Faramir was on his way to the garden when a woman's voice raised in anger arrested his steps. "Who commands in this City?"

"I do not rightly know," he heard the Warden of the Houses answer, "such things are not my care. There's the new Queen of course; and a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Hurin commands the Men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right Steward of the City.

The voices were coming from a half open door just a pace or so down the passage, quietly Faramir slipped inside. A golden haired girl in a fleecy white gown, her left arm set in a sling stood facing the Warden, her pale face flushed with anger and her blue eyes snapping fire. "Where can I find him?"

"In this house, Lady. But he was sorely hurt - I do not know -"

The girl impatiently waved away the Warden's excuses. "I want to see him!"

"He is here at your command, Lady, though he is also a prisoner of the healers." Faramir said quietly.

All turned at the sound of his voice. The Warden and the Women attending the Lady did him a courtesy but she stood straight though it seemed to him the flush on her cheeks deepened a little.

"I am Faramir of Gondor." he said, bowing to her. "What is it you wish? If it lies in my power, I will do it."

Now she did make him a stiff little courtesy, then said with fierce emphasis; "I would have you command this Warden to let me go!" He studied her gravely and was deeply troubled by what he saw. The Lady seemed somewhat discomfited by his steady regard. She swallowed and continued in a more moderate tone. "Please - do not misunderstand me. It is not lack of care that grieves me. No house could be fairer, nor attendants more kind. But I cannot lie idle - useless and caged!"

"I have not yet taken up my authority in the city." he said reasonably. "But even if I had, I should listen to the counsel of the Warden and not cross his will in matters of healing, unless for great need."

"I do not desire healing." she answered him bitterly. "I wish to ride to war, like my brother Eomer - or better, like Theoden the King!"

So this was the Lady of Rohan. "But Theoden King is dead!" Faramir protested.

"Yes," she answered even more bitterly, "and now has both honor and peace."

Faramir looked at her and was chilled by what he saw looking back beneath the pride. The despair he had feared to see in his King and in Beregond he saw now all to clearly in the face of a young and lovely girl. How had she come to this? What had happened to her to make her turn her back on life and seek death?

"Such honor may yet come to us all, willing or unwilling." he said quietly. "And you will be better prepared to face it if you do as the Healers bid. You and I must endure the hours of waiting with what patience we can."

She heard the reproof he could not quite keep from his voice but instead of flaring up in anger, as he half expected, she softened, like a bitter frost yielding to the first warm breaths of spring. Tears started in her eyes and one rolled glittering down her cheek. "But the Healers would have me lie abed seven more days, " she pleaded in a small, sad voice. "and my window does not look eastward."

Faramir smiled, heart filled with pity and yet reassured. Even this helpless, childlike grief was better than the icy pride and despair he had seen earlier. "I'm sure that can be arranged." he glanced at the Warden who nodded. "If you will consent to stay in this House and take your rest, Lady, I will give you the freedom of the Citadel. From the pinnacle you may look east where all our hopes have gone. And there you will find me, also looking eastward. We have more in common than you think, Lady, you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."

She seemed to stiffen again - the frost was not quite melted yet. "Not me, my Lord. The Shadow lies on me still. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber and may walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." She made him another courtesy, and recognizing this as a dismissal he bowed and left her.

Forgetting his original intention of visiting the gardens Faramir walked slowly back to his chamber and sat there for a long time deep in thought.

***

Queen Undomiel of Gondor stood in the smoke blackened stone shell of what had once been the City's splendid hall. "I wish you could have seen it before my Lady," the Man with her said sadly, "it was beautiful."

"It will be beautiful again." she told him firmly. "There are still fine craftsmen and stonemasons in this City, I have no doubt they will be able to match - or surpass - the works of their fathers."

But the Man shook his head sadly. "Nothing in Gondor is as it was, the West fails and we cannot stop it."

"The King will stop it." said Idril. "You will see, Master Maeglin, Gondor will regain her glory now that she has returned to her true allegiance."

The Man brightened a little. "I hope so, my Lady."

"Who would name a child for a traitor?" Arwen asked after they had left the City Master and begun the long climb upward to the Citadel.

Idril chuckled. "One who liked the sound of the name and cared little for the histories of the Elder Days, which after all were a very long time ago as we Men account it."

"Elves too." said Arwen.

Trailed by Idril's four maids in waiting, without whom she seemed unable to stir a step,

they made their way up the levels of the City until they reached the Sixth Circle. Arwen stopped before the gate of the Houses of Healing. She had deliberately avoided seeing Eowyn until now, but they would have to face each other someday - and the Warden could not tell her the things she needed to know about the girl. "I will call upon the Lady of Rohan," she decided. "she should be well enough to receive visitors."

"Then I will pay a visit to my brother." said Idril.

Eowyn's room had been changed. Her new chamber was upon the second floor of the house. Arwen knocked and a grey clad nurse let her in. The Lady of Rohan was standing at an open window looking eastward, the fresh air fluttering her hair and gown.

"It is the Queen to see you, my Lady." said the Woman.

Eowyn turned. First she went pale then hot, painful color flooded her face from throat to hairline. She collected herself and made Arwen a courtesy.

Arwen was no less uncomfortable but being very much the elder was able to hide it better. "Greetings Eowyn." she said, speaking as healer rather than Queen. "I am glad to see you feel well enough to leave your bed, but you must be careful not to over try your strength."

Eowyn too was royal and trained to courtesy. "Thank you my Lady, I have already promised the Warden and the Lord Faramir that I will take as much rest as I can bear..." but she got no farther. Her face quivered as she struggled valiantly to command it, failed, and buried it in her hands and wept.

Arwen waved the nurses from the room then went to take the girl in her arms. "There, there, that's better." she crooned. "I've been so worried about you, Eowyn. Cry as much as you like, child, it's exactly what you need."

And cry she did, sobbing out the hurt and heartache borne for far too long alone on Arwen's shoulder. "I am so ashamed." she gasped at last. "So ashamed!"

"There is nothing shameful about falling in love." Arwen answered firmly, adding with a smile. "Especially with Aragorn. Indeed it is a constant surprise to me that every Woman who lays eyes on him does not love him!"

Eowyn made a gurgling noise that might have been tear choked laughter. "To me too." she said, then pulled away and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I do not reproach myself for that, Lady." she continued with forlorn dignity. "I sought the Lord Aragorn's love thinking him free to give it. Had I know about you I would have done differently but it is not that that shames me. My uncle -" her voice broke but she kept control of herself by a heroic effort. "My uncle and King left the rule of Rohan in my hands, entrusted me with the safety and honor of our people, and I left them." her face held a sort of despairing bewilderment. "I left them. How could I do that? I must have been mad!"

"I think you may have been a little." Arwen said quietly. "Aragorn and I both saw you were near to breaking that night at Dunharrow. And I know only too well what desperation can drive a Woman to."

Her voice was so strange as she said those last words that Eowyn looked at her in wonder. "Lady?"

Arwen swallowed. "I ran away too, Eowyn, from my father. I let him think I would go with our people to the Havens and oversea to Elvenhome as he wished, and instead came here to Aragorn." her voice shook. "And now I may never see Father again, or know if he forgives me or hates me for lying to him."

"Theoden was not angry with me." Eowyn said hesitantly, reaching out to lay a shy hand over Arwen's. "He even seemed glad of the chance to say farewell. Perhaps - perhaps your father will understand too, my Lady."

"I hope so." Arwen said, and managed a smile. "So here we stand, both of us runaways, and for the sake of the same Man."

"Who has ridden off and left us both." said Eowyn.

Arwen nodded ruefully. "He's always doing that. It is very annoying." and Eowyn actually giggled, Gimli was right, she did have a lovely laugh. Arwen was encouraged by the change in the girl, but she knew very well she was not responsible for it. The cure had begun before she had entered the room, but who had wrought it?

"I see they have given you a new chamber," she ventured, "was there something wrong with the other?"

It was Eowyn's turn to smile ruefully. "Only that its window looked south rather than east. The Lord Faramir was gracious enough to command the change and to give me the freedom of the Citadel, so that I might at least look eastward after the - the King and my brother."

"That was kind of him." Arwen said and wondered if it could have been Faramir who'd released the tears so long unshed.

"He was very kind, but he is a stern lord as well as gentle - like the Lord Aragorn." Eowyn's chin rose, and so did her color. "I fear he thought me no better than a wayward child."

"Surely not." said Arwen.

***

"You know the Lady of Rohan do you not, Idril." Faramir asked suddenly, breaking into her description of the rebuilding underway in the lower City.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, obviously her brother hadn't heard a word she'd said. And why this sudden interest in Eowyn of Rohan? "Not really. We have exchanged formal letters and tokens that is all. Boromir knew her from a child of course. She used to tag after him and Theodred, just like her brother, and insisted on doing everything Eomer did."

"I remember him speaking of her." said Faramir. "They tell me she fought in the battle and slew Angmar."

"As no Man could do." Idril agreed. "Yes, she is trained as a shieldmaiden but she rode without leave and in disguise. They have had great troubles in Rohan, as you know, and the Lady Eowyn has had much to bear including the death of Theodred and now of Theoden. But I fear it was love unrequited that drove her to seek death in battle rather than grief for her kin."

Faramir blinked. "Who? and why unrequited? A lady so fair and valiant would be easy to love!"

"No doubt." Idril said mildly, and if she was surprised by the warmth in her brother's voice she hid it well. "But King Elessar was already contracted to another, though poor Eowyn was not to know it until too late."

"Elessar." Faramir repeated slowly, absorbing the idea.

"You have seen him," his sister said, "he has not only the beauty but the power and wisdom of the Kings of Men of old. And he brings hope to us who have had none for all too long. It would be very easy to fall in love with such a Man."

"Yes, I see." Faramir gave her a look of sharp concern. "You have not so fallen yourself, have you, Idril?."

She laughed. "I am rather older than Eowyn, and love another as you well know. But I am a Woman and not blind!" then she sobered. "But I would not have you think Eowyn merely an unbalanced, infatuated girl. This unfortunate love was but the last straw that overset her burdened heart - or so they tell me. Now, Brother, why this interest in the Lady of Rohan?"

"I met her today," he replied, "and saw that she was gravely troubled. I have given her the freedom of the Citadel."

"That should cheer her." Idril said. "We must all do what we can to raise Eowyn's spirits. Without her valor none of us might now be alive."

Faramir nodded, but absently, his thoughts obviously far away. Or perhaps just a passage and a flight of stairs away - with the Lady Eowyn.

“Never have I seen my brother show such interest in any Woman before.” Idril told Arwen over the candlelit supper table. “I reminded him of Eowyn’s troubles and her great deed and that we must do all we can to cheer and comfort her.”

The Queen smiled, dimpling mischievously. “And I told Eowyn it would be a kindness if she could divert Faramir’s mind from his sorrows.”

Idril stared at her, then laughed. “Incorrigible the both of us. Matchmaking on the brink of doom - we must be mad!”

But Arwen shook her head. “Already Faramir has helped Eowyn,” she said now quite serious. “and I trust will help her more given the chance.”

“And better for him if he thinks of her rather than broods over his losses.” Idril agreed.

***

Eowyn paid her first visit to the Citadel the next morning. The Warden insisted she be carried in a chair the short way up the avenue and then up the long flight of steps leading to the Court of the Tree. She nearly rebelled - then reminded herself she was getting her own way where it mattered most and submitted tamely to being tucked into the chair under a fleecy lap-robe.

The two bearers seemed to find her a light burden judging by the pace they set, far faster than she could have managed on her own feet, and her two Women trotted silently behind. At first the people on the street; children and old folk, and some wounded Men, paid her no attention. Then somebody recognized her and called out her name, and somebody else raised a cheer. Faces appeared at the windows and Women and children came out of the open doors of the great houses to see her pass.

“Eowyn! Eowyn!” They shouted, “Hail the Lady of the Shield Arm!”

She forced herself to smile, and bow acknowledgement, feeling her face burn. Always she had dreamed of performing some great deed that would make her name live forever. And now she had - but she couldn’t enjoy it. There was a weight of guilt on her heart. Theoden had forgiven her, and Eomer, but what must their people be thinking of the Lady who’d abandoned them? And what was happening back in Rohan, what if they needed her and she was not there? She was glad when they entered the long tunnel up to the Citadel and the stone walls shut out the cheers.

The bearers put her chair down gently on a circle of grass before the hall and one offered his hand to help her rise, she accepted it absently staring up at the shining white stone facade looming over them. *’Boromir always said his father’s hall was far larger than Meduseld - and we did not believe him!’* She shivered; Meduseld was built of warm wood made gay with gold and green and red paint and scaled for Men and Women not gods. The great hall of the Lords of Gondor and its tower were of white stone, chilly and forbidding as the mountain behind them, and much, much too large. In the center of the green lawn there was a fountain overshadowed by the bleached hulk of a dead tree. Four guards, black cloaked and black masked under their winged helms stood motionless around it.

Eowyn knew this was Gondor’s White Tree and that it and the Men guarding were part of an unthinkably ancient heritage going back to the Elder Folk and even to the gods - King Elessar’s heritage. Again she shivered. *’I don’t want this. I don’t want to sit as Queen in that cold hall and bear children who are as much Elf as Man. I don’t want to leave Rohan’s green fields for this city of stone. Aragorn was right, I was in love with a dream - this is the reality; a power and a burden too great for a simple maid of Rohan.’* She turned her back on the hall and looked east.

Shadow, blacker than any thunderhead, brooded over the sharp edged mountains beyond the silver ribbon of the River, under-lit by red fire. She looked at them steadily and this time she did not shiver. She knew the darkness far to well for that. Then she noticed the Man leaning on the parapet with the pale morning sun shining on his fair hair and after a moment’s hesitation walked to join him.

“Give you good day, my Lord Steward.” she said politely.

He started as if roused from an evil dream then his sad face transformed as he smiled down at her. “An ill day, as all are in these times, but a fair one now.”

Oh if only Aragorn had once looked at her like that! “I do not understand you, my Lord.” she said primly. “How can an ill day be fair?”

“Would you have my plain answer?” he asked.

“I would.” she said, a little defiantly - but who or what was she defying?

“Then, Eowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely.”

Eowyn felt her face flaming as it had when the people cheered her. Aragorn had never called her fair, Grima had but he’d been trying to bespell her. “I thank you, my Lord, for your courtesy,” she said stiffly. “but I do not desire the speech of Men.” She moved a little ways down the wall from him, looking determinedly eastward but no longer seeing the Shadow. Her mind was in turmoil. How dare he?... He couldn’t mean it, no doubt it was just an idle compliment... She didn’t want to hear such words - not now, not from anyone...had she been rude? she had after all asked him to speak plain.

“Lady if I have offended you I heartily ask your forgiveness.” he had come up beside her without her notice, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her hair.

“I...I am not offended.” she stammered. “But this seems to me the wrong time for such words.”

“Perhaps you are right.” she felt his sleeve brush hers as he leaned beside her upon the parapet. “It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart if, while the Sun yet shines, I could see you, Lady.”

“Look not to me for comfort,” she said bleakly, “I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle.” then, belatedly, she remembered what Queen Arwen had said about the Lord Faramir and made an effort to speak more kind. “But you have my leave to look at me if that will give you ease. Now pray you let us speak of other things - is there any news?”

“No. And I fear we can expect none until - after.” he answered.

“If there are any to send, or any left to hear.” she said.

“Let us not speak of that either.” said he.

“No.” she agreed and essayed a wan smile. “We run short of subjects, my Lord.”

“Faramir.” he corrected.

She smiled again, less wanly. “And you must call me Eowyn.”

***

“Men are still coming in from the western provinces,” Hurin told Arwen as she stood between him and Laebeth on the ramparts of the second wall, “drawn by the rumor of the King’s return. We have almost too many hands for the rebuilding.”

She looked down into the first circle. The busy figures of Men were everywhere and the sound of hammering and clink of stone came faint to her ears. “They are not disappointed to find themselves set to hard labor rather than following the King into battle?”

Hurin grinned a little. “Maybe a little. But these are small craftsmen from town and village and farmers from the countryside, not trained warriors. I think in their hearts they’re relieved to be given work they understand.”

Arwen nodded. That seemed very likely. “Certainly they can have no doubt that they are needed where they are.”

Walking back up to the Citadel Arwen and Laebeth encountered Idril, with her usual retinue of maids, collecting estimates of their losses from the merchants in the third circle.

“Though what we can do about them I do not know.” she told Arwen ruefully. “We have been living hand to mouth for more years than I’ve been alive, and the treasury is near empty.”

Arwen could only shake her head. “Gondor is still a rich kingdom,” she offered, “once we have peace we will find a way to restore her old prosperity.”

“I think that might be a harder task than overthrowing the Dark Lord.” Idril answered wryly.

As they continued on their way Arwen asked Laebeth; “Why does Idril never seem to go anywhere without her maidservants? I cannot think she feels such a great need for their company.”

The other Woman smiled faintly. “Here in Gondor a lady never goes out alone, the higher her rank the greater the number of attendants.”

Arwen looked at her in dismay. “You mean as Queen I must have a similar train at my heels whenever I step out my doors?”

Laebeth, who given the solitary ways of the Northern Dunedain must have found the custom no less onerous, looked sympathetic. “Perhaps as Queen you may change the custom as you have already changed the fashion for dressing hair.”

“I have?” Arwen asked blankly.

Laebeth smiled again. “You haven’t noticed all the Women with unbound hair down in the City?”

“No. Or rather I thought nothing of it. It is the fashion I am used to.”

“Here in Gondor Women braid and pin their hair and cover it with veils.” Laebeth explained. “Or rather they did. If the Queen does otherwise - why then as loyal subjects the Women of Gondor will follow suit.”

Arwen laughed a little. “Well I hope this custom of maidservants proves as easy to change!”

***

“You see that gallery up there?” Faramir pointed to a row of arcaded windows high above the great doors of the hall. “The first winter we lived in the City there was a snowfall and my sister and I stood up there and dropped snowballs on Father’s advisors.”

Eowyn laughed. “What naughty children! And what did the Lord Denethor have to say about that?”

Faramir grinned. “Father never knew. But Boromir did and gave us a good scolding - which would have been much more effective if he hadn’t been so hard put to keep from laughing.”

“It was the same with Eomer and me.” Eowyn said. “I think Boromir enjoyed our mischief even more than we did.” her smile turned sad. “Theodred never made mischief. It was not only that he was so much the elder, the burden of being Heir of Eorl weighed on his spirits - even as a child.”

The Man beside her nodded. “It was the same with Boromir. After our mother died he felt himself responsible not only for Idril and me but for our father as well. It was his misfortune, and Theodred’s, to live in dark times when the burden of their rank was especially heavy.”

There was a brief silence, then Eowyn said; “The winter after you came to the City, you said, you have not always lived here?”

“Idril and I lived at our villa in the Pelannor fields when we were small.” Faramir explained. “My mother died of the wasting, and I had it too as a child - for years my father and brother feared they would lose me as well. And Idril too was frail. They thought the villa would be healthier for us than the City.”

“I was sickly too.” Eowyn said quietly. “I fell ill with the red fever when I was seven. My mother nursed me through it but she caught it from me and died. Then Uncle Theoden took us to live with him, and was so careful of me that I was afraid I would die too.”

