By his sixteenth summer, Edwen was no longer only the princess's troublesome boy. He had grown taller, his face sharpening into Elven grace, though his amber eyes still gleamed with mischief. The Riders of Rohan whispered that he was touched by the Valar, for his mind worked in ways none could explain, and his hands shaped wonders that lifted the kingdom higher than before.
The Princess, proud and weary in equal measure, had granted him greater authority in ruling. To her endless exasperation and the people's delight, Edwen did not waste it.
His first decree was not for weapons or treasure but for knowledge.
"Strength without wisdom breaks like an old spear," he told the council. "If Rohan is to endure, its children must know more than war and horses."
So, beneath the hill of Edoras, he built a library, its shelves lined with scrolls and tomes. Many he wrote himself, filled with diagrams of stars, sketches of plants, and notes on the properties of metals, water, and fire. He simplified where he must, leaving out the most dangerous of his alchemical knowledge, but enough remained to inspire awe.
Travelers from Gondor gaped at the sight. "A library in Rohan? Such things belong in the White City, not here."
To which Edwen simply smirked. "Then perhaps the White City should try harder."
The Riders laughed and loved him all the more.
Next, he turned his gaze to the defenses of Edoras. The wooden palisades and simple stonework, though sturdy, seemed to him fragile. "One good fire, one determined siege, and we're finished," he muttered. "Not on my watch."
He drew plans for walls of reinforced stone, binding slabs with rods of metal, mixing mortar that hardened like rock itself. His workers did not know the words "steel reinforcement" or "Roman concrete," but they knew strength when they saw it.
When the new walls rose, broader and taller than before, the people cheered. "The Golden Heir has made us a fortress!" they cried.
The Princess, meanwhile, rubbed her temples. "How much did this cost?"
"Less than being conquered," Edwen replied smugly.
Edwen's forge became a place of endless noise and smoke. He designed swords that cut sharply, armor that held firmer, and helmets that weighed less but saved more lives. Riders tested his work and returned with awe.
Yet with every success came chaos.
One evening, he tested a new set of armor by asking a Rider to strike him with a mace. The armor held; his shoulder did not. He hobbled home in a sling, grinning sheepishly.
"You are the heir of Rohan, not a practice dummy!" his mother thundered.
"It worked, though!" he argued.
"It worked too well on you!"
Another time, he tried to demonstrate a new watermill design in the river. The wheel spun, and spun… and then tore free, barreling downstream like a runaway monster. Fishermen leapt aside as it clattered past, scattering nets and fish alike.
His mother demanded an explanation.
"…Field testing?" he offered innocently.
The princess's sigh echoed through all of Edoras.
Perhaps his boldest act was the creation of schools. He decreed that not only noble sons, but also shepherds' children, stableboys, and even orphans should learn letters, numbers, and reason.
"Every Rider should know more than how to swing a sword," he declared. "Knowledge is a weapon that never dulls."
Some nobles scoffed, calling it foolish. But the Princess backed him, and so classrooms opened. Children learned to read by tracing words he wrote himself, studied the skies with charts he drew, and learned numbers through his strange but clever methods.
One boy was heard boasting, "I can read the stars because the Golden Heir told me how!" Another whispered, "He says the world runs on rules we can learn, like training a horse."
For the first time, learning became a pride of Rohan, not only a tool of Gondor or the Elves.
Through it all, his mother remained both proud and weary.
"You will be the making of Rohan," she admitted one night as they walked the torchlit halls.
He grinned. "And the breaking of your patience."
"You have already done that," she said dryly.
There were still quiet evenings when he would slump beside her, covered in soot, muttering apologies for near-disasters. She always forgave him, stroking his hair as he ranted about pressure, ratios, or stars. He was a whirlwind, impossible to contain — and she loved him all the more for it.
By now, everyone in Edoras knew one universal truth: if smoke rose from the palace, Edwen was behind it, and his mother was about to scold him.
It became almost a game among the people. Farmers in the market would nudge each other when they heard the Princess's exasperated voice echo down the halls:
"EDWEN!"
Children would laugh, whispering, "The Golden Heir's done it again!"
When the new watermill broke free and rampaged down the river, the entire fishing quarter erupted in laughter. The fishermen, soaked but unharmed, spread the tale with glee. "The heir nearly invented a killer wheel," they joked, "and his mother nearly killed him after!"
Even the Riders, usually so stern, found amusement in the spectacle of their young lord being dragged by the ear through the great hall while protesting, "It wasn't that dangerous!"
One day, after a particularly loud scolding following his attempt to improve the kitchen hearth (which had instead filled the hall with smoke), an old Rider leaned to another and chuckled.
"Truly, it is a gift of the Valar. A mother with endless patience, and a son with endless energy."
"And between the two," the other replied with a grin, "they keep this hall more lively than a feast."
The Princess herself, though weary, never truly hid her smile. "You drive me mad," she muttered to Edwen after yet another fiasco.
"Better mad than bored," he shot back, and she couldn't help but laugh.
Yet even as he reshaped Rohan, Edwen's eyes often turned to the north. Travelers spoke of Rivendell, where wisdom flowed like rivers and a child of Elrond, Arwen Undómiel, had been born not long after him.
The name stirred something within him — a quiet certainty that their paths would cross. He did not yet know how or when, but he felt the pull of fate like a star on the horizon.
For now, he remained the Golden Heir — prince, inventor, and constant headache of Rohan. But destiny was patient, and Edward Elric had never been one to wait quietly.