Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 33 - Hearts and Crowns

Elfwine was to be crowned the nineteenth King of Rohan on the 1st of June, as the first foals of the year were just beginning to test their legs and run in earnest across the rolling hills of the Riddermark. The folk of Edoras gathered together in the Golden Hall of Meduseld to witness the coronation, their dark mourning garb officially relinquished to mark the beginning of their new king's reign. The Golden Hall's colorful banners were likewise restored to their rightful places for the first time since Éomer's death, filling Meduseld with the gleam of gold thread on fields of red, green, blue, and white. The shutters covering the skylight over the throne were drawn back, casting a beam of warm sunlight across the dias. There, surrounded by tiny motes floating upward in the light, sat the throne of the king. Empty it was, for now, but soon a new liege would take up the horse lords' ancestral seat.

Eldarion sat in a place of honour upon the first row of benches which filled the hall. To his right and closest to the isle, Éowyn sat straight and fair in a gown of deepest blue. She like Lothíriel wore a black net woven with gems to cover the back of her coifed hair. Across the isle from Éowyn was Gimli, who had also brought a handful of his kinsfolk with him from the Glittering Caves. Lothíriel stood rather than sat upon the dias, and with her were the Second and Third Marshals of the Mark, Ulfred and Haleth. Haleth's sun-weathered face was taut with silent pride; his position as Third Marshal was only just newly granted. The title of First Marshal would be hereafter held by Elfwine now, until the day when it should pass to his own heir. 

When a young woman whom he did not recognize claimed the place to his left, Eldarion was curious. She was a pretty maid, with a pert nose and thick halo of reddish-gold curls barely restrained by a circlet of woven bronze. Her placement next to Eldarion made him wonder if this was perhaps Elfwine's current lady. The rich velvet of her gown and polished shine of the rings on her unblemished hands implied significant wealth and status at the very least. The lady noticed Eldarion looking and flashed him a quick, broad-toothed smile.

Any further curiosities were set aside when the heralds took up the places on either side of the Golden Hall's door and dias. Raising silver trumpets to their lips, they put forth three clear, bright notes that rang throughout the room and echoed before fading. All rose, and turning watched as Meduseld's doors fell back to reveal Rohan's next king. 

Elfwine was magnificent. His hair - brushed until it shone like oiled bronze - splayed across his broad shoulders and the fur mantle that he wore. Gold embroidery shone at his throat, his wrists, and down the entire front of his doublet of emerald velvet. The lining of his cloak was white, and as Elfwine approached the front of the hall Eldarion came to realize that the garment was in fact lined with the feathers of swans. Elfwine walked tall on his journey to the dias, his shoulders thrown back and jaw firm. His eyes fell on Eldarion briefly, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward before turning his attention back to the empty throne. 

Someday this will be you, Elfwine's almost-smile had seemed to say. Eldarion suppressed a sudden shiver, even though the Golden Hall was warm in the waxing days of summer. He found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the crown of Rohan which Lothíriel held in her hands. Behind her, the two Marshals held Elfwine's axe and the Spurs of Helm Hammerhand. These they would bestow upon Elfwine, one by one, until he sat upon the throne of Rohan covered in the heirlooms of the House of Eorl and its kingship. 

Someday this will be you.

A sudden vision passed before Eldarion's eyes, and it seemed to him that he stood then in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. Before him, the black throne of the Steward sat empty upon the dias, and behind it towered the white throne of Gondor. A tall, noble figure sat there in state, and at first Eldarion thought it was his father. Then he realized that no, it was not his father upon the throne, but Eldarion himself. The winged crown of the Reunited Kingdoms rested lightly upon his brow, the Ring of Barahir upon his hand, but when Eldarion gazed up into his own face, he saw a faint longing and sadness hidden there.