Faramir nodded. “Yes. Father and Boromir tried to hide their fears from me, but I knew. Children always know such things, I think.”

Eowyn smiled. “Luckily for me we had a wise healer at Meduseld who told Uncle that it was exercise and fresh air I needed not coddling in bed.” she laughed. “And so I was allowed to run wild with my brothers until I was almost a Woman, when my grandmother stepped in and made a lady of me - or almost!”

“I remember how hard it was to put aside the poetry and ancient lore I loved for law and arms and statecraft, the things even a Steward’s second son must know.” Faramir said quietly. “And I know from my sister’s training that becoming a lady is more burdensome still.”

“Having to wear long skirts all the time was the worst of it.” Eowyn said lightly. “But Grandmother liked riding and hunting better than housekeeping herself and so didn’t try to keep me completely from horse and hound. Nor did she mind a shieldmaiden granddaughter. And she didn’t make me learn all the things your sister must have, languages and music and the like, knowing they’d be no use to a daughter of the Mark. But Meduseld needed a proper mistress badly - and once I got used to the work I found I liked feeling useful.”

“Yes,” Faramir agreed quietly, “commanding the Rangers may not have been the work I would have chosen but it was needed. And I think I learned to be good at it.”

“Very good from what I hear.” Eowyn said firmly.

Faramir grinned. “From Boromir? Don’t believe everything a fond brother says, Eowyn.”

“I am a shieldmaiden and a judge of such things.” she reminded him. “I have heard of your defense of the outermost wall - and against the Chief Dwimmerlaik himself, no less.”

His eyes seemed to darken at the memory, then he smiled. “If the Lady of the Shield Arm calls me a good warrior I must believe her.”

“I do so call you.” she said solemnly, looking him straight in the eye. “I say that Faramir of Gondor is the equal of any Rider of the Mark, even the greatest.”

“High praise, my Lady.” he said equally grave. “Thank you.”

****

Arwen saw Faramir and Eowyn sitting side by side on one of the benches edging the fountain garth, with their backs to the Shadow, and smiled. She went up the path to speak to them. “My Lord Faramir we have not properly met; I am Arwen Undomiel, wife to King Elessar.”

He rose and bowed. “Welcome to Minas Tirith, my Lady and Queen, I am your servant as well as your Lord‘s.”

“I will hold you to that, my Lord Steward, once you are fully well again.” she answered, then glanced at Eowyn. There was color in the girl’s cheeks, perhaps more than fresh air could account for, and her eyes were bright. “You look well, Eowyn, but you must be careful not to over try your strength - and you too Faramir. It is near time for the midday meal and surely past time you were both back in your beds.”

Man and Woman looked at the sun, almost directly overhead, and then at each other in dismay. “I had not realized it was so late.” Faramir said. “The Warden will be cross with me I fear.”

“With both of us.” Eowyn got to her feet and gave the Queen a rueful smile. “I will let them carry me back to my bed and stay there for the rest of the day.” she promised. “I have no wish to fall ill again.”

“Nor I.” Faramir agreed. “I hope I will see you again tomorrow, Eowyn?”

“I would like that.” she answered, and it wasn’t the cool breeze that made the color rise in her cheeks.

Arwen hid a smug smile. Her course of treatment was clearly working very well indeed - on both patients.

Arwen went back to her borrowed apartments with Laebeth. Idril, the rooms’ rightful owner, arrived shortly afterwards with her maids and lists and the three women had lunch together in the solar.

It was Idril who raised the question of opening and refurnishing the old royal apartments. Arwen demurred: “It doesn’t seem right to trouble ourselves over rooms for me when the City lies in ruins around us.” she said.

Idril snorted gently. “By your leave, my Lady, unless you intend to wield a hammer or trowel you have already done all you can to further the rebuilding. And while I do not begrudge you my chambers I am getting rather tired of sending up the hill a dozen times a day for things I need.”

“I do not mean I am reluctant to move.” Arwen said hastily. “Only that there is no need to bother about furniture and hangings and the like. A decent bed, a table and a chair are all I need.”

“It does Gondor no credit to have her Queen sleep and eat in bare rooms.” Laebeth pointed out mildly.

“And what of the King?” Idril pressed. “Would you have him come home to unadorned walls and empty chambers?”

Arwen smiled at that. “I doubt he’d even notice. I’ve yet to meet a Ranger who cares two straws where he lays his head.”

“Then humor your people, my Lady, for they do care.” Laebeth said firmly and Arwen gave in.

“Oh very well, it’s not as if I can think of anything more urgent that I should be doing. Where are these apartments, Idril?”

On the other side of the Citadel it seemed. Soon the new Queen found herself walking between Idril and Laebeth - trailed by a small procession including Laebeth’s lady companion and Idril’s four maids in waiting - through a series of narrow high walled alleys. They stopped at last before an ironbound oak door and Faelivren came forward to offer Idril a heavy ring of keys. She chose one and unlocked the door which opened onto a grand white marble stairway. They climbed two flights under the sightless gaze of gilded and jeweled statues to a landing dominated by a pair of cast bronze doors overlaid with gold and silver. Idril selected another key from her ring and opened them.

The room beyond was long and vaulted, its walls wainscoted with colored marbles beneath bare white plaster marked by hooks for hangings or paintings. The floor was patterned with pale stone and at the far end there was a small dais with the white tree carved on the wall behind it.

“This was the King’s presence chamber.” Idril said and led the way down its length to a second, smaller door to the right of the dais which she also unlocked. “And this was his privy chamber.” It was perhaps half the size of the outer room but no less grand, dominated by a massive fireplace carved with trees and ships, and inset with a golden sun and stars of adamant. Behind it was an ante-chamber or robing room and beyond that the bedchamber half filled by a huge bedstead of black lebethron wood overlaid with mithril.

A door to the right of the bed led to a small private closet.

The Queen’s chambers were tucked behind the King’s. Her bedchamber with its bedstead of ivory and gold adjoined the King‘s closet. Her robing room stood at the end of the file of rooms with a door opening onto a long parallel gallery with windows looking eastward over a small walled garden. This had a private closet for the Queen at one end and a little guard chamber at the other with three more doors: One leading to the King’s bedchamber; one to the gallery overlooking the courtyard between the Hall of the Kings and the feast hall; and the last to the Queen’s privy chamber. Her presence chamber was beyond that, both with tall windows opening onto a narrow terrace.

Looking down at the little garden from the terrace balustrade Arwen saw it was still green but overgrown and ill tended. Her fingers itched to set it in order. As for the rooms, they were somewhat over ornate by Elvish standards, and ill lit - she’d want to cut a few more windows someday - but quite acceptable.

“I will need bed and bedding and that table and chair if I am to sleep here tonight.” she said.

“And hangings and rugs to muffle the chill.” Idril said. “We will find all we need in the Great Wardrobe.”

***

The Great Wardrobe included not only the wardrobe of the robes - where they had found the clothes Arwen and Aragorn now wore - but the wardrobe of the beds, full of feather mattresses, bed linens, curtains and coverlets, and the wardrobe of the coverings containing tapestries, wall hangings and carpets. Like many Elves Arwen had a love of fine cloth and she dug into the contents of the wardrobes with real enthusiasm. She chose pale blue silk curtains, lined with soft felt and edged with gold lace, and a blue damask coverlet worked with spring flowers in a rainbow of silks for her bed; a cream colored carpet patterned in blue and rose and gold for the floor, and wall hangings of blue and rose and cream all stamped with patterns in gold.

The maids were dispatched to the Queen’s bedroom with the spoils while Arwen, Idril, Laebeth and Laebeth’s Woman went on to the lumber house where furniture was stored. There were rooms full of tables, in all sized and shapes; and of chairs and benches and stools; and still others stacked almost to the ceiling with chests and cupboards and presses. The furniture, though finely made, seemed chunky and ungraceful to Arwen’s eyes and far too heavily ornamented with carvings and inlays. But after long searching she found a simple table with slender legs and top inlaid with ivory and blue glass; an ivory clothes chest delicately carved with flowers, and a golden chair with a high, leaf shaped back.

Serving men carried the furniture back to Queen’s bedchamber followed by Arwen and her companions. They found the bed made up with mattresses, linen, coverlet and curtains, the carpet spread on the floor at its foot and the white plaster walls covered by soft hued hangings glimmering with gold. The table went under the window to the right of the big bed, and the chest was placed against the left wall next to the door to the King’s chambers. The chair was set on the carpet with a silver gilt candle-stand behind it and a gilded bronze brazier beside it.

Arwen, standing in the doorway to the robing room to take in the completed chamber was surprised by how lovely it was with its soft colors and gentle shimmer of gold. It looked nothing at all like her rooms at Rivendell or Lorien and yet it felt like home - a home that she could share with Aragorn. “I think I will be happy here.” she said at last.

“I very much hope so, my Lady.” Idril answered gently.

She chose a serving maid to sleep in within call in the robing room, and men from the Citadel guard to stand watch in the little guardroom at the end of the gallery. Arwen did not demur, she understood that a Queen must have attendants. And she realized that Idril and Laebeth had been right - having a room that was her own made her feel more at home and less like a guest in the Citadel.

***

That evening, followed by her new maid and with two of her guardsmen to light her way, Arwen went down to the Houses of Healing to see how Eowyn and Faramir were faring. Eowyn she learned was fast asleep, and had been since just after midday.

“She ate her lunch then dropped right off, the poor lamb.” the elder of her two nurses said, smiling tenderly. “Worn out by her morning outing - bless her.”

“Bless her indeed.” the Queen agreed.

“I had my doubts about letting her go out,” the Woman continued, “but it was just what she needed - she was fretting herself to death within doors.”

“Inactivity and confinement come hard to a spirit like hers.” Arwen agreed.

The Lord Faramir was not asleep, or even abed, but frowning over an open tome on a table littered with books and papers.

“My husband meant for you to rest mind as well as body, my Lord Steward.” Arwen said from the open door.

He rose to make her a bow. “I am trying to sort out the legalities of King Elessar‘s accession.” he explained. “Do not mistake me, my Lady, he is welcome and accepted by City and Realm but there are some tangles in law that need smoothing.”

“Leave it for now,” Arwen ordered, “when your tenday of rest is finished you may take up the task again but not before. That is my command as healer as well as Queen. Now sit down and remember you are a sick Man, my Lord!” and she sat down herself in a chair by the fire.

Faramir pulled his own chair to face hers and settled into it. “Not sick anymore, my Lady, but still weak.” he smiled wryly. “I have been making such poor progress that a respite will be welcome. Hopefully the difficulties will seem less dire when I am stronger.”

“I don’t doubt but they will.” said Arwen. “How do you find the Lady Eowyn, my Lord?”

His face turned grave. “I saw she sorely troubled when first we met, my Lady, and I feared for her. But she seemed better today.”

“I thought so too.” Arwen agreed. “She has wept, and that is to the good for she has much to weep for.”

“So I understand.” said Faramir.

“And you, my Lord?” she probed gently.

“I have not been too proud to shed my share of tears.” he answered quietly. “I miss my brother more than I can say. And I will regret to the end of my life that I never made peace with my father.”

Arwen’s hands clenched involuntarily on the arms of her chair. Faramir of course noticed and she felt it necessary to explain; “I too parted badly from my father. But at least Elrond still lives and I can hope for a chance to...to beg his forgiveness.”

“I wish I could do so with my father.” Faramir said, courteously pretending not to notice the pain that made her voice catch. “The wrong was not all on his side. I too was sometimes cruel.”

“Why must those who love each other, hurt each other so?” Arwen demanded despairingly.

Faramir could only shake his head. “That is a mystery beyond my solving, Lady.”

“Or any one else’s, I fear.” she said.

***

Arwen returned to her room to find the curtains drawn, the candles lit and the bed warmed and turned down. And somebody had put a bowl of yellow and white lilies and a gently steaming golden goblet on the table by her bed.

She drank the warmed wine, let her new maid replace her gown with a nightdress and obediently crawled into the bed as the Woman blew out the candles and withdrew with a soft, “Good night, my Lady.” - practically the first words Arwen had heard from her.

Lying in the big bed Arwen reflected this was probably not the best time to explain she almost never slept and could dream anywhere and anytime. No, better let her new people become more used to her before asking them to deal with her difference.

When she was sure her maid must be asleep she got out of bed and drifted noiselessly through the robing room to the gallery where she settled herself in a window to look down at the garden and plan its renewal.

This morning Eowyn was at the Citadel before him. Faramir saw her standing by the buttress wall looking north, her white raiment shining in the sun, and called a greeting. She turned, her golden hair flying in a bright tangle around her face, then came towards him face lit by a smile that all but took his breath away.

“Did you sleep well, Eowyn?” he asked. A safe question, far safer than the things he really wanted to say.

She laughed, a delightful sound like chiming bells. “Like one dead! Half of yesterday and all of the night. It must be the mountain air. And you?”

“Very well, thank you.” In fact he had lain awake till dawn thinking of her, but he felt none the worse for it. He glanced toward the northeasterm horizon. “Do you see anything?”

“No, of course not.” She shivered, then seemed angry with herself for doing so. “Oh what is the point of staring northward? They can’t possibly be there yet.”

“I doubt if they’ve even left Ithilien.” Faramir agreed. “You are right, there can be nothing to see.”

“Yet I am not ready to return to my bed.” said Eowyn.

“Nor I,” he smiled, “perhaps I could show you the Citadel?”

She smiled back. “Why not.”

He took her first into the Hall of the Kings. She stood in its cool white radiance and shivered. “It’s cold.”

“Yes,” he looked round, remembering his own first sight of the hall as a boy. “it is.”

“High and stern and remote - like him.” she added with a note of bitterness. “Too high for likes of me.”

Faramir didn’t need to ask who she meant. “Elessar is a Man like any other,” he said quietly, “save for the burden of his royalty - which sets him apart from other Men and Women without his willing or desiring it.”

She bit her lip, then looked up at him with unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. “I am unfair. He was more than kind to me, to my uncle and to our people. He can’t help being what he is.”

“The Kings of the Kings of Men are more than Man, that is their glory - and their tragedy.” Faramir agreed quietly.

“I am glad he has Queen Arwen.” Eowyn said as quietly. “She is a fit consort for him - as I am not.”

Faramir was wise enough to say nothing, but he agreed. Elessar was too old and lordly and grim to make a fit mate for one so young and fresh and fair. Faramir admitted wryly to himself that he too was glad of the Queen - and for reasons that perhaps did him little credit.

***

The new Queen of Gondor was at that moment on her knees pulling weeds in her privy garden.

“Good morning, my Lady.” she looked up to see Idril in a light orange gown, accompanied as usual by two of her maids, standing in the open gallery beneath the terrace.

“Don’t tell me Queens in Gondor don’t weed their own gardens.” Arwen warned.

“I wasn’t going to.” Idril replied primly but with a twinkle. “As it happens gardening is a regarded as a very proper and ladylike accomplishment - even for a Queen. Though personally I have small taste for it.”

“Good.” Arwen was a little relieved, at least she wouldn’t be outraging her new subjects if she engaged in her favorite pastime. “Idril, what are those rooms there behind you?”

The Woman turned to look at the row of wide windows opening onto the gallery. “Those are the Queen’s summer apartments.”

“My what?” Arwen asked blankly.

“Summer apartments.” Idril repeated. “Summers can be very hot in Gondor, even here at the foot of the mountains, and so it is customary for those who can afford it to have a second set of rooms on the ground floor for use in the warm season.” she indicated the windows directly behind her; “That’s your privy chamber, and that window belongs to a small antechamber, and those three at the end are your summer bedroom.”

“I see. And what are those,” Arwen indicated the windows on the eastern side of the garden, “the King’s summer apartments?”

“No that’s the bathing suite for the royal apartments. The King’s chambers are on the other side, opening onto the courtyard.”

“Oh.” said Arwen. “Well we won’t be needing these ground floor rooms for some months at least. We’ll see to the decoration of the upper apartments first.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

Arwen got to her feet, brushing the earth from her skirt. “Is it going to be ’my Lady’ for the rest of our lives, cousin?

Idril smiled a little shyly. “Not if you do not wish it, Arwen.”

She smiled back. “Much better. I am not accustomed to such formality - especially not from my kin.”

***

“This is the Steward’s House.” said Faramir.

Eowyn looked curiously at the foursquare building of white stone decorated with arcaded windows and fretted carvings. “This is your home?”

But he shook his head. “I was born and lived my first few years here but I have no memory of it. I was but three when I fell ill and was sent to the villa. Mother was sick too but she would not go to Dol Amroth - though Father begged her to - nor even to the villa. I think she knew she was beyond help and was determined not to waste a single moment of the time she had left away from him.”

“She must have loved him very much.”

“She did, and he her. He would never have survived her death had she not left him two sons to remember her by.” Faramir looked up at the house. The windows were curtained and stared like blind eyes. “But he could not bear to dwell alone in the house they had shared. He took Boromir to live in the old royal apartments in the White Tower. And when Idril and I came we were given rooms nearby.”

“Do you remember her at all?” Eowyn asked gently.

“She had golden hair,” Faramir said slowly, “that’s where Boromir and I get our fair coloring. I remember her as thin and pale but she used to sing as she went around the house. And she could make my father laugh, even towards the end, as no one else ever could. Not even Boromir.”

“My mother was a singer too,” Eowyn said. “not of the great lays and war songs, but of nonsense rhymes and riddle songs she made up herself.” a sudden irritation clouded her face. “The scops claim she died of grief after my father fell but that’s not true. His death took her hard, yes, but she wanted to go on living for Eomer and me. It was the fever that killed her, she would never have willingly left us.”

“It angers you that they should say otherwise.” Faramir observed.

“It makes her sound weak.” Eowyn answered. “And she was strong, very strong.” then her chin quivered. “She would be ashamed of me, and my father too.”

“No.” Faramir said firmly. “No more than I am ashamed of my father. His spirit was twisted awry by the Dark Lord against which no strength can prevail. And yours was blighted by the power of Saurman through his creature.”

“Wormtongue.” she said bitterly. There was a silence between them, then her expression changed. “He loved me.” she said slowly in a tone of discovery. “It was not just lust. He turned traitor for my sake.”

“That is no excuse.”

“No.” she agreed. “But having known the pain of love unreturned I can pity him now instead of hate.” she looked seriously up at Faramir. “I could never have loved Grima. But had he not been a traitor I could have been kind.”

“Had he been a better Man he would have accepted what he could have from you willingly and not sought for more.” he answered quietly.

***

The Queen’s robing room had a wall of cupboards made of the hard black lebethron wood and inlaid with colorful patterns and scenes in semi-precious stones. A great gilt framed mirror hung on an adjoining wall, reflecting Arwen‘s maid as she sat stitching on a silk kirtle in the window.

“You will need a dressing table, a chair, a couch, and of course carpets and hangings.” said Idril.

Arwen nodded agreement and led the way out of the robing room to open the door to the Queen’s closet. “I want another couch in here,” she said, “and one or two small tables, no more.” then she turned survey the gallery.

