. "So is Khand. But our sources there report that their Emperor is telling us the truth. He hasn't been sending out more ships to hunt for slaves, or imposing new taxes to drive their poor into slavery."

"It's everyone and no one all at once . . . " Elboron murmured, his mind moving very quickly, "And you and Ada never did think you found all of Oligarch Efisio's contacts, the ones who manipulated Harad into declaring war with us when I was a child."

"Yes." Aragorn said simply, and then waited.

Elboron blinked in surprise as he realized that his grandfather, the King of Men, was asking for his opinion. "Ah . . . I think it is a good idea, the military build-up. To be prepared, I mean. Given the reports, and well . . ." Elboron struggled for a way to put his gut instinct into words that wouldn't sound ridiculous, and then just decided not to bother, "well, it just FEELS like a good idea to me."

Aragorn groaned and got up to fill his pipe. "And here I was, really hoping that you wouldn't say that," he mourned.

"Sorry," said Elboron, even though he really wasn't. He knew it wasn't his fault that he had inherited his father's occasional hints of premonition, and he knew that Aragorn wasn't really upset with him.

As expected, Aragorn waved off the apology. Then he asked, half in jest, "Any more thoughts from you on the matter, clever boots?"

Elboron gave the matter some serious consideration. "We should ask Mithiriel and Theli what they've seen, on their travels."

"Not a bad thought," Aragorn conceded, offering a pipe to Elboron, "Although I'm not sure if they would have noticed anything. Neither of them has quite your or Faramir's level of sensitivity to possible futures - or Haleth's or Amrothos' skills of observation."

Elboron lifted a hand to decline the offer of a pipe of his own. Like his father, he liked the smell of pipeweed well enough but did not particularly care for the taste. "What about Haleth?" he asked his grandfather, "She's usually the first to notice anything out of order. Is she involved with your reports from Harad?"

That caused Aragorn to choke on the pipeweed he had just inhaled. Elboron got up to helpfully pound him on the back.

"Now, that," Aragorn said fiercely, once he'd caught his breath, "With that, you do have to tell me who has been telling tales out of school. No one is supposed to know about silent service postings. Not even brothers. Not even Kings."

"Eldarion," Elboron gave up without hesitation, because he knew that Eldarion would understand, "But only because I guessed who 'our man in Umbar' must be, when Eldarion made that face he always makes whenever Haleth's occupation as a spy comes up. Yes, that face," Elboron supplied helpfully, "the one you're making right now, Daerada."

"Bah," said Aragorn, glowering, before he gave in and admitted, "Yes, Haley's observations are amongst those we considered, in determining that it might be time to increase the number of men we could have moving on a moment's notice." Aragorn smoked his pipe quietly for a few minutes, but made no move to open the windows. Elboron took a seat opposite his grandfather, and waited to see if Daerada had anything further he wanted to impart.

At length, Aragorn did speak again, "Faramir also thinks that it is time to bring you, Eldarion, Alphros, Melyanna, and Mithiriel into these deliberations. On the highest level."

"That . . . feels like a good idea, too, Daerada," Elboron confessed, before asking, "But not Theodwyn, or Gilwen?"

Aragorn exhaled again, then explained, "Eowyn will speak to Theodwyn when she goes to Rhun. It's not fair to Theodwyn to ask her to choose her country of birth over her her husband's people, and we'd have to if we tried to discuss it with her any sooner. The same argument could in theory be applied to Mithiriel, who also married outside Gondor. But Greenwood is a long-standing ally, and Theli is a lord with no demense or interests of his own to protect, dynastic or otherwise."

"And he might not even notice that Mithiriel is hiding anything from him, not if it doesn't have to do with healing." Elboron added. His elven brother-by-law could be absent-minded like that.

"That, and Mithiriel has been one of your father's secretaries on and off since she was a teenager. Theli has thoroughly demonstrated his willingness to let his wife have her own secrets if she likes. And Greenwood, North and South, as well as the dwarven kingdoms, will all have to be advised if we determine to go ahead with the recruitment drive, in any case."

"But why not Gilwen?" Elboron asked, feeling that he must stick up for his fiery younger aunt.

"Gilly is still very young," Aragorn said affectionately of his youngest child, and then with some resignation he expanded, "And she is at risk where she is, sailing with the anti-piracy patrols. I don't want her to have to have secrets to keep should she be captured, at least not any more than she naturally has just from being who she is."

That made sense. It didn't stop Elboron from feeling slightly guilty at the thought of leaving Gilwen - and Theodwyn - out of the loop. But he did understand. Before he could say so, his stomach rumbled. It was a very loud sound in the quiet room.

Aragorn shook his head tolerantly, "You missed dinner for your foolish duel, didn't you?"

That wasn't technically correct. Elboron had missed dinner for LANDIR'S foolish duel. But it didn't seem worth correcting his grandfather over. Elboron nodded sheepishly.

"Well, we can't have that," Aragorn teased, "I need to be sure that you are fed, otherwise your grandmother will be displeased with me. We should detour to the kitchens before the dancing."

Elboron perked up, "Do you suppose that they still have cinnamon cake?"

"Maybe," Aragorn answered absently, "But there's never enough cream sauce for it, even when it's served at table."

Elboron paused to ponder the oddity of his grandfather also never getting enough cream sauce. With Alphros, it hadn't been that surprising. But the kitchen staff in Dol Amroth doted upon Aragorn nearly as much as the kitchen staff in Minas Tirith did. If Aragorn hadn't been getting enough butter-cream sauce, and it had only been Elboron who got a double share . . . what did that mean?