The floor was patterned with black and white marble; the walls and vaulted ceiling were carved of the ubiquitous white stone, and benches of the same faced the three deep window embrasures. “And we must brighten this up a bit.” Arwen said. “Cushions on the benches and pictures on the walls.”

It was Idril’s turn to nod. “You haven’t seen the King’s paintings yet.”

The door to the House of the King’s Paintings opened onto a small, bare windowless vestibule lit by two lamps, one over each of the inner doors. Idril rang a bell standing on a center table and after a moment a grey haired Man in a creased and dusty robe emerged from one of the dark doorways to blink at them in gentle surprise.

“Good morning, Aluin.” Idril said in an unusually loud voice. “The Queen and I have come to chose pictures for her chambers.”

“Queen?” the old Man echoed a little blankly staring at Arwen, then he collected himself and bowed. “Forgive me, your Grace, I hadn’t heard the Returned King was wed.”

“I am not offended.” Arwen assured him.

He blinked at her.

“A little louder,” Idril advised softly, “Aluin is somewhat deaf.”

“I am not offended!” Arwen repeated, obediently raising her voice. And was rewarded by a smile as sweet and dazzling as a child’s.

Aluin took down the lamp over the door opposite the entrance and led them into an echoing vastness. Small windows set high admitted enough light to show the walls were hung thick from eye-level to ceiling with paintings of various sizes and shapes with still more propped up on the rows of racks that turned the floor into a maze of narrow aisles.

They threaded their way into the labyrinth surrounded by a globe of yellow light from Aluin’s lamp. The majority of the paintings seemed to be on allegorical or historical themes unknown to Arwen. There were also a few landscapes and a great many portraits. Suddenly the lamplight fell upon a face she knew.

“Firiel!”

“Yes,” Aluin agreed, “that’s the Princess Firiel. Her father, King Ondoher, had this painted to remember her by before she went North to marry the King of Arthedain.”

“Arvedui.” Arwen said. “It’s a good likeness.”

Idril looked at her thoughtfully. “Of course, you would have known her.”

“Very well. She lived at Rivendell after the war.” Arwen looked long at the pictured face, then said. “I will take this one.”

Aluin, the Queen will have Firiel’s portrait for her chambers.” Idril repeated loudly to the old Man and he fished a scrap of white cloth from his sleeve and tucked it into the picture’s frame.

Some minutes passed before another painting caught Arwen’s eye, this time for its rich colors and harmonious composition. “What is this?”

“The coronation of Queen Istarnie.” Idril answered. “She was the wife of Earnil I and the fist Queen of Gondor to be crowned. You see King Falastur died childless and though Earnil was the next in blood there were others almost as near the throne. By ill fortune Earnil was at sea when Falastur died, but Istarnie took the crown from the dead King’s hands and ruled in her husband’s name until he returned. Earnil gave her her crown in gratitude and set a throne for her beside his own under the Dome of the Stars. And she was his regent when he was away at sea, and regent for their son as well. Succeeding Queens kept crown and throne but none were entrusted with such power as Istarnie. And after the time of Minardil it was the Steward who governed in the King‘s absence, not the Queen.”

Arwen nodded. “I will have this one too.” then she glanced ruefully at Idril. “I feel so ignorant. I know almost nothing of Gondor’s history and ways which is unfitting in a Queen.”

“I know some good histories, better than the official annals.” the other Woman offered. “And there is a fine book of our manners and customs written by a Man of Rhovanion for the instruction of his countrymen back in the days when our peoples were allies. I will send for them if you like.”

“Please do!” Arwen said gratefully. Reading them would be a good way to fill her wakeful nights.”

It was inevitable that the euphoria of the King’s Return should fade. The strain of waiting grew as the days passed with no word and the weather changed too, bright sun and unseasonable warmth giving way to the grey overcast and damp chill usual in early spring.

Faramir watched in concern as Eowyn’s spirits fell. “The sun has lost her warmth.” she said on the fifth day since the army rode as they walked together in the House’s garden.

“It is but the first of the spring rains.” Faramir answered but she was not consoled. Fear for her brother consumed her.

“I cannot lose Eomer too. If he dies it will kill me.”

“No it will not.” Faramir said gently but firmly. “You will live for the sake of your people and your House.”

“They will have no use for a forsworn Shieldmaiden, a disgrace to her House and country alike.” she answered bitterly.

Faramir was a poor comforter for in truth he was not much better off himself. He feared for his King and for little Peregrin, for Beregond, young Beren and his other friends and kin in the army, but most of all for the Ringbearer.

The memory of the frail Halfling, already near to breaking under the terrible burden he carried, and of his determined gardener, armed only with innocence, haunted Faramir. He had let them go, knowing at least dimly what they faced. But still he had let them go and the treacherous Gollum with them.

“I do not regret it.” he told Queen Undomiel, met later that day at his sister’s house. “It was the best, the only possible course. But Frodo, poor Frodo. Even if he succeeds how can he survive? Or his Sam.”

She looked equally unhappy. “I know my husband will return and so it must be that Frodo fulfils his quest. But what will become of him afterward I have not seen and cannot guess.”

“It is hard that such a burden should be put on a Halfling.” Faramir said.

“Hard indeed.” she agreed. “But he was the one appointed. And he accepted the charge willingly.”

“I do not doubt it. They are a brave folk.”

“They are.” she said, then added in sudden grief. “But we may never know exactly what happened - and what shall I say to Bilbo?”

***

Eowyn did not meet him in the gardens, as had become their custom, on the sixth morning but sent one her nurses to say she meant to keep to her rooms that day.

“She’s very low, m’Lord.” the Woman confided unhappily. “I know she cries when we’re not there to see. And she was doing so well!”

“It is the strain.” Faramir answered. “It is hard on us all.”

“Especially those who were poorly to start with.” she agreed. “My sister’s full of megrims and vapors too. And I can’t say I feel very happy myself.”

“Nor I.” Faramir agreed wryly and the Woman gave him a sharp look, reminded that he too was a patient.

“Queen Undomiel is certain all will be well,” she said firmly, “and being an Elf lady is likely to know.”

“Very likely.” Faramir smiled. “Were she not here I might almost think the King’s return had been no more than a dream.”

“More like the ending of a nightmare.” said the nurse. “But I know what you mean, m’Lord, looking back it doesn’t seem quite real does it?”

***

Instead of walking with Eowyn in the gardens Faramir went with Idril to the Hallow to inspect the ruin of his fathers’ tomb.

“That’s sure to cheer you up.” his sister had said dryly when he proposed it.

“It is something to do at least.” he’d answered.

The walk to the Silent Street was almost too much for him but Idril knew better than to even suggest a carrying chair. They walked slowly and rested frequently on folding stools carried by the two menservants who, along with Luinil, made up their train.

Faramir had been told the House of the Stewards was gone, but even so the sight of the empty place, hemmed in by other tombs, came as a shock.

“I had the ruins cleared away for safety.” Idril told him. “the stones and the remains of the monuments are stored in the tomb builder’s yard. What bones were found I had put in a casket and laid in the House of the Telemmirioni for now.”

“A single casket?” Faramir asked, shaken. More than thirty Stewards, from Hurin of Emyn Arnen on, and their near kin had lain in the House of the Stewards. How could they all be reduced to a few fragments of bone that one box could hold?

“A large one,” his sister said, “as large as that of Elendil.”

His mother, so lovely in her robes of blue and rose. His grandfather with his wise, gentle face. Dearest grandmother. Poor Uncle Belecthor who had died in his youth before his nephews could know him. Hurin’s father, Uncle Beren, fallen valiantly in battle. The great Stewards: Ecthelion I who had rebuilt the White Tower; Boromir the Brave, his brother’s namesake and hero; Mardil the Faithful...all gone. All ashes.

“Sit down.” Idril said sharply. Some one held a cup to his lips. “Drink this. I should have known better than to bring you here so soon.”

He swallowed the wine. “It would be no easier later.”

“No but you’d be stronger to bear it.”

He took the cup from Luinil’s hand and drank more deeply. He hadn’t expected it to shake him so. The embalmed bodies in the House of the Stewards were but empty shells, he knew that, their spirits had long since passed into the West and beyond. But he had looked upon his ancestor’s faces every midwinter vigil and seen how the sorrows and triumphs of their lives had marked them. And he’d confided boyish secrets to his mother and grandfather’s unhearing ears and imagined they heard him and understood. And now he would never look on his mother’s face again in this world - or his father’s.

Grief shook him. It would have been a comfort to see his father’s face, at peace at last beyond the pain of the world, to tell his empty shell all the things left unsaid and hope, somehow, his spirit heard them too. Faramir knew he needed to say a proper farewell to Denethor. But now he never could, and the wound of that loss would never properly heal.

“Oh, Father, how could you.” he whispered aloud. But he must be fair; Denethor had not meant to deprive him of consolation. He had intended for them to go into the dark together taking all their House with them. He had abandoned hope, which was a sin, but not his son.

Faramir felt the tears on his face and wiped them away. Then looked at his sister standing nearby in her bright scarlet gown, watching him in concern. “You do not wear mourning for our father.”

She smiled crookedly. “I did my grieving for Denethor while he was still alive. Now I am done with mourning and bootless regret.”

Faramir gazed on Idril and wondered for the first time what harm her constant nearness to their father‘s bitterness and despair might have done her. Wormtongue had poisoned Eowyn‘s spirit. Had Denethor, unmeaningly, done the same to his daughter? “I am sorry.” he said. “We should not have left him so much to you, Boromir and I.”

She shook her head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

There was some truth in that. How could they have protected her from their own father, even if they’d understood the need? “Still I am sorry for it.”

“I can forgive him everything save abandoning our people in their great need.” she said.

He frowned at that, perhaps because it reminded him to nearly of Eowyn’s bitterest self reproach. “You are hard, Sister.” her eyebrows went up at his tone and he continued more gently. “You don’t know what the madness of despair can drive a Man to.” or a Woman.

“Don’t I?” Idril said. “Perhaps not.”

****

Faramir had resigned himself to seeing nothing of Eowyn that day and so her invitation to join her at dinner came as a most welcome surprise.

The table was spread on a porch overlooking the gardens. Eowyn wore a blue gown and a determined smile - that vanished at her first sight of his face. “Faramir! What is it, what has happened?” she paled in sudden fear. “Is there news?”

Chagrined at being so easily read - when had he become so transparent? - he said quickly; “No, nothing like that. Today I went to see the place where the tomb of my fathers’ once stood and the sight grieved me more than I expected.” her face clouded with sympathy and he found himself adding almost against his will. “I will never see my mother’s face again, Eowyn, or my father’s. Perhaps it is foolish but it would have soothed my heart to see them lying side by side, at peace together.”

“It is not foolish at all.” she said firmly.

“We parted badly, Father and I, with anger and hurt on both sides. And now I can never bid him another, better farewell“ he felt the tears come and demanded in anguish: “How am I to bear it?”

She got up from her chair and came round the table to put her arm around him and press her cheek to the top of his head. “That is hard.” she said quietly. “Whatever else I may regret I will never be sorry I was there to bid my uncle and second father farewell. You must believe that Denethor loved you and would have forgiven you had he been given the chance - as Theoden forgave me.”

“I do believe it. I know it.” he said. “But how I wish we could have said the words to each other before it was too late!”

She hugged him once, hard, then went back to her own chair and sat down. He scraped up a smile. “Thank you, Eowyn. I am sorry to be so poor a guest.”

She shook her head. “It does me good to be reminded there are others with sorrows as heavy as mine. Sometimes I am too self-pitying.” the servants brought the first course, fish cooked in herbs, and she changed the subject. “Tomorrow is the day.”

“Yes, the seventh since they marched. They must reach the Black Gate by then.”

“So the waiting is almost ended.” she said, picking at her fish. “By this time tomorrow it will all be over, for better or worst.”

“New hope or the end of all hope.” he agreed quietly. “Let us speak of other things, Eowyn.”

“Yes.” she forced the determined smile back on her lips. “Tell me, what kind of fish is this?”

****

Note: Women who can afford it often use carrying chairs as a way of showing their consequence, but no Man will allow himself to be carried unless he is very old or crippled. For once Faramir’s pride outstrips his good sense.

It was but a little past the first hour when Faramir and Eowyn walked together to the Citadel to stand at the buttress wall and look northward. The grey dawn was made greyer by clouds that hid the sun and the ruin of City and townlands showed bleak in the drear light. There were a few others to share their watch, servants of the Citadel in their black and white liveries, and Queen Undomiel herself, standing in the embrasure at the tip of the buttress, her white gown shining in the pale light, the chill north wind blowing her long black hair.

Beside him Eowyn shivered. Faramir frowned down at her in concern and reached for her hand, it was cold as ice.

“She pulled it free.” I’m all right.”

“You’re cold.” he said in the scolding tone of a parent or nurse, and turned to his manservant. “Argon, go to the Steward’s house and ask the caretaker to open my mother’s wardrobe, in it you’ll find a good warm mantle of starry blue, bring it here.”

The Man quickly returned with a deep blue robe, sewn thick with crystal stars and lined with soft white miniver. Faramir draped it around Eowyn’s shoulders.

She clutched at it gratefully and produced a pale smile. “Thank you, that is better.” Then she looked northward again. “What is happening? How much longer must we wait until we know whether the world if Men is at an end or no?”

“I do not know. “He answered quietly. “But I know I would not have this world end, nor lose so soon what I have found.”

“Lose what you have found, Faramir?” she said primly. “I know not what you could have found to lose.” but there was a glint, almost of coquetry in the sidelong look she gave him and a warmth that said she knew very well what he meant - and was not displeased. Then she looked northward again, into the wind, and her face clouded. “I feel as if I am standing on the dreadful brink of a dark abyss, awaiting some stroke of doom.”

“Yes. We wait for the stroke of doom.” Faramir said.

Neither spoke again for some little time. The sun rose higher, shining pale and joyless through the overcast. A few more folk came to join the watchers at the buttress wall and they could see others on the City walls below them. The noise of hammer and chisel came faintly up to them from the ruined circles but there was no cheer or energy in the sound. The blows came slowly as if the Men labored in great weariness.

Then the cold north wind cut off cleanly, as if by a blade. At that same moment the light failed and the sun was dimmed, and all sound ceased. They could hear neither their own breath nor the beating of their hearts. It was as if all the world was holding its breath - waiting.

Then the darkness over the Mountains of Shadow rose up high, like a great black wave flickering with lightnings, effacing the pale sun and casting its mountainous shadow over all. A tremor ran visibly over the surface of the earth, rushing towards the City, and they felt the stones quiver under their feet. Then a sound like a sigh rose from the land itself and suddenly they could hear their hearts beating again.

Faramir stared up into the darkness hanging over them and heard himself say. “It is like Numenor.”

“What?” Eowyn’s voice, like his own, sounded strangely small.

“The land of Westerness that foundered. Often in dreams have I seen the great dark wave rising over the green land, darkness unescapable.”

“You think the Darkness is coming?” she asked fearfully, “Darkness Unescapable?” and she huddled to his side.

Faramir put an arm around her. “No. No it is only a dream. I don’t know what’s happening.” he looked down into her lovely face, gazing apprehensively yet trustingly up at him. “Reason says evil has won and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay. Oh Eowyn, in this hour I don’t believe any darkness will endure!” and he kissed her on the brow.

She put her arms around him and rested her head upon his shoulder. As they stood so entwined a strong, warm wind came from the west and blew the Shadow away, and the grey clouds too. The White City shone radiantly in the light of the unveiled sun and the Anduin sparkled silver.

Faramir found himself laughing with unreasoning joy. Eowyn laughed too, like bubbling music, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

And standing, shining, at the tip of the buttress, Queen Undomiel raised her arms and sang in a strong voice that folk heard all the way down in the first circle:

“Sing now ye people of the Tower of Anor,

for the realm of Sauron is ended for ever,

and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,

for your watch has not been in vain,

and the Black Gate is broken,

and your King hath passed through,

and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,

for your King shall come again,

and he shall dwell among you

all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,

and he shall plant it in the high places,

and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!”

And then she turned and walked past them all, down the length of the buttress to the fountain and the dead Tree. Faramir and Eowyn followed after her, and the serving people followed them. As they watched the Queen laid her hands on the lifeless white trunk and began to sing a new song.

It was in Quenya yet Faramir, learned as he was in the high tongue, couldn’t catch the meaning of the words though he felt their power shivering over his skin and saw them run like a shining sap into the dead Tree. Buds showed pale green on the dry boughs, unfurled into clusters of dark leaves, silvery pale below. The tree stood straighter as life ran strongly through it and lifted its leafy arms to the sun. White buds appeared and blossomed into snowy flowers and their sweet scent filled the court.

The song ended and Undomiel stood back, surveying her handiwork with delight. Faramir stared at the reborn Tree in awe and near disbelief. Finally he was able to tear his eyes away and look down at Eowyn. Tears ran sparkling down her cheeks but her face was alight with joy and wonder.

His own feelings were more complicated. He had welcomed the Return of the King, yes, but in his heart he hadn’t really expected things to change. He’d expected the Gondor of the King to be a continuation of the Gondor he had always known, poor, sad remnant of the glories of the Elder Days that it was. Only now did it come home to him that Elessar was indeed Envinyatar - the Renewer - bringing a new Age and a new world. And though there was joy and anticipation in that knowledge, there was also loss. The Age of the Stewards was ended, the new Gondor would belong to the King. For his father, and perhaps even for Boromir, that would have been a thought to bitter to bear. And even for him, who had never expected nor wished for rule, it had its sadness.

***

The Queen’s little garden was a riot of flowers; rose, lily, jasmine, snowdrop, and more all blooming gaily regardless of their season. “The song was more powerful than I thought.” Arwen said, surprised

“It must have been powerful indeed to bring life back to Nimloth after so many long years.” Idril agreed, adding wistfully. “I am sorry I missed seeing that.”

“And I am sorry I didn’t prune first.” Arwen said wryly, looking at the tangle of bushes and vines.

Idril laughed, then asked: “If you have such power why did you wait so long to use it, Arwen?”

“I had to wait until the time was right.” the Queen explained. “I could not have done it before Sauron’s fall.”

“Not while the Dark Lord still blighted our land.” Idril’s tone turned brisk: “We had better start work on the King’s Apartments right away. Do you know when he will return?”

Arwen shook her head. “Unfortunately no. The sight does not trouble itself with such things.”

“Just the births and deaths of Kings, rise and fall of kingdoms and other grand designs.” Idril said dryly.

Arwen laughed. “Exactly.” The door to the King’s court opened and her maid came in. “Yes, Andreth?”

“The Lord Hurin asks your Grace to please to come to the Court of the Tree as word has come from the King and his messenger is such as cannot be sent to your Ladyship’s rooms.”

The messenger was a great Eagle. Idril, Andreth and Pharinzil stopped in their tracks at the sight but Arwen ran forward with a glad greeting. “Landroval! But how do you come to be on this side of the mountains and Aragorn’s messenger?”

He made a harsh sound that might have been a kind of chuckle. “They needed somebody to handle those overgrown bats of Sauron’s. Who better than the Eagles? And who better to carry news?”

“None better.” Arwen agreed. “What is your news?”

***

“Eomer is unharmed, and so is Merry.” Arwen said gently.

Eowyn bowed her head and wept, but quickly stemmed her tears. “I have been so afraid...so afraid.”

“As have we all.” Arwen assured her. “But now all fear is ended. Our Men will come home to us. All will be well.”

“’You shall see these days renewed.’ my uncle told me.” she said slowly, in wonder. “I should have remembered he had the foresight of the Dunedain from his mother.”

Arwen smiled a little sadly. “It can be hard to trust in Seeings when all around you seems to give them the lie. I know, I have Seen Aragorn playing with our son and yet I too was afraid.”

“I have been afraid all my life,” Eowyn said softly, “though I never realized it till now. What will I do now there is nothing left to fear?”

“Learn to live without it.” Arwen said simply.

***

“Frodo is alive?” Faramir asked in amazement.

“Barely.” Idril answered. “The Ringbearer and his squire have both taken terrible hurt from their ordeal but Elessar hopes he will be able to heal them.”

“If it is possible he will do it.” said Faramir with firm confidence. “I will hold to that hope. I very much want to see Frodo again.”

“I would like to meet him too.” said his sister. “He must be even more remarkable than our Peregrin or Meriadoc of Rohan.”

“Do all Halflings have such strength, or just these four?” Faramir wondered.

“Now that the lands are united under the King we will have a chance to know the Little Folk and learn the answer.” said Idril.

Three days later a second messenger arrived from the King with dispatches and letters and was received by the Queen in her presence chamber with the Lord Steward of Gondor at her side. Sunlight fell through the north facing windows and reflected off the gold leaf on the walls filling the room with warm radiance. The Queen sat beneath a canopy sewn thick with sea pearls, a jeweled Tree glittering on the wall behind her.

The messenger was Belen, the youngest of Hurin and Laebeth's four sons. He reported the army had fallen back to North Ithilien and was encamped at the field of Cormallen but the Ringbearers had been taken to the stronghold on Cair Andros where they were being tended by King Elessar and Mithrandir. Their condition was said to be grave.

Though Sauron was fallen the army's work was not yet done. His Orcs and allies among the Men of South and East remained to be dealt with. The army needed food, healers and medicines for the wounded, and more Men if they were to be had.

Faramir and Arwen exchanged a smile. "I think we can oblige my husband." she said.

"Indeed we can." her Steward agreed. "Men and food we have in abundance, more than enough to feed and reinforce the army. I will see to it."

"Thank you, my Lord Steward." she turned to the messenger with a twinkle in her eye. "Now, Master Belen, your father is waiting to greet you and we will test his patience no longer." the youth hesitated, uncertain if this was dismissal. "Go!" Arwen made scatting motions with her hands and Belen had to suppress a grin as he made his bow and departed.

The Queen withdrew to her still unfurnished privy chamber to sit in a window and read her letter, it proved a business-like document. After a typically dry, Ranger-like account of the march and battle which she suspected - correctly - told but half the tale, Aragorn wrote what little he and Gandalf had been able to read concerning the Ring quest from Frodo's mind and Sam's and explained why Belen had called both 'Ringbearer'. It seemed after they had crossed into Mordor - far from any aid - Sam, believing Frodo dead, had taken the Ring and the quest upon himself. Discovering his mistake he had rescued his master and returned the Ring to him - the last being the more incredible feat. But Arwen was not entirely surprised, she had after all known Bilbo for many years.

Only at the very end of the letter did a touch of lover-like ardor break through: 'Alone it seems but half a victory and I cannot take full joy in it.' Aragorn wrote. 'If you can be spared my Love I would have you join me here at Cormallen so my happiness may be complete.'

She both smiled and sighed as she wrote her answer: 'I would I could come, my Beloved, as these last ten days have been as an Age to me without you. But, alas, I am engaged in learning to be a Queen and must not play the truant. There is much to be done here if the City is to be ready to welcome and crown her King -- and I have yet to see trace or sign that any Man or Woman in it does not heartily desire his return!'

***

There was a letter for Eowyn among the dispatches, Faramir had it sent to her at the Houses of Healing by a servant's hand. She felt unreasonably disappointed that he had not come himself. But of course he was very busy now that he had taken up his duties, she reminded herself, too busy to dance attendance on sick girls. Yet still her unruly heart sank - would he now have no time for her at all?

"Aren't you going to read your letter, m'Lady?" one of her nurses prompted gently. "Surely it can be only good news."

Eowyn felt her face heat. "Of course!" she broke the seal, it was from Eomer and contained not only assurances of his own safety and Merry's and their other friends and kin, but a glowing account of King Elessar's valor and an invitation for her to join him at Cormallen. 'For it is your victory too, Sister, had Angmar still led the armies of the Enemy things might have fallen out far differently. Please come - I am eager to see you.'

She remembered the pale, sickly creature Eomer had bade farewell just ten days earlier and smiled ruefully. Poor Brother, no doubt he had been worrying about her - and at a time when he already had far too many, heavier things to worry about. Well, her answering letter should reassure him but she would not go to Cormallen. She had disobeyed her King, betrayed her people's trust, and made a total fool of herself over a Man who not only didn't want her but was contracted to another. She didn't know if she'd ever have the courage to face anybody outside of this House again, least of all the Lord Aragorn!

Perhaps if Faramir had been going too...he was so understanding, so strong, perhaps with him at her side she might have found the courage. But of course he couldn't possibly leave Minas Tirith. She wished he'd come see her - she missed their talks.

***

Faramir gave the list of foodstuffs and medicines required by the army to his sister, and the task of marshalling the reinforcements to Hurin and Elfhelm of the Mark, while he himself concentrated on finding the necessary cartage and shipping. Idril had been able to give him a rough estimate of the number of carts she would need to carry the supplies the King had requested but the reinforcements would require more, and their number was as yet uncertain. Finally Faramir decided upon sixty, a good round number and hopefully a bit more than they'd need. A constant stream of carts was pouring into the City daily, carrying food and building supplies from Lossarnach, Lebennin and Belfalas, so there was no lack - but there was the problem of payment.

"No impressment." Faramir said firmly. "It is unjust and rightly breeds resentment. An ill start to the King's reign."

"My lord, I agree with you heartily in theory, but there is no money." the Chancery officer replied, a little desperately.

"There is my private purse." said Faramir.

"Forgive my, my Lord, but that too has been sorely depleted these last years. You remember after the fall of Osgilliath you re-armed your Men from your own monies."

"Then borrow it!" Faramir snapped impatiently, "my credit is good."

The Man looked even more apologetic. "No longer, my Lord. You are now responsible for your father's debts and those of the Stewards before you."

Faramir closed his eyes. "Haulage is these Mens' livelihoods, I will not have them cheated. There must be money to pay them somewhere."

The official hesitated a moment then ventured, "Perhaps the King's credit will serve?"

Faramir grimaced. "I know not if he has any. From what I hear the King and his people have lived humbly these many years in hiding. I will ask the Queen."

Undomiel interrupted his rather pained account of Gondor's empty treasury and overdrawn credit crisply, midway through. "The Northern Dunedain are not wealthy by any measure but I have gold enough for this purpose. See if your moneylenders will give credit to Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven and co-heiress to the wealth of the High Kings of the Noldor and Elu Thingol!"

Faramir blinked then smiled. "I think we will find them willing to take a chance on you, my Lady."

The conversation with Faramir caused Arwen to add a postscript to her letter for Aragorn explaining the problem and ending: 'Alas that I am so ignorant in such matters, but I studied to be the mistress of a Ranger holding not a Queen! I trust my husband understands these things better for Faramir and Idril would not be so worried were it not a matter of dire import.'

***

The Lady Eowyn did receive a visitor that evening, just as the candles were being lit, but it was not the Lord Faramir but the new Queen, and the Warden of the Houses was with her. The two of them asked Eowyn many searching questions about her appetite, her sleeping and her exercise, and seemed well pleased with the answers.

"It seems to me the Lady Eowyn is healed." said Queen Arwen.

"I am!" she agreed emphatically.

The Warden smiled. "Then I release her from my charge. May she never suffer hurt or sickness again." He bowed to Arwen. "I commend the Lady Eowyn to the care of the Queen until her brother returns."

Eowyn looked from one to the other in dismay. "You mean I must leave this House? But where am I to go?"

"You will come to me in the Citadel of course," Arwen answered, "as befits your rank." then she smiled and added in an undertone; "And I can make good use of your help and advice!"

To Eowyn's surprise this proved to be neither a joke nor flattery. The Late Lord Steward it seemed had kept no kind of state. He and his children had lived almost as hermits in their separate sets of rooms surrounded by echoing emptiness.

"After Finduilas' death Denethor closed the hall and dismissed all but our few personal attendants and a handful of cooks, grooms, maids and the like." the Lady Idril, Faramir's foster sister, explained later that evening as she and Arwen sat with Eowyn in her new apartments near the Queen's. "A few of the great officers of state, such as our cousin Hurin, have rooms in the Citadel, cared for by their own servants, and of course there is the Guard but otherwise we are quite alone here."

"Which will not do at all." said the Queen. "When my husband returns he will have with him the King of Rohan and high Lords of Gondor who must be suitably housed and feasted. And then there are the coronation festivities..." she spread her hands. "We must reopen the great kitchens, cleanse and decorate the feast hall and guest apartments, hire servants, appoint officers -"

"There is no end to it." Idril agreed. "And to make it better still, we have no notion how much time we have to it all!"

"Idril knows how to run the small household her father kept." Arwen said. "And I have many long years experience running an Elven household, which is a very different matter from running a mortal one. You on the other hand have been mistress of Meduseld, house of the Kings of the Mark."

Eowyn looked dubious. "Our ways are simpler than those of the Stoniglanders." she said.

"But you are accustomed to managing large groups of Men and Women and seeing they are not only busy but content with their work." Arwen pointed out. "Which is more than either Idril or I can say."

Eowyn nodded thoughtfully. True, there was an art to managing a very large household, especially to coaxing the various departments to work smoothly together. "Where in this City do you find servants for hire?" she asked.

Eowyn's first day in the Citadel began with a visit from the Marshal of the Riddermark. "Uncle Elfhelm!" she cried, and flew across her little reception room to embrace him. He was not in fact her uncle but Theodred's, brother to the long dead Queen Elfhild, but she and Eomer called him uncle just as their foster brother did. She had always been a favorite of his - and she had used that without compunction in her madness. "I am so sorry," she said, "was Eomer very angry?"

He smiled wryly. "Not as angry as he would have been had you succeeded in getting yourself killed, Eowyn."

"I am sorry." she said again. "I have been a fool, and faithless, and thoughtless -" tears started in her eyes. "Uncle, is there any news from home? Is all well there?"

"All is very well. The Orc army we heard of never attacked - it seems Fangorn got them first. Grimhild found your note and Cuthward took command as you ordered."

Eowyn swallowed. "Are they - are they very angry with me?"

"Angry?" Elfhelm looked at her in astonishment. "No! Eowyn there is no Man or Woman in the Mark who does not pity your sorrows and blame themselves for not trying to lighten them before you were driven to this pass." he smiled. "And not one who is not proud of their Lady Nazgul-Bane! You do know you may have won not just the Pelennor Fields but the Black Gate for us as well, don't you?"

"So Eomer wrote. I do not put my deed that high, nor do I think it makes up for the wrong I did." she forced a smile. "But if my people can forgive me my folly then I am glad of it!"

There was much to do, just as Queen Arwen had said, and Eowyn threw herself into the work with a will to silence the trouble of her mind. But sometimes as she carefully washed the dust of centuries from carven stone, or stitched at moth chewed hangings, or spread fresh washed linens to air on a stone paved terrace she would find herself worrying at her trouble, as at an aching tooth, and try to understand its cause.

For indeed there was no reason for her to feel so: The Shadow was lifted, her brother lived and would come home to her, and her people still loved her and forgave her her follies. She had won the kind of undying glory she had always dreamed of - already she had heard three songs to 'The Lady of the Shield Arm' - and she had useful work to do instead of fretting in idleness. So why wasn't she as happy as all around her?

It must be because of the Lord Aragorn - King Elessar as she must learn to call him even in her thoughts. Of course she still loved him, would always love him, and naturally she was grieved that she could never have him. Yes, that must be it, she was sad because she would always be alone.

But she hadn't felt alone in the Houses of Healing, at least not after she'd met Faramir. But now he was always about his King's business and she never saw him. She missed him. She missed her friend and that too was a good reason for sadness.

***

Faramir didn't learn Eowyn had left the Houses, much less come to live in the Citadel, for some days as he had gone south to Pelargir to hire barges. He brought them upstream to Osgilliath and stayed to see the supplies loaded and on their way before accompanying the carts back to the City.

He found the Queen in her large garden with a number of other Women mending and airing the ancient gold woven tapestries that had adorned Merethrond, the hall of feasting, since the Days of the Kings. He moved towards Undomiel, then he saw Eowyn helping three serving-women fold one of the huge hangings and checked his step. She looked pale, far paler than he would have liked. As if the Shadow that had departed from the world, somehow still touched her. Troubled he continued on to the Queen, but when his report was made and he was free to greet her Eowyn had gone.

***

Eowyn slowed to a walk then continued to the end of the corridor to lean against the balustrade of the little balcony at its end and let a cool breeze fan her hot cheeks. What was the matter with her? She had been wanting to see Faramir and yet when he walked into the garden instead of going to greet him she had run away. She had missed him, missed their talks, and yet the sight of him made the unhappy feelings inside her bubble up until they almost choked her. She was actually afraid to face him - which made no sense at all!

'He is my friend. My comforter during those terrible days when I wanted to die. We have so much in common; we've both lost a father and brother in this war, and nearly our own lives. Faramir understands me, he thinks me fair...and I love him.' she recoiled from the thought in something like horror. 'No! I love Aragorn! I do, I must -' for if she didn't then it meant she'd thrown away honor and nearly life over a silly, childish infatuation.

There was much for the Steward of Gondor to do as the City prepared to welcome her King. Reconstruction of house, workshop and hall he left to the masons and architects, it was the rebuilding of the City’s civic life that concerned him. He heard cases in the roofless law courts of the first circle, and oversaw the surveyors as they reset the bounds of allotment, farm and estate in the townlands. Though scarcely one stone had been left upon another the burned and trampled land was green with new growth and bright with flowers both wild and tame. Every tree had been cut down but slender saplings sprang up to replace them, growing and burgeoning with astonishing speed. Folk said it was the magic of the Queen’s song, renewing not only Nimloth but all the land, and Faramir agreed.

Obeying the command of his King, though with some inner qualms, he advanced loans to the City’s merchants and artisans that they might replace their lost tools and goods and reopen their shops. Certainly it needed to be done - but could even the wealth of the ancient Elven Kings stretch so far?

Yet, preoccupied as he was, he did not fail to note the many new faces in the Citadel and how its brooding silence had been broken by a merry chatter of voices and even laughter. He saw Eowyn several times but always busy about some domestic business, surrounded by servants or attended by the new household officers. She continued to look pale and wan and it seemed to him that she deliberately avoided his eye and his company. Had he offended her somehow? Or was she perhaps embarrassed by the memory of the kisses and embraces they had exchanged on that terrible, wonderful morning when Sauron fell? He wished he could talk to her.

Worry about Eowyn distracted him from his hardest task, finding a way around the laws barring King Elessar’s succession. “The act that gave the crown to Earnil II and his heirs is void as there are none left of that bloodline,” he said, “but since the line of Tarondor has failed there is the claim of the Telemirioni to consider -”

“There is not.“ said Idril, sitting with a heavy tome in her lap in the window embrasure of his little study. “The heir of the Telemirioni is both a Woman and of impure blood, and has no intention of standing in the way of the King! Besides, the line of Tarondor has not failed - Elessar is descended from him though Firiel and so is rightful Heir of Anarion.”

“If one allows inheritance through the female line.” her brother pointed out.

She snorted. “The exclusion of Women from the succession is custom, not law, and easy enough to get around - as you know very well, Faramir!”

He grimaced agreement. A simple act of the Council had twice allowed the Stewardship to pass to a sister’s son or grandson. It would be perfectly possible to make a similar dispensation for Elessar. The real, and Faramir feared insurmountable, difficulty lay elsewhere. “That would be true, Idril, if not for the Law of Earnil II which specifically forbids the succession of any claimant bearing the blood of Isildur.”

“That was prudent of him, considering the questionability of his own claim.” Idril said grimly.

“Worse still this was not a law made in Council to be changed by the will of a later Council, but a statute passed by the Lords and Commons which can only be overturned by another such assembly.”

Idril frowned. “There is no opposition to Elessar now - but let the matter drag on and old fears and prejudices may well awaken.”

“I agree.” said Faramir. “But a law made by the People cannot be unmade to suit the whim - or even the need - of the moment.”

“Nor should it be.” she sighed, then looked down at the book in her lap and suddenly started turning the pages rapidly to the beginning. “Perhaps we are not going back far enough for our precedent. Faramir, do you remember how Isildur and Anarion were made Kings of Gondor?”

“By general acclamation of the People.” he answered automatically, then his eyes widened in realization.

Idril smiled. “The will of the People must not be overruled by the arbitrary whim of King or Council, but their voice can be heard outside of formal assemblies.”

“Yes!” Faramir slapped the dark marble surface of his writing table. “That is the answer!” He picked up the goblet standing on a corner of the table and took a hearty swallow then smiled at his sister. “I should have thought of that at once.”

“You were mired in the welter of laws made after the kinstrife,” she answered, “and have had much else to think on.”

“Yes.” one of those preoccupations came immediately to mind. “The Lady Eowyn looks ill, and she seems to be avoiding me.”

“Not ill but troubled, and she is certainly avoiding you.” Idril agreed.

“Do you know why?”

She shook her head. “No. But I can guess - and so can you! Don’t play the fool, Faramir, it doesn’t suit you.”

“My hopes cloud my judgment.” he said ruefully.

“King Eomer has begged her to join him at Cormallen in every letter but she will not go,” Idril said, “and I don’t think it’s a fondness for housework that keeps her here!”

“Perhaps she cannot yet face the King.” Faramir said quietly.

“Or perhaps there is some one she is reluctant to leave.” said his sister.

***

Among the new Queen’s housewifely skills was the distilling of essences for perfumes and incenses and the brewing of liquors and medicines. She and Idril and Eowyn were in the large, cool stillroom in the undercroft of the great kitchens with Hiril, Beregond’s wife, now the Queen’s Apothecary, inspecting the stores of fresh and dried herbs and spices.

“Faramir has noticed you are avoiding him, Eowyn.” Idril said suddenly, closing a drawer filled with dried whitethorn.

Arwen looked at her startled, hands full of lavender seeds, then turned thoughtful. This seemed a strange time to raise the question - but perhaps Idril knew what she was doing.

Eowyn flushed painfully, keeping her eyes firm fixed on the filters she was sorting. “I am sorry he thinks so, it is just I have been so busy -”

Idril cut her off flatly. “Nonsense!”

Eowyn wheeled around in anger, knocking over a row of glass flasks. One rolled from the stone counter and broke upon the floor. “What business is it of yours who I see or do not see, Idril of Gondor!”

“None at all, save that this is my brother and I do not wish to see him further hurt.” she answered coolly.