Aragorn, who was not privy to Elboron's bewilderment, said, "Or perhaps we can arrange for something to be sent up, so that you can help me with these blasted scrolls," Aragorn frowned in the direction of his desk, then muttered darkly,"I swear that they're multiplying when I'm not looking."

"Mmm," Elboron commented neutrally. Taking a closer look at his grandfather's large desk and the baskets beside it, he hazarded a tease, "Well, it certainly looks like the scrolls in the basket marked for Ada's attention are multiplying."

Aragorn had the grace to look slightly abashed at that. "Faramir will have Mithiriel to help him. They're like lightening once they get started."

"They are fast," Elboron agreed. He felt somewhat sorry for his father. But he was confident that if it really were so much work as to weigh upon Faramir's spirit, Arwen or Eowyn would put a stop to it.

"Come, get your boots back on," Aragorn directed, "Then we'll head down to the kitchens. No use making them traipse all the way up here with laden trays when we're not staying long before going to the party."

Elboron obeyed, hiding a slight smile at how eager his grandfather was to avoid dealing with what Aragorn referred to scathingly as "the eternal parchment yoke of Kingship."

After Elboron had repaired his appearance but before they were entirely ready to leave, a knock sounded at the door. Aragorn nodded to Elboron to answer it as the King searched for his own boots.

With a cheerful smile, Elboron opened the door to find Cellaras holding a large tray containing a fair selection of his favorite foods, including cinnamon cakes and buttercream sauce at what looked like just the right temperature.

"Cella!" Elboron greeted, pleased to a surprising degree to see her, even his gratitude for the dinner aside. All of his favorite foods were assembled on her one tray, without him having to ask for them. They had been carefully prepared by his little sister Haleth's and little Aunt Gilwen's childhood companion, now an assistant cook in the Dol Amroth kitchens. He'd always liked Cellaras, in the vaguely affectionate way that he'd been fond of most of his little sister's friends. But suddenly . . . a number of small things suddenly became clear to Elboron. It was as if his whole world had come apart and then been put back together in such a way that it would never look the same again.

Cellaras knew his favorite foods, and prepared them just for him. He always had enough butter-cream sauce and cinnamon cake at just the right temperature because she made sure of it. It had been Cellaras who first gave Elboron the nickname "Bron." Before that he'd always been El or El-nin or Tithen-El, but Cellaras had given him a name that was his own, that sounded tough, and that recalled the famous Boromir's nickname of "Brom." And then when Elboron's little brother Elion was born and Elion became "Eli-nin" and "Tithen Eli," everyone had switched to using "Bron." Cellaras was a quiet girl, but come to think of it, she was only shy around Elboron. And then once she got past the shy, she was brave enough to ask him insightful questions, to draw out more of his experiences than almost anyone else. And she was almost always sensitive enough to change the subject when he was uncomfortable.

"Bron," she replied, with a shy, friendly smile, "I know that you missed dinner. Melyanna wants me to come to the party now that my shift is over, but I thought I'd drop off a little something for you first."

"If this is your idea of 'a little something,'" Elboron teased, his mind and mouth automatically putting forth pleasantries even as he was reeling from the typhoon in his heart, "then it is no wonder that you are in great-uncle Imrahil's good-books for keeping Melyanna and her future baby well-fed!"

Cellaras' smile faltered for a moment. "I try," she said modestly, after a pause.

Still reeling in emotional shock, Elboron automatically took the heavy tray from Cellaras.

"Please, join us," Elboron invited, "I hate eating alone. And if I recall, you often become too busy cooking to eat yourself."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly impose, Bron," Cellaras refused wistfully.

Elboron searched for some excuse to convince her to stay. She looked lovely. She had the classic Numenorean-in-exile coloring, blue-gray eyes and glossy black hair. Elboron knew that her mother Ulaerien, who had once been a friend to a young Faramir when Elboron's father had desperately needed his friends, had been half-Numenorean on her mother Mairenwen's side. Cellaras' father had been a Dol Amroth sailor. Elboron knew next to nothing about him.

Tonight Cellaras wore a dark gray apron embroidered with blue morning glories over her gown. Her shift was a soft, pale shade of daisy yellow, over which she wore a short-sleeved over-skirt of blue-violet. Elboron recognized it as once having been Theodwyn's, although the sweet yellow and white flowers embroidered on the bodice and hem now made it seem less royal than when it had belonged to the King's granddaughter. Cellaras' ears were adorned with pearl earrings, from each of which dropped a single small sparking citrine.

"Please stay," Elboron said at last, imbuing his entreaty with his fervent desire for her company. "And then come to the dance with me."

Cellaras gasped slightly, and then bestowed upon Elboron the most soul-searching gaze he had ever been subject to. And that was saying quite a lot, for he was his father's son and Aragorn's grand-son!

"If you like," Cellaras answered with a shy, serious smile.

"It would make me very happy," Elboron affirmed, feeling himself begin to grin.

"On that note," Aragorn interrupted, "I think that I'm surplus to requirements. You two have a nice dinner, and then run along to the dancing. But do leave the door open while you eat. It wouldn't do to invite unnecessary gossip."

Elboron frowned at his grandfather as the King of Men added under his breath on his way out the door, "At least not yet!"

Cellaras looked after the King, bemused. "Well, if his Grace commands, and my Lord wishes . . . "

"Don't worry about him," Elboron said with a fond, dismissive wave in his impish grandfather's direction, "I want you to do as you will for your own pleasure, Cellaras. Whether it is dancing with me, or not."

"It is," she said, shy but sure.

"Well, then," Elboron answered, and then embarked on one of the greatest adventures of his life. Far more important, in the long run, then whether or not he made Captain that year.