Eowyn’s eyes dropped in shame, then she bent to collect the broken glass. “I don’t want to hurt, Faramir.” she said, voice slightly muffled. “He has been a good friend to me.” She straightened and found a cloth to wrap the broken glass in a cloth. “But I am tired of being pitied!”

“Then stop being pitiable.” Idril said reasonably.

Eowyn glared and Arwen thought it wise to intervene: “Is Faramir not more than a friend to you Eowyn?”

“No!” she said, far too emphatically, then swallowed. “I love the Lord Aragorn, your husband, my Lady. As you well know.”

“Perhaps you love them both.” Arwen suggested mildly.

Eowyn flushed again in anger and embarrassment. “That’s impossible!”

“Of course it’s not.” Hiril said, startling them all. Like her husband she was careful to keep her place, but this was Woman talk and of all of them she was the longest married and the most experienced. “One can easily love two different Men for different reasons and in different ways - and many Women have.”

Eowyn’s face glowed scarlet. “The more shame to them!”

“Not at all.” Hiril said, unperturbed. “One can, for example, love one Man dearly as a captain and a friend, and yet love another just as much as a companion and mate.”

“I have broken all my oaths.” Eowyn said in a strangled voice, “But I will not be false to my love.” then fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Oh dear.” said Arwen unhappily, looking after her.

“No.” said Hiril, “Anger is a good sign. It means she is beginning to doubt.”

“Poor Eowyn,” said Idril, with no sympathy in her voice. “It must be rather more than embarrassing to nearly throw your life away for love of a Man - and then find yourself falling in love with another.”

***

Faramir came back early from the courts and systematically searched the Citadel for Eowyn. He ran her to ground at last in the laundry, pinned into a large apron with a cloth over her hair, overseeing the bubbling vats of dirty linens. She stared at Faramir as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. The laundresses were all staring too, curious and excited. Faramir ignored them.

“Lady I would speak with you.”

“Now?” Eowyn asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“I - “ she looked helplessly around at all the bright, interested eyes, and gave in. “Very well.”

The yard between laundry and kitchens and the various alleys leading off it were full of busy people, in the black and white livery of the Citadel, all looking with surprise at the Steward and the Lady of Rohan. Faramir took Eowyn by the elbow and steered her through the winding ways to a stair that led up to the ramparts of the Citadel wall overlooking the northern half of the City.

Eowyn, pink from the heat of the laundry - and perhaps other causes - pulled the coarse cloth from her hair, tried vainly to smooth her vast apron and said edgily, “Well, my Lord Steward?”

He remembered her preference for plain speaking and came straight to the point: “Eowyn, why don’t you join your brother at Cormallen?”

Her eyes veered from his and she bit her lip. “Do you not know?”

“I can think of two reasons,” he answered, “but which is the true one I do not know.”

“Oh don’t play riddle-games!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Speak plain!”

“Very well then. Maybe you do not go because to see the Lord Aragorn again would give you pain rather than joy. Or maybe it is because I do not go and you wish to be near me.” His voice became even more gentle. “Or maybe it is for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them. Eowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?”

“I desired to be loved by another.” she said in a muffled voice, looking down at the hands twisting the folds of her apron. “But I want no Man’s pity.”

“You wanted the love of the Lord Aragorn, as you wanted renown and glory.” he answered. “You loved him as a young soldier loves a great captain. But he returned only understanding and pity, and so you fell into despair and sought a brave death in battle. Look at me Eowyn!”

She looked up, almost unwillingly, and was caught by the steady power in his blue eyes. “Do not scorn pity,” he told her, “for it is the gift of a gentle heart. But I do not offer you pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have won renown that shall not be forgotten. And you are beautiful beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. I love you, Eowyn. Do you not love me?”

For Eowyn it was as if the sun had come out, banishing the last lingering shadow of her winter. It was not that her heart changed but that, finally, she understood it. She did love the Lord Aragorn, and always would, but she saw now that it was the same kind of love as her brother felt for him; that of a soldier for his captain, a comrade for his shield friend. Aragorn was not the Man for her, she’d realized that long ago, but Faramir was and suddenly she understood that loving him did not betray that first love but merely put it in its proper place.

“Yes.” she said, and laughed for joy at the brightening of his face. “I will lay down my sword and be a shieldmaiden no longer. I will even come and live in this cold white City of yours.”

Faramir’s smile shone down upon her, warm as the sun. “Long ago, in the days of the Kings, my ancestors dwelt across the river in Ithilien, in the hills of Emyn Arnen. There we will build our house, with a fair garden and wide parks where the White Lady of Rohan may ride at her pleasure.”

It sounded wonderful. “And your proud folk will say of you: ‘There goes the Lord Steward who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!’” she teased. “’Were there no Women of the race of Numenor to choose?”

“None.” he said, and bent to kiss her. She put her arms around his neck and returned it warmly. Lost in their own little world neither heard the cheers from the people watching eagerly from below the wall.

“My Lord Steward!” Faramir tore his eyes from Eowyn’s and looked at his Queen at the head of the long council table. Undomiel was smiling and her voice held an indulgent note as she repeated: “I asked what was the customary form of coronation here in Gondor.”

He smiled back. “Forgive me, my Lady, I did not hear.” A soft ripple of friendly laughter circled the table as he continued: “The Heir would receive the crown from the hands of the King as he lay on his deathbed. Or, if the Heir was abroad when the old King died, he would go to the Hallows to take it from his hand there.”

“That will be awkward since Elessar means not to return to Minas Tirith until the day of his crowning.” Eowyn pointed out from her place across the table from Faramir. He was careful not to look at her again, this was not the time to get lost in his beloved’s eyes!

“There is precedent for another taking the crown on the King’s behalf.” said Idril, sitting beside her brother. “The Queen Istarnie I told you of, Arwen, did so.”

“As did Pelendur when, as Steward, he presented the crown to Earnil, the Council’s choice.” said Faramir. Then he blushed, remembering this had been done in deliberate despite of the claim of the Lord Aragorn’s forefather Arvedui. He glanced uneasily not at the Queen but at the Lord Barahir, the King’s cousin and foster brother, sitting beside her as Elessar’s representative.

But the Northerner only smiled faintly. “Aragorn would thank you if you would do the same, Lord Faramir. When your grandfather showed us the crown long ago neither of us much fancied taking it from Earnil’s grasp.”

"Faramir will do so then.” said Undomiel. “What next?”

“Then the King would put on the crown under the Dome of the Stars, or in later times in the Hall of the Kings.” he continued. “And afterward he would sit upon the throne and accept the homage of his subjects.” Faramir turned to Barahir. “Tell me, my Lord, how were these things ordered in the North?”

The Ranger gave another slight smile. “I cannot say, I have made no study of such matters.” he looked at the Queen: “Arwen, you attended most of the enscepterings of the Northern Kings, did you not?.”

“Every one from Arantar’s to Arvedui’s.” she answered. And Faramir blinked, reminded again of his Queen’s age. It was all too easy to forget this seemingly youthful Woman’s memory reached back deep into the Elder Days.

“It was the scepter not the crown that was the symbol of sovereignty in the North.” Undomiel explained. “But otherwise the ceremony was not unlike your own: When the old King chose to lay down the scepter he would proclaim his decision and then he and his Heir would make a great progress around the realm that the people might bid farewell to the one and welcome the other. Then they would return to Annuminas and the old King would give the scepter into the hands of the new before the assembled folk at the doors of Elendil’s Hall. If the King died before laying down the scepter - as happened once or twice - his successor would receive it from the hands of either the Queen or the Prince of Dunhirion as hereditary Steward of the Realm as seemed most fitting.”

“Since Elessar is being made King by the acclaim of the people it would be right for him to put on the crown before them all after the Northern fashion.” said Idril. “Perhaps at the gates when he is welcomed into the City?”

“No.” said Faramir. “Or rather yes, let him be crowned in the sight of all, but break the ceremony into two parts; the acclamation at the gates and then the crowning before the doors of the Hall.”

Queen Undomiel nodded. “Very well. We will do it so, if Aragorn approves.”

“I have no doubt that he will.” said Barahir. “But he is troubled over the question of the army. If he leads it back to the City might it not be seen as a threat?”

“Certainly not!” Faramir, Idril, Edrahil the Chamberlain and Hurin of the Keys cried emphatically together.

“The army is our army, as the King is our King.” Hurin said firmly. “How then can we feel threatened by either? Tell the Dunadan he need not be so careful of us as all that!”

Barahir‘s deep eyes glinted amusement. “I will do so.”

They went on to talk of others things; whether the procession to the Citadel should be mounted or afoot; the decoration of the great avenue; the attendants of the King and Queen, and so forth. Faramir paid the talk but half a mind - and this time not because he was agreeably distracted by his betrothed!

It troubled him that Elessar could still harbor uncertainty as to his welcome. Gondor had followed him to the gates of death - what more proof did he need of her loyalty? Yet for all his hurt, Faramir could not entirely blame the King for his mistrust. The Southern Realm had betrayed Isildur’s Heirs before, as all Men knew.

He looked at the Queen at the head of the table. She at least had no doubts, and in time they would prove themselves to Elessar too.
***

The people of Gondor poured into the White City to see their new King crowned, some from as far away as the green hills of Pinnath Gelin and the long shores of Anfalas. Harpists came from Dol Amroth in the train of Imrahil’s Princess, and musicians and singers from the vales of Lebennin. And the Men of Lossarnach came with great carts of flowers for garland and wreath.

Arwen was sitting the court of Merethrond amidst heaps of white flowers industriously plucking petals from roses and cherry-blossoms and snowdrops and the rest, assisted by a half score or so serving maids, when Hiril approached her and asked a private word. Arwen granted it readily, making a place for the Woman on the bench beside her.

“It concerns the Lady Idril.” Hiril said. “You have not heard all she did during the siege, my Lady. When the City was breached and it seemed it must fall she resolved not only to take her own life rather than fall into Sauron’s hands but chivied and persuaded almost all the Women of the City to do the same, and to slay their children too.”

Arwen stared at her appalled. “But it did not happen!” she said recovering herself. “She changed her mind.”

“Yes, at the last she held her hand. Lady Luinil says she foresaw the coming of the King. Still it worries me that she should even think of such an act - much less intend it. Such despairing madness is alien to our blood, to the nature of the Anarioni,” Hiril smiled wryly, “though I say it as shouldn’t.”

“And why shouldn’t you? You have the blood whatever the law of Gondor may say!” and that was one law Arwen would see changed if she could. “And I too would never expect such a thing from a daughter of Elendil’s line. It must have been the Lord Denethor’s influence.”

“That is what I think.” Hiril agreed. “His shadow fell upon all his children but perhaps most of all upon the daughter that dwelt with him and kept his house. It passed with him but the memory remains. And she has lost much; father, and love, and her occupation too now that there is a Queen in Gondor. She will not fall into despair again, but she will fade away and die if she is not given reason to live.”

Arwen bit her lip. She had seen enough Isildurieni im similar straits to know Hiril’s fear was well founded. “I shall not always need her help and advice as I do now. We must find her something else to do, my husband and I.”
***

Among those who came to Minas Tirith to see the King crowned was Morwen of Lossarnach, Queen Steelsheen of Rohan. Rather to Arwen’s relief she preferred her elder daughter’s house in the sixth circle to guest quarters in the Citadel. Eowyn went down to her aunt’s house bearing the formal welcome of the Queen of Gondor to the Queen Dowager of Rohan as well as her own.

Morwen was very old, frail and white haired, but she had the same heart shaped face and wide set eyes as her granddaughter, though hers were the grey of the Dunedain rather than blue like Eowyn‘s. She received her not in the house but in a light lattice-work garden pavilion overgrown with climbing roses, white and pink and pale lavender, the air was heavy with their scent.

“I am glad to see you, Grandmother.” Eowyn said, embracing her.

“And I you, Sweeting, I have been hearing sad tales of you.”

Eowyn blushed. “And all true. But I am better now.”

There was a distinct glint of humor in the old Queen’s eyes as she answered, “I trust you will keep so.” and then looked significantly aside.

Eowyn followed her glance to the group of Women attendants sitting at the other end of the pavilion. A grey haired Woman in a green gown bordered with Rohirric knotwork rose, her eye fixed sternly on Eowyn.

“Auda!”

The old nurse and tirewoman swept towards them, her gimlet glare reducing Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, shieldmaiden and Nazgul-bane to a naughty six year old with skinned knees and muddied clothes. “What have you to say for yourself, young lady?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Eowyn held out her hands appealingly. “I’ve been a thoughtless, selfish fool and am heartily sorry for it. Please don’t scold, Nanny.”

The stern face softened. “My poor little girl!” she hugged her close and Eowyn let out a little sigh of relief. “Well it wasn’t all your fault. I’ll have a word or two to say to that Lord Aragorn, King or no, trifling with your heart so -”

“He didn’t! Be fair, Auda, he was never more than kind. It was I who tried to make it more than that.”

Welll...maybe so.” the old nurse conceded reluctantly. “But still it is a bitter disappointment to me - just when I thought you were going to be happy again at last! And it would have been a fine match.”

Eowyn smiled mischievously. “But I’ve made a much better one, now.”

“What!” grandmother and nurse exclaimed as one.

“I have pledged myself to the Lord Faramir, Steward of the City.” Eowyn said demurely.

Auda looked blank but Morwen’s brows rose approvingly. “A fine choice, Granddaughter.”

“Thank you.” said Eowyn, and explained to Auda. “He is the Lord Boromir’s brother.”

Her face cleared. “Oh!” everybody had liked Boromir. “And is he much like him?”

“Very to look at. And gentle and kind as was Boromir, but also stern and grim at times. He has suffered much - as have we all.”

“But that is ended now.” Morwen said firmly. “You will see your fosterling happy yet, Auda.”

“I hope so.” she sighed, then turned brisk: “I have brought your jewels, Eowyn, and your best gowns. What were you planning to wear to this coronation, armor?”

Minas Tirith did not sleep the night before the coronation of the King. Standing in the embrasure at the tip of the stone pier bisecting the City Arwen saw the great avenue winding down the hill like a river of golden lamplight with rivulets and streams uniting it to the side streets and covering the hill in a web of light.

Light of candle and lamp showed at nearly every window and torches were spaced along the tops of the walls. By them she could see many of her new people looking northeast towards the twinkling fires of the King’s encampment at the edge of the Pelannor fields.

Arwen sighed happily. Tomorrow Aragorn would come home, to their new home, and at last they would begin their life together free from fear and shadow! Her father’s grief and anger, his refusal to accept her choice, was a nugget of unhappiness that she refused to acknowledge. She would not let her great day, and Aragorn’s, be spoiled - even by a thought.

Turning she padded softly on bare feet back towards the Hall of the Kings. The Fountain guards, standing their traditional watch around the White Tree, acknowledged her presence, bringing their spears to salute - something they did for no one else.

She paused to lay a hand on Nimloth’s pale bole and feel the life surging within it. This she had done, and not by power alone. Only a spell sung by the mother-to-be of the new line of Kings could have given life back to the dead Tree. If she had ever doubted her Eldarion would be born she did so no longer, and never would again.

The Citadel guards on watch before the great hall saluted her too as she passed between them into its white and black coolness. Lights were burning here as well showing the towering statues of the old Kings, the glittering golden canopy suspended above the white throne of the King, and the Queen’s throne beside it.

Arwen paused again for another look at her new throne. It was of white stone and similar in design to that of the King, which meant it was more massive than she would have liked. But anything lighter would have been incongruous and unlovely in these surroundings. It was carved all over with delicate traceries in which the cornflower of Idril Celebrindal and the niphredil of Luthien Tinuviel were intertwined and had her own device of the evenstar inlaid in stones of adamant on the high back where it would glitter above her head.

She nodded satisfied and went on past the thrones to a door that led to a short gallery running behind the guardsmen’s court and ending in a second door opening onto the small private garden below her apartments. This was lit bright as day by lamps hanging in the arcaded walks that surrounded it and others mounted on four posts around the central fountain. And it was crowded with Women, just as she’d left it some few hours ago.

Her Andreth was there, and Eowyn’s Auda. Eowyn herself and Arwen’s six newly appointed maids of honor; girls from noble Gondorian families including Laebeth and Hurin’s golden haired daughter Aranor. Arwen smiled teasingly at them all. “Still wakeful? I’d better not see you yawning and gaping through the ceremonies!”

“Oh no, my Lady!” the girls assured her in chorus. A few giggled nervously.

Eowyn looked up from her dreamy contemplation of her betrothal ring, a grass green beryl carved with the head of a horse, to point out: “You haven’t wasted your night in sleep either.”

Arwen laughed. “True. And there‘s no point in trying to snatch a little rest now, but two hours short of sunrise. Shall we dress for the day instead?” the Women murmured eager agreement.

***

Auda coaxed the folds of Eowyn’s long mantle to symmetrical perfection and stood back to admire the effect. She had immediately approved the coronation gown sewn by the City seamstresses from bolts of pale golden brocade, almost the exact color of Eowyn’s hair, found in the Royal Wardrobe. Its hems were all edged with a delicate embroidery of gold thread, seed pearl and tiny gems. Sleeves and mantle were lined with soft golden silk and the kirtle beneath was of the same save for its close fitting sleeves of glittering cloth of gold. Eowyn would have had only her betrothal ring, and the two small clasps that held her mantle in place had Auda not brought her jewel box and with it the delicate floral circlet and matching necklet she’d inherited from her mother Theodwyn.

“You will dazzle them all, and outshine the Queen!” Auda pronounced, glowing with delighted pride.

But Eowyn shook her head with a smile. “No I won’t, you haven’t seen what she is going to wear.”

***

The long years of waiting had given Arwen plenty of time to sew herself a bridal gown - as well as two banners and the belt and scabbard for Narsil - but when the time finally came she’d been wed without ceremony in a riding costume much the worse for wear. And so the gown meant for her wedding would be worn for her coronation instead.

She had hesitated at first, for kirtle and surcoat had been made after the Northern mode which seemed rather different from the fashion in Gondor. But Andreth and Idril, and the Princess Fanuilos of Dol Amroth had all assured her this would not give offense, and it seemed a pity not to wear them for *something* after all the long years of stitching and dreaming that had gone into their making.

The kirtle was low necked, lower than was the custom here in the South, and its pale green silk was overlaid with lace frosted with crystal and pearl. Wide green velvet sleeves belled out over under-sleeves of gold shot yellow gauze. Carefully Andreth and the two oldest and steadiest maids of honor lowered the soft green velvet surcoat over the jeweled gown and arranged its overlong skirts and short train.

Then Andreth and all the maidens tried hard to persuade their mistress to wear some of the Queens’ jewels from the many boxes piled upon a table in her robing room; a girdle of adamant, opal and beryl that would match well with her gown; golden bracelets to adorn her arms, bare beneath their flowing sleeves; a collar of great, creamy white sea pearls. But Arwen refused them all. She would wear only her evenstar, doubly precious now as Aragorn’s pledge, and the fragile butterfly crown with its looped strands of silver and beryl that her mother had made for her long ago.

“Your *mother* made it?” giddy young Emmeril of Lossarnach asked incredulously.

Arwen smiled, remembering: “As a coming of age gift.” then laughed at the astonished looks on her little maidens’ faces. “My mother had Noldorin blood from her mother and so it is no wonder she was skilled with her hands. Silver-smithing was her favored art, but she was also a great weaver and broideress. My work is not half so fine as hers was.” If only Celebrian could have been with her today! but Arwen would not see her mother again until the Ending of the World - and perhaps neither of her parents would want to see her when that time came at last. She pushed the thought away. No sadness - not today!

“Now, let me have a look at you!” the young girls lined up obediently in front of their mistress. Arwen had dressed them in her own colors of deep blue and green and pale silver. Their gowns followed the pattern of her own; a surcoat over a wide sleeved kirtle, and their hair hung free, braided with silver. “Very good, you are a credit to me.” she told them. They blushed with pleasure and looked prettier than ever. “Now let us go down.”

***

Idril and her attendants were waiting in the Merethrond court, the four maids of honor in scarlet trimmed with gold, Idril herself in a rich ivory brocade sewn with pearls. Wide bands of gold-work set with crimson stones encircled her hips and the high collar of her gown. Over it she wore a flowing gold edged robe of the same brocade, both it and her hanging sleeves lined with scarlet silk.

Arwen had thought the rich fabric too heavy for Idril’s slight form, and the cut too severe for so young a Woman. Then taste here in Gondor did seem to vere from over-austere to over-ornate with nothing in between. At least she had persuaded Idril to wear a light golden circlet instead of the massive diadem she had first chosen.

Eowyn came down from her rooms, above the Queen’s presence and privy chambers, with Auda carrying her train. The Women were still admiring and exclaiming over each other’s finery when Faramir entered the court followed by two squires in the white livery of the Stewards. He wore a bright steel cuirass chased with the Tree over his robe of state, which seemed odd and incongruous to Arwen but was apparently the custom here in Gondor.

His eyes went straight to Eowyn and fixed there. Passing by the other Women, including his Queen, as if they didn’t exist he took the hands she held out to him. “You outshine the Sun-maiden in her glory.” he told his bride-to-be fervently. “Never again shall I call twilight fair, my allegiance is given now to the golden day!”

Eowyn laughed delightedly, then disengaging a hand reached up and gently turned his face to the Queen.

Faramir blinked, recovered himself and bowed. “You sent for me, my Lady, what service may I do your Grace?”

Arwen’s eyes danced. “You have done it already, my Lord Steward. I was determined not to miss your first sight of your betrothed!”

All the Women laughed and Faramir laughed merrily along with them. “I am besotted.” he admitted. “And I care not who knows it!”

“Which is as well, since half the City saw you pledge each other.” his sister reminded him in amusement.

***

Queen Morwen, Princess Fanuilos, Laebeth and scores of other ladies and gentlewomen waited for the Queen at the foot of the tunnel stair, sinking to the ground in deep courtesies when she appeared. Arwen spent a little time greeting the high born among them, and the less prominent too, such as Hiril and the healers Baradis and Berethil, who by their services had deserved the notice of the Queen. Finally she mounted Asfaloth, proud in his jeweled harness and trappings of green and silver and took in her hand the white standard of peace with the flowering tree she had wrought at the same time as the black war banner.

It had been decided that the Queen and her chief attendants, Fanuilos, Eowyn, Idril and Laebeth, and the six maids of honor should ride horseback, using sidesaddles so their fine gowns would not be disarrayed. The new Queen smiled remembering Eowyn’s disgust and then her dismay when she realized riding aside was a somewhat different skill than astride. The shieldmaiden of Rohan had been forced to practice alongside the Gondorian maids of honor unaccustomed to riding horseback.

The other ladies followed in their carriages, two by two, Queen Morwen taking pride of place among them, with guardsmen marching before and behind and singers and musicians playing flute and horn, walking between. They wound their way downward between excited crowds to assemble in the great gate square. The Queen’s procession was followed by the Steward’s led by Faramir attended by his cousin Hurin and those Councilors of the Kingdom who had not marched with Elessar to the Black gates, followed by heralds, the captains of the companies defending the City, Lords, gentlemen and burgesses.

Then Arwen and her ladies, and Faramir together with Hurin, the captains, Elfhelm and his knights, rode through the gate arch and out of the City. Behind them a row of guards in black and silver formed a line across the empty space where the great gates of Minas Tirith had once stood and drew their swords.

There was a huge crowd outside the walls, all dressed in festival garb and garlanded with flowers, They cheered the arrival of the Queen and the Steward, then everybody settled down to wait - but not for long.

The Host of the West advanced towards the City in row upon row of armored men, the steel of their cuirasses and spears flashing and glinting in the morning sunlight and at their head rode the new King with Eomer of Rohan and Imrahil of Dol Amroth upon his right hand, and Gandalf the White and an uncomfortable looking Gimli perched alone upon Arod at his left hand. Escorted by his Northern Rangers now clad as the knights they were in silvered mail beneath surcoats of Dunedain grey ensigned with the rising moon of Isildur, their star badges gleaming on the shoulders of their silver edged grey cloaks.

The crowd before the walls did not cheer their King as he passed but stared in awestruck silence. Arwen too felt frozen in place, heart pounding painfully loud in the stillness. Never had he been more beautiful - not even in his shining youth before the cares and sorrows of his life had left their mark.

He had agreed to wear for his coronation the plate armor he had refused for battle. Over crimson tunic and gleaming black mail he wore a cuirass of shining galvorn 1 inlaid with the helm and stars and winged crest of the Kings in gold and over all a mantle of blue-black velvet edged with silver. His hair lay sleek shining on his shoulders and the Star of Elendil gleamed upon his brow. But greater even than his beauty was the majesty, the power revealed in him now that he had cast aside all disguises and accepted his destiny. It was this that had struck his people silent, overawed, perhaps even a little afraid.

“My Lady.” Faramir prompted in a whisper. It had been agreed she would greet the King first.

She swallowed and urged Asfaloth forward. This was ridiculous, she couldn’t possibly be feeling shy of her own husband - could she?

“Another banner?” Aragorn said as they met, a note of amusement in his voice.

“The first was for war, this one is for peace.” she answered huskily. He took it from her hand and she bowed, struggling to regain her composure. She felt his fingers beneath her chin and he tilted her face upward forcing her to meet his eyes; her lover’s eyes warm and familiar. She essayed a timid smile.

Suddenly he urged Brego alongside Asfaloth and pulled her to him, kissing her with all the pent up passion of their long separation, regardless the many thousands of eyes upon them. Awe and shyness vanished in an instant.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered when they broke apart at last, tracing the familiar lineaments of his face with eager fingers, “so much.”

“And I you. A full month we’ve been apart.”

“It seemed an Age!”

He pulled her close again for another kiss, lifting her bodily from her saddle to his own.

“Aragorn!” she gasped. “The ceremony, what will our people think?”

“I don’t think they mind.” he grinned. Only then did she hear the laughter and applause around them - no their people didn’t mind at all.

Laughing herself she abandoned all attempt at dignity and flung her arms around him for another long kiss. Of course eventually - and it seemed all to soon - they had to stop kissing each other and let the ceremony continue. Arwen, turned to face forward, perched uncomfortably half on half off Aragorn’s saddle bow, but happy to have his arm around her.

Faramir fought down his grin and bowed, a hand to his breast, the other holding his white rod. “The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office.”

Aragorn accepted the rod from him, then returned it saying: “That office is not ended, and it shall be yours and your heirs’ as long as my line shall last. Do now your office!”

Faramir wheeled his horse around to face the City and the people lining its walls. “Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the Kingship at last. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dunedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hand brings healing -” which, Arwen thought a little wryly, pretty much covered everything. “- the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Numenor. Shall he be King and enter into the City and dwell there?”

And a thunderous cry of “Yea!” rose as from a single vast throat, the voice of the people of Gondor. Arwen had never doubted that would be their answer yet still she let out a breath: It was done, the King had returned and been accepted.

****

Note 1: Galvorn is a black metal alloy created by Eol in the First Age.

They rode side by side, Arwen back on Asfaloth, up the long avenue to the Citadel between happily cheering crowds who threw flowers in their path. Once again Aragorn had proved he understood their people better than she did, Arwen reflected wryly. Given the endless hours spent agonizing over precedence and protocol she would have expected the Gondorim to be offended by their flagrant breach of decorum. - instead it had delighted them, and Aragorn had known it would. His emotion had been genuine yet he had also, quite deliberately, used his lovers’ greeting to his wife to break the spell of awe he had cast upon his new subjects.

“The City looks wonderful,” her husband said quietly, “how did you manage it?”

“Whitewash and carefully hung banners.” she answered wryly. “Don’t look too closely!”

“I won’t.” he promised, amused.

Arwen looked around, for the first time taking note of who was riding with them - and who was missing. Eomer and Imrahil were there, and Gandalf and Gimli, and the twenty-six surviving Northern Rangers with Halladan carrying her banner but - “Where is Frodo?” she asked. The Ringbearer had been meant to ride at the King’s side

“Back among the guard.” Aragorn answered quietly. “He begged off, said he didn’t feel up to being put on show. And the other three insisted on staying with him. Merry and Pippin have barely stirred a step away from him and Sam since they awoke.”

Arwen nodded. “Who can blame them? They must have feared they’d never see either again.” then she asked the next question: “Where are Legolas and my brothers?”

“I have no idea.” Aragorn answered ruefully. “They rode off this morning just before dawn leaving word they’d be back before the day was over.”

“That’s odd.” Arwen wondered what her brothers and their friend might be up to, but did not worry. There was no trouble they could get into now - she hoped!

The winding avenue was dotted with pageants; tableaus with elaborate sets, richly costumed actors and choruses of singers to explain their meaning in rather bad Quenyan verse. There was Earendil, a white jewel upon his brow and winged Elwing at his side, standing in the bow of Vingelote; Elros Tar-Minyatur enthroned upon the Mountain of Numenor with the star shining above him; Elendil landing on the shores of Middle-Earth; Isildur and Anarion enthroned side by side beneath the starry dome of Osgilliath; The Last Alliance with actors representing Gil-Galad and Arwen’s own father as well as Elendil and his sons; and - rather daringly - a representation of Aragorn’s descent from Anarion with Firiel and her husband Arvedui prominently featured.

Eowyn of Rohan rode beside her brother immediately behind the King and Queen. Seeing Aragorn again had not proved as painful as she had feared, yet still she was troubled. His ardent greeting of his Queen had inspired an emotion she was reluctant to acknowledge as jealousy. Arwen was dear to her, and much better suited to the Lord Aragorn than she ever could be - and there was Faramir. It could not be jealousy - it must not be. She looked across her brother to her betrothed for reassurance.

She caught his eye and Faramir gave her a smile that warmed her clear to her toes. She smiled back, happy again. Loving Aragorn had hurt; loving Faramir felt wonderful. That alone should tell her which was right. Then she looked at Eomer, saw his frowning puzzlement, and laughed out loud. He had yet to hear their news and this was not the time or place to tell him. Perhaps at the feast later.

***

As many people as possible from every quarter of Gondor and from Rohan too, lords and commons both, had been invited to witness the crowning of the King before the Hall of his ancestors. The court of the Tree and the long buttress were packed solid with Men and Women dressed in their colorful best and glittering with jewels. A broad aisle from the entrance stair to the foot of the Hall steps had been left open, lined with Citadel guards. And two sets of honor guards stood beneath the two towering statues flanking the stair; one with the King’s crown, the other with the Queen’s.

Frodo had been meant to carry Aragorn’s crown but seemingly he had begged off that too, it was Gimli who took the heavily embroidered cushion on which it rested. Arwen had given Idril the honor of carrying the Queen’s crown. She carefully removed her Elven diadem and gave it to Laebeth to keep, while Aragorn did off the Elendilmir and entrusted it to Elledhir, the eldest of his Rangers. Then Gandalf led a much reduced procession to the Hall steps: Just Aragorn and Arwen, followed by Gimli and Idril with the crowns, and finally by a double file Northern Rangers. The rest of their following found themselves places at the forefront of the assembled crowd.

Gandalf mounted the steps to the great doors Aragorn and Gimli followed him but Arwen and Idril remained at the foot of the steps, awaiting their turn. Aragorn knelt at the wizard’s feet and Gimli presented the crown. Gandalf held it high for all to see, then lowered it gently onto Aragorn’s bowed head.

“Now begin the days of the King!” the wizard said and smiled. “May they be blessed.”

Aragorn rose and Arwen saw him draw a deep breath before he turned to face the applause of his people. After a moment he raised his hands and they fell silent. “This day does not belong to one man but to all.” said the new King. “Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace.”

The people cheered again and Aragorn looked at down at Arwen. She smiled a little tremulously, tears of pride glistening on her cheeks. He was magnificent; venerable and yet in the full flower of manhood. Wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light shone about him.

A sharp nudge recalled her abruptly to herself: “Arwen!” Idril whispered, voice quivering with suppressed laughter, “this is not the time for daydreaming!”

Blushing she lifted her skirts and climbed the Hall steps to kneel at her husband’s feet. Gimli made way for Idril and she offered Aragorn the Queen’s crown: a circlet of mithril with four rayed golden crests emblazoned with the White Tree above the brow and three star shaped flowers of the Tree. Aragorn placed this gently upon her head, then raised and kissed her - with decorous brevity this time!. As she turned to accept the cheers of the crowd a shower of white petals fluttered down upon the steps, bringing with them a sweet jumble of perfumes.

Aragorn, Gimli and Gandalf smiled in delight and surprise, while Arwen exchanged a look and sigh of relief with Idril. The children stationed in the gallery above the doors had remembered their instructions to scatter handfuls rather than dumping their baskets.

As the last petals fell the new King began to sing. Eowyn, remembering Arwen’s song, looked questioningly at Faramir beside her. “Is he casting a spell?”

Her betrothed shook his head. “No.” softly he repeated the strange words: “’Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta.’” then translated: “’Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.’ They are the words Elendil spoke when he came up out of the sea, on the wings of the storm, to land upon this Hither Shore.”

Aragorn took Arwen’s hand, together they descended the steps and walked down the long aisle towards the tunnel stair, returning the smiles and bows of the people as they went. They passed Hurin and Laebeth, with their four sons and daughter clustered around them; Imrahil and Fanuilos, both crowned with sea pearls; Eowyn and Faramir, standing close together; and Eomer looking solemn and perhaps not entirely comfortable in his new dignity. Then Arwen saw Legolas standing in the aisle before them, clad all in Elven white with a princely circlet upon his brow. And she saw her brothers right behind him, and behind them what seemed to be a crowd of Elves.

Aragorn smiled and reached out to clasp Legolas’ shoulder. “Hanne le.” ‘Thank you’ he said.

Legolas smiled back, eyes dancing mischief, and nodded backwards. Arwen looked at her brothers and they parted to reveal Elrond, robed in festive finery and smiling. “Am I too late to offer a father’s blessing?” he asked

Arwen gasped, gulped, dropped Aragorn’s hand and threw herself into her father’s arms. “Papa! Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry, so sorry.!” she sobbed onto his shoulder. “But I had to get to Aragorn, I *had* to! Forgive me, forgive me!”

“It is you who must forgive me, Daughter.” Elrond said softly into her ear. “The fault was all mine, for driving you to such lengths. You have made your choice and I was wrong to oppose you. I am sorry.” he kissed her and let her go, turning to Aragorn.

They stood looking at each other a moment, then embraced as father and son should. “It was only that I didn’t want to lose my daughter.” Elrond said, voice choked with emotion. “Never that I thought you unworthy of her, my dearest son.”

“I know, Father, I know.” Aragorn husked in answer.

The watching throng of Gondorim and Rohirrim had no idea who this tall Elven lord might be but plainly he was somebody the King and Queen were glad to see and so they cheered him with good will.

But Eowyn laughed, with tears in her eyes, as she clapped. Faramir looked down at her curiously. “Do you know who this is?”

She nodded vehemently. “It is her father, he has forgiven her for running away to the Lord Aragorn against his wishes.” she sighed happily. “I am so glad for her, she has been grieving over it.”

So this was Elrond Halfelven, son of Earendil and Elwing and twin brother to Elros Tar-Minyatur, Faramir looked at him with wonder and some awe. What knowledge, what memories he must have! Reaching back even to the First Age of the World. Faramir promised himself he would make an opportunity to speak with the Queen‘s father, more than one if he could manage it!

Elrond had seemingly brought half of Rivendell with him - though how they came to be here when they should have been in Mithlond or already taken ship Arwen couldn’t think. As she and Aragorn continued their walk the crowd of mingled Elves and Men opened with some difficulty before them, then closed behind. Suddenly their parting revealed the four Hobbits, standing in a row, dressed simply in Hobbit style garments.

They began to bow but Aragorn forestalled them: “My friends, you bow to no one.” And then he knelt in tribute to the Ringbearers, and Arwen knelt beside him as their people sank to the ground around them. Watching from under her lowered lashes she saw Merry and Pippin’s initial pleasure and excitement give way to uneasiness as the moment lengthened. Poor Sam looked as if he was wishing himself back on Mount Doom, and Frodo - Frodo looked dismayed, even distressed.

After an endless time, when nobody moved, he finally realized it was up to him to end it. “Aragorn, please, get up!” The King smiled and rose, and Arwen and all the rest of the throng followed suit. The four Hobbits breathed visible sighs of relief. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” Frodo scolded.

Aragorn laughed gently. “I will not, if you do not try to bow to me again! And that goes for you too, Samwise Gamgee!”

“What about Merry and me?” Pippin piped up curiously.

“You two are knights of Rohan and Gondor and my liege Hobbits. You may do the King reverence in public ceremony - but your friend Strider will take it amiss if you do so in private!”

Arwen stepped forward to embrace and kiss the Ringbearers, first Frodo, then Sam - who blushed cherry red at the attention. “I am gladder than I can say to see you both safe and well!” she said. “Aragorn didn’t mean to embarrass you, Frodo but you and Sam have done a great deed - and as King it is his duty to honor you for it.”

It seemed to her a flicker of something - pain perhaps, or guilt - flashed over Frodo’s face but was gone so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. “I understand.” he said quietly, then suddenly grinned up at Aragorn. “Mind you, Sam deserves any honor you care to do him, my Lord King!”

Poor Sam went even redder and muttered something inarticulate. Aragorn laughed. “Come then, I would have the Ringbearers ride beside me as I show myself to my people.”

Frodo hesitated a moment, then smiled wryly. “Why not? Nobody’s going to pay two little Hobbits any mind when they’ve got you and Lady Arwen to look at.”

***

And so when the procession reformed the King rode with the Ringbearer upon a pony at his right hand, and the Ringbearer’s squire at his left. Arwen followed flanked by Merry and Pippin.

“I wish now we’d worn our armor and things.” The young Took remarked, waving to the cheering crowds.

“Fame such as yours needs no trappings, Sir Peregrin Troll’s Bane.” Arwen told him.

He blushed, though not as brightly as Sam. “My folks will never believe it.”

“*I* don’t believe it!” said Merry. “What came over you, Pip?”

“I don‘t know.” his cousin said, a little helplessly. “I didn’t think at all, I just saw the Troll all hunched over poor Strider and the next thing I knew I’d run up its back, stabbed it in the neck and down it went!”

“You saved my husband’s life, Sir Peregrin, I must think of some way to show you my gratitude.” Arwen said solemnly.

“That’s really not necessary, m’Lady,” Pippin assured her as seriously, “Strider’s my friend, I was glad to do it.” then he grinned. “Besides I had to do *something* to draw level with old Merry - you Nazgul-bane you!”

“And Sam killed a giant spider.” said Merry, shaking his head in wonder. “A regular set of monster banes the three of us! Who’d have believed it?”

“I would have.” said Arwen. “And so would anybody else who knows Bilbo Baggins.”

The coronation feast was held in Merethrond, the splendid feast hall of Minas Tirith. Two long tables, covered in crimson cloths worked with gold, ran the length of the hall with a third table set crosswise on the dais at the head of the hall, covered with cloth of gold brocaded with crimson, purple and black silk. The table service was of crystal, rimmed and decorated with gold and the plates and goblets at the high table glittered with jewels.

Gold wrought tapestries depicting of Numenor in its glory adorned the walls and the arched ceiling was studded with stars.

Frodo was seated at Aragorn’s right hand, with Sam next to him. Then Eomer and Eowyn and Faramir and Idril and Halladan and Barahir and Lords and Ladies of Gondor beyond them. Arwen had old Queen Morwen on her left hand, with Elrond beside her, then Imrahil and Fauilos, Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli, Merry and Pippin and Gandalf and other Lords and Ladies of Gondor. All the company was seated on one side and at the ends of the tables giving all an unobstructed view of the grand procession that bore in the first course on platters of gold to the sound of pipes and drums. As soon as all had been served with their choice of dishes the doors at the end of the hall were thrown open and a great pageant car drawn in by Men in the black and white livery of the Citadel.

An actress portraying Luthien, silver masked her diaphanous robes glittering with golden embroideries, stood poised beneath a great hemlock tree. A Beren, masked in gold and costumed in artful tatters, watched her from hiding. A lone flute began to play in the musicians’ gallery above and Luthien began to dance. Viol, harp and dulcimer joined in and a choir in the opposite gallery sang the verses of the Lay of Leithian concerning the meeting of Beren and Luthien as the two players performed a stylized dance of flight and capture ending in an embrace.

The feasters applauded politely. Beren and Luthien bowed, removed their masks and took the seats reserved for them at the lower tables. The pageant car was drawn out and the great chamber began to buzz with talk. Looking past her husband Arwen was pleased to see Frodo digging into the food with typical Hobbit gusto, and Sam too. Then she turned to Queen Morwen on her other side. “Of your courtesy, my Lady, there are some questions I would put to my father.”

“Of course, my dear.” the old lady said kindly. “You must have much to say to each other.”

“Father,” said Arwen across the Queen, “how do so many of our folk come to be here? I left them on their way to the Havens.”

“After you left they chose to return to Rivendell and joined the Ranger force defending the Valley.” Elrond answered.

“The Rangers were defending the Valley?” Arwen echoed, bewildered.

“Rivendell was to be the center of a defensive line to cover the evacuation of the Angle folk had the war gone against us.” Elrohir explained from his place farther down the table.

“Which no one troubled to tell me!” said his father. “But fortunately it proved unnecessary. We held the power of Angmar and Gundabar well away from our own lands. Rivendell saw some minor raiding by Orc bands - no more.”

Arwen sighed in relief. “But what of Bilbo? Did he go back to the Valley too?”

Elrond‘s eyes twinkled. “From what I hear it was all his idea.”

Arwen laughed. “That I do believe!”

A trumpet fanfare presaged the entrance of a long procession of servitors, garbed in black velvet and silver tissue, to clear away not only the first course but the place settings, the table ornaments and even the cloths covering the tables which, when removed, revealed white cloths embroidered with black and silver beneath; and cloth of silver tissue embroidered with dark blue and black velvet, powdered with jewels of crystal on the high table. Then a second procession brought in a new service of silver richly jeweled with sapphire and amethyst.

“Each course will be served on new plate.” Aragorn explained to the bewildered Ringbearers as the tables were reset.

“Fancy that.” was all Sam could find to say.

“Yes indeed.” Frodo agreed.

Arwen had been astonished herself when the Keeper of the Plate and the Master of Ceremonies had explained the custom to her - then amused. It was a truly admirable way to show off all one’s silver and gold work and she was amazed her Noldorin kin had never thought of it.

A new pageant car followed each course with players performing the scenes of King Thingol setting Luthien’s bride-price; Finrod Felagund’s departure from Nargothrond with Beren and the faithful twelve; Luthien’s escape from the Hirilorn; and Finrod fighting the Wolf to save Beren.

Eowyn couldn’t understand the Quenya verses but Arwen had told her the outline of the story and the costumes were wonderful. She applauded as the players portraying Finrod, Beren and the Wolf bowed before the high table, then turned impulsively to Eomer beside her. “Brother, I am going to marry the Lord Faramir.”

The look of stunned bewilderment on his face made her laugh. “Don’t look so shocked, he is very eligible and of more than suitable rank!”

“I’m not shocked,” he protested, “but amazed. Sister, when last I saw you it was the Lord Aragorn you loved!”

She saw the King’s head turn at the sound of his name and deliberately pitched her answer for his ears as well as Eomer’s. “I am not inconstant, Brother, I still love the Lord Aragorn and always will - as my King, my Captain and my dear friend. But it is Faramir I desire to wed.”

“Don’t look so relieved,” Arwen scolded her husband, also in tones meant to reach beyond his ears. “It’s not at all complimentary to Eowyn!”

She laughed again, but with inner compunction. She had given Aragorn no less than her brother one more care when he needed none and she was sorry for it. “I am not offended.” she said to the Queen, and smiled at Aragorn. “Wish me joy my liege-lord and healer.”

“I have wished you joy ever since I first saw you, Eowyn.” he answered warmly. “It heals my heart to see you happy at last.”

Eowyn reached for Faramir’s hand. “The King of Gondor has given his blessing.” she challenged her brother. “Do you withhold yours Eomer King?”

He sputtered a moment, then laughed. “Of course not! But can you blame me for being surprised?” he kissed his sister, then leaned across her to clasp Faramir’s free hand. “You have put the roses back in Eowyn’s cheeks. If I knew no more of you than that it would be enough!”

The feast continued; more courses, more changes of tableware, and six more pageants ending with Beren and Luthien’s return to life as Thingol, Melian and their attendant Elves wept over their bodies. But that was not the end of the entertainment.

By now night had fallen and servants went around lighting lamps and great waxen torches to illuminate the great hall. The last covers were removed to reveal black cloths sewn with pearls, wine and sweets were served. Then the great doors at the end of the hall were thrown open to admit a bevy of tall maidens masked and richly costumed. The Master of Ceremonies took up his stand before the high table and knocked his staff three times on the marble floor, silence fell over the company.

“Your Grace,” he intoned solemnly, “the fair domain of Pinnath Gelin salutes the King!”

A maiden robed all in shades of green, glittering with gold, her headdress surmounted by a golden hawk, glided down the long hall to make a courtesy before the King.

She moved aside and the Master announced: “Anfalas of the long shores salutes the King!”

This maiden was dressed in sea green and foam white with a diadem of dancing silver porpoises in her hair.

And so it went on; maidens costumed in the colors and devices of the ancient domains of Gondor advanced one by one down the hall to salute the new King. There was a slender girl all in blue embroidered with white swans and crowned by a silver ship representing Belfalas; another in grey and silver with the crescent moon of Isildur floating above her head for Ithilien; and finally a maid in white and scarlet crowned with Anarion’s golden sun for the royal domain of Anorien.

The maidens began to dance a slow and stately measure which was suddenly disrupted by a tall figure masked and armored in black steel. The maidens mimed panic and flight as the dark figure sought to seize them. Then suddenly a Man costumed in grey with a star upon his brow and leading several other grey clad Men, came to their rescue and drove the dark figure away. The allegory was obvious; Aragorn and his Northern Rangers rescuing the lands of Gondor from Sauron.

Men and maidens danced a final measure together. Arwen leaned towards her husband. “We will be expected to dance with the leaders of the masque.”

“I know. I saw similar entertainments when I was in Gondor long years ago.” he answered as softly.

The masked dancers finished their measure and scattered to claim new partners from among the onlookers. The ‘king’ and Anorien offered themselves to Arwen and Aragorn. The flower covered maiden portraying Lossarnach, greatly daring, chose Elrond. And the girl in the blue and swans of Dol Amroth insisted on partnering Eomer for all his warnings he was a poor dancer. Idril danced with one of the ‘Rangers’ and Eowyn with another and ‘Ithilien chose Faramir for her partner.

After the formal pavane the dancing became general, and Eowyn and Faramir went to pay their respects to Queen Morwen.

“So, when is the wedding to be?” she asked.

“No time soon I fear,” Eowyn answered regretfully. “I must return to Rohan and help my brother. And Theoden must be laid beside his fathers before I can think of weddings.”

“And the King will no doubt have many tasks for me as well.” said Faramir. He smiled at his betrothed. “I am willing to wait - but not too long!”

She laughed. “No, nor me either!”

“And I will have to give thought to finding a new mistress for Meduseld,” said the old Queen. “Eomer cannot be left to manage alone.”

“Perhaps you need not look far.” said Faramir significantly. The two Women followed his gaze to where Eomer stood, talking and laughing, with the Maiden Belfalas.

“Is that -?” Morwen began.

“It surely is!” said Faramir.

“Who?” Eowyn demanded.

“Lothiriel of Dol Amroth,” her promised husband explained, “my kinswoman and yours. She is young - “

“Older than I was when I decided to marry Thengel.” said Morwen, eyeing her young cousin speculatively. “If she wants him there will be no gainsaying her. And why not? They may suit very well.”

“They certainly seem to be getting on.” Faramir agreed, and glanced sidelong at Eowyn. “Lothiriel is passionately fond of horses.”

“That’s good.” she said.

***

It was past midnight before the King and Queen were able to excuse themselves from the festivities. Followed by a train of Lords, Ladies and attendants they went in procession out a side door then into the King’s pillared watching chamber and up the grand staircase to his apartments. Through presence chamber, privy chamber and antechamber they went but when they reached the King’s bedroom Arwen closed the door firmly in the face of their following and bolted it. Then she went to the other doors and bolted them too.

“Arwen! what will our people think?” Aragorn teased as she turned to face him.

“That the Queen wants the King to herself for a while!” she answered and went to him. As they kissed she explored the fastenings of the cuirass with impatient fingers. “How do you get this thing off?”

He laughed again and showed her how. Then she helped him remove the cuirass and other pieces of plate, and the mail beneath. “I don’t think they’ll mind,” she continued, “they want an heir don’t they?”

“Yes.” Aragorn eyed her thoughtfully. “You say you have seen our son?”

“I have. Can you still doubt it?” she asked in surprise.

“Not at all. But it is curious...all I have seen are daughters.”

“Daughters.” she echoed blankly.

He nodded, eyes glinting. “The eldest favors your father and my grandmother; the middle is the image of you,” his voice softened, “and the youngest has silver hair - like your mother and mine.”

“Oh!” Arwen felt an unexpected twinge of longing...daughters, little girls to dress and play with... “Well, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a son *and* daughters is there?” she demanded.

“None at all.” he agreed, and took her in his arms.

The Lords of Gondor presented themselves at the royal apartments dawn of the morning after the coronation to pay their respects to the new King. Sir Peregrin, Elessar’s Halfling esquire - he had yet to appoint any others - received them with fair words on his master’s behalf and asked the Lord Steward to wait upon the King in the inner apartments.

Faramir found Elessar in his privy chamber, at breakfast with the Queen. He was clad in a dressing robe of dark blue velvet and Undomiel wore a loose bodied gown of white cutwork lined with rose colored silk. One or two of the silent, self effacing Northern knights were in almost invisible attendance.

“Please sit, Faramir,” the King said, “we must talk seriously.” he obeyed, only slightly apprehensive, as Elessar fixed him with a steady eye. “I would not for the world have you think I distrust or doubt you, my Steward, but I think it would be best if you were not based here in Minas Tirith.” he smiled a little ruefully. “You are known and familiar and I am strange. It would be natural for our people to turn to you rather than me - at least at first.”

“And that must not be.” Faramir agreed. “I have had some thought of this myself, my Lord. I agree it would be better if I were not here to come between you and your people while you become accustomed to each other.” He saw the look of relief on the Queen’s face and wondered if she had feared he would misunderstand or take offense.

“There is much to be done across the River,” Elessar was saying, “Ithilien must be cleared of Sauron’s creatures and resettled. That land is well known to you as captain and your House’s ancestral estates lie across the Anduin in Emyn Arnen.” the King smiled, “So, Faramir, will you favor me by accepting the rank and office of Prince of Ithilien?”

He stared for a moment, this he had not expected, then recovered himself and answered warmly: “Right willingly, my Lord!” he laughed. “I have already promised my bride I would build us a house on my lands outside this City.”

“Emyn Arnen must be your seat.” Elessar agreed. “Minas Ithil is desecrated beyond any cleansing. When we have time and labor to spare it will be destroyed and the land left to heal itself. Certainly no Man will be able to dwell there for many long years.”

Faramir was disappointed and it showed. He had hoped Minas Ithil, Minas Anor’s ancient sister City, could be redeemed but he did not question the King’s judgment.

“You will need good soldiers to serve you.” Elessar continued. “Beregond son of Baranor is to be banished from the City for the crimes of oath-breaking and blood-shedding -” Faramir opened his mouth and the King raised a hand to forestall his protest. “You will be needing a Captain for your new guard, my Lord Prince,” he said, eyes twinkling, “might I suggest Beregond would be more than meet for the place?”

Faramir relaxed and returned the King‘s smile. “I accept your recommendation with pleasure, my Lord.”

“One last matter,” said Elessar “I know it is against Gondorian custom but in the North we account it unjust to deprive a child of her patrimony, and your sister Idril will need a challenging labor to fill her days while her heart heals. So I would grant her her father’s title of Prince of Anorien and office of Hereditary Constable of the Northern Fortresses. Will this be accepted by the Council of the realm?”

Faramir considered. “It is as your Grace said a breach of custom, but my sister is known to be a Woman of uncommon ability.” he sighed. “And it is also well known she is not like to marry and why. Yes, my Lord, I think it will pass. But it would be well to give her some proven captain for her herald.”

Elessar nodded. “So I had intended.

***

Arwen withdrew to her own chambers to finish dressing, leaving Aragorn to complete his own toilet and receive his lords. Andreth and the maids of honor helped her don a gown of pale violet samite over a kirtle of filmy silver tissue and fastened a train heavily embroidered with silver to her shoulders with great gold and mithril clasps. Today she agreed to wear some of the Queens’ jewels: a girdle of amethyst, adamant and pearl, a matching carcanet and bracelets of mithril and gold. Andreth’s deft fingers wove strands of pearl into her hair and last of all Aranor placed the Queen’s crown gently upon her head.

There was a knock at the door, Gillan of Minrimmon ran to answer it. “The Lady Idril, my Lady.”

“Good,” said Arwen, and held out her hands in welcome. “I was about to send for you, Cousin. My husband and I have spoken with Faramir and he feels the Council will accept you as Princess of Anorien.”

“I trust he is right.” Idril answered. “The lands and castles are mine, Woman or no, so why not the titles and authority as well? But I would not cause the King trouble for anything.”

“I don’t think Aragorn would mind doing battle in this cause.” Arwen smiled. “The law is different in the North, in his eyes and mine we are giving you no more than your rights.” her tone turned brisk: “You will need a captain and herald, have you anyone in mind?”

Idril shook her head. “Boromir was Captain of Anorien,” she said in the flat, emotionless voice in which she always spoke his name, “but both he and his chief lieutenant are dead. I can think of no one else for the post, but will accept whoever Elessar chooses.”

Arwen carefully hid her concern. Idril was very like her Northern kin, despite the long sundering of two lines, she held in her grief with iron control as a thing too private to be shared, just as one of the Isildurieni would do - as Arwen had seen all too many of them do, all too many times. Work was the only cure and Idril would have it, over the objections of the Gondorian Council if must be! her King and Queen, would see to that.

***

“Armor again?” Arwen murmured almost soundlessly, glancing sidelong at the cuirass Aragorn was wearing with his court robes of wine red silk and gold brocade.

“It is customary for great occasions of state.” he answered as softly.

That seemed very strange to Arwen but she was careful not to say so, even to her husband. She still knew so little about Men and their ways, no doubt many things that seemed strange to her now would become clearer as she learned more.

They walked hand in hand down the gallery from the Queen‘s Privy garden, followed by Pippin, several Rangers and Arwen’s maids of honor, and entered the Hall of the Kings by a side door to the applause of their new subjects. The morning sun streamed through the eastern windows filling the great hall with a cool white light and striking sparks of star fire off Queen’s jewels and silver embroideries, and the mithril stitchery edging Aragorn’s black mantle.

The King and Queen mounted the dais, but instead of climbing the steps to their thrones stood together before them to receive the formal homage of the Lords of Gondor. Arwen saw Gandalf, luminous in his white robes, standing nearby with Frodo and Sam on either side bracketed by Legolas and Gimli. Pippin of course was standing to Aragorn’s right, looking solemn and official as befitted his position as King’s esquire, but she wondered why Merry was not with his friends. The Chamberlain knocked his white rod three times against the marble paved floor and the first of the Lords came down the long aisle towards the thrones.

He was a small boy, not more than ten years old, with fair hair and blue-grey eyes round with fear and excitement. He wore a miniature gold cuirass emblazoned with a hawk over a long green tunic and a green mantle edged in miniver and he clung to the hand of a tall Woman, also fair haired and clad in green but perhaps a shade to old to be his mother.

They stopped a few paces short of the royal couple and knelt. “My Lord,” the Woman said in a strong, clear voice. “here is my grandson; Thorongil, Lord of Pinnath Gelin in Gondor, ready to swear you his allegiance.”

“He is most welcome.” Aragorn replied, and Arwen heard a husky note of suppressed emotion in his voice.

The Woman touched her grandson’s shoulder, he swallowed and began to recite in a small, piping voice: “I Thorongil son of Galenhir, Lord of Pinnath Gelin, swear fealty and service for me and mine to Elessar the King and his heirs - from this hour to the End of the World.” he finished in a rush then heaved a very audible sigh of relief that sparked smiles from those watching.

“I accept your oath.” Aragorn said formally. “As the liege man binds himself to his lord so is the lord bound to his liege man. Vanda sina termaruva Elenna-noreo alcar enyalien ar Elendil Voronda Voronwe. Nai tiruvntes i harar mahalmassen mi Numen ar i Eru i or ilye mahalmar ea tennio.” ’This oath shall stand in memory of the glory of the Land of the Star and of the faith of Elendil the Faithful, in the keeping of those who sit upon the thrones of the West and of the One above all thrones for ever.’

Arwen saw a shiver pass over the watching throng at the ancient Quenya words and wondered why. There was a pause, then Aragorn smiled and beckoned the child to him.

“Oh!” little Thorongil scrambled to his feet and came to kiss the King’s extended hand.

Aragorn raised him, bent to kiss the soft cheek, then asked: “Did you know, Thorongil, that we share a name?”

The child frowned up at him. “No we don’t.”

“Oh but we do.” Aragorn smiled. “’Eagle of the Star’ is one of my names, the name your grandfather knew me by.” then he looked over the little boy’s head at his grandmother. “Hirluin was my dear friend, and I do not forget it.” he told her quietly. She blinked back tears. “You are guardian and regent, Rohanell?”

She nodded. “His mother is dead, like his father, and now his grandfather.”

“We have all suffered many losses,” Aragorn said gently, “too many. But no longer.” he smiled again down at the boy. “I foresee Thorongil will live a long life, and be as trusty a mainstay to me as his grandsire was.”

And the child smiled brightly back, no longer frightened at all.

***

The other lords of Gondor followed in due order to swear their homage; Golasgil of Anfalas, Duinhir of Morthond mourning for his fallen sons, Devorin of the Ringlo Vale, Fornach son of Forlong for Lossarnach, Angbor of Lebennin, Ciryandil of Pelargir, and finally Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

Again the chamberlain knocked three times with his staff. “Let Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of the Realm, stand forth.” And Faramir came forward from his place near the throne and he was dressed all in white, the color of his house, edged with silver and blue.

The Master of Ceremonies, standing beside the chamberlain, unrolled a parchment, cleared his throat and began to read: “Whereas it is the will of the King that the province of Ithilien, beyond the Anduin, be restored to its ancient glory as a domain of this Kingdom his Grace commands and invites all having hereditary rights to lands in that country to come forward and make good their claims before court of the Prince of Ithilien.

“And whereas Faramir, son of Denethor of the House of the Hurinionath and Lord Steward of this Realm, has long and valiantly defended the marches of Ithilien against the Enemy, and as the ancient honor of his House lies in said province, it is the King‘s pleasure to create him Prince of Ithilien and Constable of the Eastern Marches of the Realm.”

A delighted cheer rose from the spectators as Faramir knelt to swear his homage. Then a beaming Pippin brought forward a circlet of golden ivy leaves for Aragorn to place on the new Prince’s head, and Faramir rose so Arwen might gird a sword of state to his side.

“Beregond son of Baranor stand forth!” Aragorn commanded. The guardsman obeyed, stepping from his place far down the hall to approach and bow before the throne. He too wore white, with a silver edged blue crescent embroidered on the breast of his coat. “Beregond, you left your post of guard without leave and spilled the blood of a comrade. For these things of old death has been the penalty. But as they were done in dire need to save a life - that of my trusty and well beloved Steward - all penalty is remitted save that you must go forth from the City of Minas Tirith.”

Beregond took it without a flicker, knowing well what was coming next, but a murmur of distress and protest arose from the watching crowd. Aragorn lifted his voice to be heard above it: “As you risked all to save the Lord Faramir it is fitting you should continue to serve and protect him. Therefore I name you captain of the White Company, the Guard of the Prince of Ithilien!”

Protest changed to a cheer as Beregond knelt to pledge himself to his Prince. Then Faramir returned to his former place at the left hand of the Queen, his new captain at his side and the folk in the hall voiced their hearty approval.

Once again the Chamberlain thumped his staff for attention and the crowd fell obediently silent. “Let Idril daughter of Narcil stand forth.” Down the long aisle she came, shimmering in the white and gold of her father’s house and with her long hair hanging loose down her back, to make a courtesy before the King.

The Master of Ceremonies opened a new scroll and began to read: “Whereas the Lady Idril, daughter of Narcil of the illustrious House of the Alcarioni, is the sole child and heir of her father and also his Grace’s own kinswoman in the Blood Royal, it is the King’s desire and pleasure that she should succeed to the heritage of her father, the said Narcil, as both Princess of Anorien and Constable of the Northern Fortresses.”

There was a buzz of astonished comment from the crowd as Idril knelt to swear and was invested with the ancient coronet of the Princes of Anorien, ensigned with a sun and seven stars. She rose and Aragorn laid the sword of state in her hands rather than having it girded to her side, for another would wield it on her behalf. By then the company had recovered sufficiently from their surprise to raise a dutiful cheer.

Arwen, listening intently, decided the people were astonished but neither offended nor angered. And that Idril was respected but not beloved as her brother was. She had lived too long in her father’s shadow, isolated with him in the Citadel. But surely that would change now. The new Princess moved to stand to the King’s right, beside Imrahil of Dol Amroth as trumpets sounded and the great doors at the end of the hall were flung open.

Eomer King entered, a green mantle of state richly bordered with gold over his armor of leather and steel, followed by Merry carrying his master’s helmet, Eowyn in the green and white colors of Rohan, and a double file of knights of the Riddermark.

Aragorn went forward to greet and embrace him. “Between us there can be no word of giving or taking, nor of reward;” he said warmly, “for we are brethren. In happy hour did Eorl ride from the North, and never has any league of peoples been more blessed!”

“I have loved you from the moment you rose up out of the green grass before me, and that love shall not fail now or ever.” Eomer replied with some emotion. “But now I must depart for a while to my own realm where there is much to heal and set in order.”

Aragorn nodded his understanding. “As you know we have laid Theoden the Renowned among the Kings of Gondor in their tomb in the Hallows. There he may lie forever if you will. Or we will come to Rohan and bring him to back to rest with his own people.”

“My uncle was born in this City and it is fitting he should sleep here for a while.” Eomer returned. “But when all is made ready we will return for him and bear him home.”

Eowyn, standing behind her brother, caught Faramir’s eye and smiled; saying clearly as words that she too would return.

Arwen saw the look and murmured teasingly to Faramir. “It seems you must wait a while for your bride, Prince.”

“But not as long as you waited, I trust, my Lady!” he answered, laughing softly. “We both have much to do, Eowyn and I, that will make the time seem shorter.”

“We all have much to do.” Arwen agreed, but with satisfaction. After all the long years of waiting and hoping at last the time had come to make all their dreams come true.

***

Notes: Rohanell is Eomer and Eowyn's third aunt, originally Theodflaed of Rohan, she is the widow of Hirluin of Pinnath Gelin who served 'Thorongil' as an aide and fell in the Battle of the Pelannor Fields.

“I know eager you and Sam must be to get home,” Merry said earnestly to Frodo as he and Pippin walked the Ringbearers back to their quarters, “but Eomer’s asked me to take charge of King Theoden’s honor guard while he lies here in the City. Theoden was like a father to me - if only for a little while - I just can’t leave until after the funeral.”

“And Beregond’s asked me to look after his family until they can join him in Ithilien,” said Pippin from the other side, “and who knows when that will be. And I can’t just walk out on old Strider either, at least not until he’s appointed a few more esquires.”

“So you see we must stay, for a little while at least.” Merry finished.

“I’m not in that much of a hurry to get home.” Frodo answered mildly. “Frankly I don’t feel up to another long journey just yet.”

“And I’d like to see a little more meat on your bones before we go stravaging off into the Wilds again.” Sam put in firmly.

“Well this is certainly the place to fatten Cousin Frodo up a bit.” Pippin said cheerfully.

Merry gave a sigh of relief. “That’s all right then.”

***

“Those two have grown,” said Sam, as he pulled the curtains over the windows. “and I don’t just mean in inches!” he shook his head wonderingly. “Just a few months ago I’d have thought anybody who left anything important in the hands of either one of them was a bit lacking - but now...”

“Yes.” Frodo agreed softly from the bed. “I‘ve noticed it too. My mischievous young cousins have grown up.”

Sam gave him a sharp, concerned look. “Well it was bound to happen someday,” he said bracingly, “and a good thing too considering they’re in line to be Master of Buckland and Thain of the Shire!”

“Innocence must be lost eventually.” Frodo agreed quietly. “And they wanted to come.”

“Insisted on it as I remember.”

Frodo grinned a little. “But not has stubbornly as a certain Gamgee of my acquaintance.” he turned on his side to look at his friend. “Sam, what about Rosie? I know how much you must want to see her -”

“Most likely she’s forgotten all about me by now.” the other interrupted gruffly.

“Of course she hasn’t!” Frodo said impatiently. “Rose Cotton set her cap for you when you were both barely out of your teens, Samwise Gamgee, and everybody in Hobbiton knows it - except you!”

“She can do a lot better than the likes of me.” Sam muttered, looking intently at his toes and decidedly red about the ears.

“No she can’t.” said Frodo.

***

In the days that followed Aragorn sat every morning upon his throne in the Hall of the Kings to hear petitions from his own folk and receive embassies from the other lands of Men. Envoys came from Khand and the realms beyond the sea of Rhun to ransom their kin taken captive at the Black Gates. Aragorn gave the prisoners up to them freely and promised peace with the East if the East would leave Gondor in peace. They departed bewildered by his clemency and thoughtful.

Ambassadors came from both near and far Harad with gifts and flowery messages of peace and friendship on their lips but anger and suspicion in their eyes. And Dunlendings came, wary and sullen, glaring sidelong at the Rohirrim even as they sued for peace. Aragorn spoke them fair but privately agreed with Faramir and Eomer that there would be trouble there - if not just yet. The Beornings and the Woodsmen of Mirkwood came too, and at least their words of congratulations and friendship were sincerely meant.

Arwen sat on the Queen’s throne at her husband’s side, watching and listening but seldom speaking, learning the ways and minds of Men. “I do not like that we sit so high.” she said to Aragorn one night, snuggled in his arms in the great King’s bed. “We see nothing but the tops of heads, and they must crane their necks to see us if they will. I was taught a lord should look his people in the eye.”

“So was I.” Aragorn answered. “But the Gondorim seem to prefer their Kings and Queens set on high and apart from them. Remember how perturbed they became when I tried to walk through the lower circles and speak informally to the people?”

Arwen did. Noble and commons alike had been horrified - and clearly bewildered - not understanding why their King would do such a thing.

“I think we must follow their customs for now,” Aragorn continued, “there may be reasons for them we do not yet know. Perhaps after we are better acquainted we may make some changes.”

No doubt he was right but still...”If we may not go to them perhaps we can persuade them to come to us.” Arwen suggested. “Surely no one can complain if we chose to sit in our own courtyard?”

She could not see his smile but heard it in his voice. “In the Court of the Fountain beneath the Tree, where any Man may approach us if he wills.” he chuckled. “A good idea, my Heart.”

She thanked him with a kiss.

***

Aragorn had freed Sauron’s slaves and granted them the Land of Nurn where they had long labored and suffered in his service. But they could not be left to their own devices burdened as they were with spirits either broken or embittered by their dreadful captivity. Aragorn sent a great host of healers to their aid led by Elladan and Elrohir who were gifted both in the arts of healing and of rule.

Beregond’s sisters, Baradis and Berethil, were chosen as well. Which led Hiril, his wife, to approach Arwen in her garden clearly concerned. “I do not think it is wise for my sisters to go.” she said bluntly after Arwen had waved her maidens away that they might speak privately

The Queen looked at her in genuine surprise. “But why not? There is bound to be much Black Breath among the captives, the more hands that can wield the athelas leaf the better.”

“My Lady, for many years Baradis and Berethil have chosen to forgo love and marriage to pursue their craft,” Hiril explained grimly, “but now I fear they have become enamored of your lord brothers who have paid them unwise attention.”

Arwen’s face brightened. “Do you really think so? I had some such thoughts myself but have seen to little of them together to be sure.”

Hiril stared at her in amazement and some distress. “My Lady I do not understand you, surely you see any such affection can do naught but harm!”

“But why?” Arwen asked bewildered. “I would like to see my brothers settled, Baradis and Berethil seem to me their ideal mates, should their hearts lean that way.”

For some reason this left Hiril both breathless and speechless. “The difference in rank!” she managed to sputter at last.

“Oh what nonsense!” Arwen said in annoyance. “I know you and your kin feel honor bound to play the commoner, Hiril, but you are of the blood of the Kings and descendants of our own uncle Elros Half-Elven. If Aragorn is good enough for me, Baradis and Berethil are good enough for my brothers!” Hiril was again stunned speechless. Arwen shot her a slyly mischievous look. “Or is it that you fear my brothers are not good enough for your sisters?” she sighed, mock sadly. “It is true they’ve led a very rackety, wandering sort of life -”

“Oh no, my Lady!” Hiril interrupted appalled, then broke off to look at Arwen in bewilderment. “You are joking with me.”

“Yes I am, kinswoman.” she admitted gently. “Hiril, the difficulty you fear is no difficulty at all in my eyes - or my brothers’ either - we care nothing for the law of Hyarmendacil. Any roads this is a matter for Baradis and Berethil and Elladan and Elrohir to settle among themselves, they neither need nor would they welcome our interference.”

A faint smile touched Hiril’s face. “I have already broached the matter with my sisters, and been sent away with a flea in my ear.” she admitted.

Arwen laughed. “You are a braver Woman than I, Cousin!”

***

The day before the Rohirrim were to leave Eowyn came into the Queen’s little privy garden to find Arwen on her knees in the good earth planting orange tree saplings. “My Lady have you seen Faramir? I cannot find him anywhere.”

The Queen sat back on her heels. “He and Gandalf and my father have gone down to the archives beneath the White Tower.”

Eowyn clasped her hands in mock despair. “Alas! We shall never see them more!”

Arwen laughed. “Yes we will. They have Frodo and Sam with them as well, and I promise you there is no Hobbit - however bookish - who will willingly forgo his afternoon tea!”

“Look at this, Mr. Frodo, a map of Mordor.” Sam laid the ragged parchment on the table in front of his master. “See, there are the Dead Marshes - looks like Gollum was wrong about him being the only one who knew a way across - and the Black Gate, and the Pass and Tower of Cirith Ungol. Pity we didn’t have this with us we wouldn’t have needed that nasty Gollum for a guide!”

“The poor creature is dead, Sam.” Frodo reproved gently.

“And a good thing too.” his gardener replied, mouth set in a grim line.

Frodo sighed and gave it up. Sam would never forgive Smeagol for biting off his master’s finger - and would never be made to see it was the best thing that could possibly have happened. “I must copy this for my book.” he said instead. “Bilbo will want to see where we’ve been.”

“We have scribes who can do that for you, Frodo.” Faramir offered, looking up from his own sheaf of dusty scrolls.

Frodo smiled at him. “Thank you.” then laughed. “I’m running out of excuses not to start writing!”

“Bilbo will never let you hear the end of it if you don’t have at least a rough draft to show him.” Gandalf pointed out from his seat across the table.

“Don’t I know it!” Frodo said ruefully, then the humor left his face and he turned abruptly to Elrond, sitting on the floor going patiently through the mouse gnawed parchments heaped around him. “Bilbo will be there won’t he? It was the Ring that gave him long life and now that it’s gone -”

“He will be there.” Elrond answered firmly. “My people would have sent word if he were failing.”

Frodo sighed in relief. “Then I must have something to show him - but where to start?”

“With the passage of the Company through Hollin.” Elrond advised. “Bilbo has already roughed out an account of your journey from the Shire to Rivendell.”

Frodo’s heart lightened a little. That was well before things had started getting bad, he wouldn’t mind remembering Hollin - nor even Gandalf’s fall in Moria since he had returned. Boromir’s fall was another matter, but it would be a long time before he got to that - and to what came after.

***

The scholars emerged, dusty and musty and loaded down with scrolls, as the ninth hour tolled. Just in time for tea as Arwen had predicted. Faramir drank a cup and ate a white cake or two in courtesy then took his betrothed for a walk on the battlements.

“It will be summer before we can return.” Eowyn told him.

“And longer than that before I have someplace fit for us to live.” he said ruefully. “I thought we could build in timber first and replace it with stone at our leisure.”

“Why?” Eowyn asked. “I prefer wood to cold stone, and it lasts just as well; Meduseld has stood for five hundred years!”

And Minas Tirith for more than three thousand, but Faramir didn’t say that. “If you prefer wood, wood it shall be.” he answered. “Have you any other wishes?”

“Yes! I don’t want to live in separate sets of rooms with the full width of the house between us as my aunts and their husbands do! I want a shared apartment - like Elessar and Undomiel‘s.”

“I would like that very much myself.” he smiled, then it faded and he asked gently; “What is troubling you, Eowyn?”

She sighed, she’d long since given up trying to hide anything from him. “I don’t really know. I am *not* jealous of the Queen - I know I’m not - yet seeing her and Aragorn together...”

“You offered your love to the Lord Aragorn and he turned from you to another.” Faramir said gently. “However much you accept that it was meant to be so, it is still bound to leave you a bit heart sore. It will pass, Darling.”

Eowyn relaxed a little in acceptance, then a thought struck her and she slanted a challenging look at her future husband. “How do you come to be so wise in the ways of love, my Lord Faramir?”

He smiled wryly and perhaps blushed a little. “I too have loved where it could not be returned.” her eyebrows rose questioningly and he continued a little defensively: “It was no green boy’s folly - I was young but not so young as all that! I chose as well as you, Dear Heart, she was a wonderful Woman; beautiful, wise and high born. But she was also very much my elder, and widowed, and regarded me as a son not a lover.”

“Poor Faramir.” Eowyn said with tender amusement. “I know how that hurts. Is she still alive? I must meet this paragon!”

“You know her well.” he said and smiled ruefully down at her. “She is Morwen of Rohan.”

“Grandmother!” Eowyn’s laughter spun in a delightful silvery arc. “You were in love with my grandmother?”

He nodded.

She mastered her laughter. “I trust this was some time ago and I have not caught you on the rebound!”

“Years and years ago.” he assured her. “You must still have been a little girl when it ended and the heartache has long passed,” he smiled down on her. “I see the traits I loved in Morwen in you - but much more besides.”

She looked up at him suddenly sober. “I understand. There is much of what I loved in the Lord Aragorn in you,” then she smiled radiantly. “and a great deal more!”

***

Eomer King returned the parting cup to Queen Undomiel with a bow. “Farewell, my Lady, the days will seem long and dark to me until I may look upon your beauty again.”

Arwen pretended not to notice how his eyes strayed past the her to a certain slim, dark haired maiden among her attendants but laughed. “I had heard the Rohirrim were valiant warriors but not that they were so sweet tongued!”

“I have never heard my brother speak so prettily before,” said Eowyn from horseback, “you have inspired him, my Lady.”

“Of course she has.” said Eomer, swinging up into his own saddle. He looked at Aragorn. “I will send word of what I find upon my western border.” then his eyes moved to Merry standing at the head of a small detachment of Knights of the Mark. “Watch over Theoden King, Sir Holdwine, until we return to claim him.”

“My Lord, I will.” Merry answered bowing.

Eomer wheeled Firefoot around, heading for the stair to the lower circles. Eowyn gave Faramir a last smile, sweet as a kiss, and followed her brother trailed by her tirewoman Auda and the knights of the King‘s guard.

The King, Queen and Steward of Gondor moved to the buttress wall to watch as the Rohirrim procession wound its way down the City and out onto the green fields of the Pelannor.

“I assume you will be leaving for Ithilien today, Prince.” said Aragorn.

“Within the hour.” Faramir answered. “There is nothing now to keep me in the City - and much for me to do across the River before I can bring my bride home.”

“Yes, get you quickly to work, Faramir.” Arwen told him with a wicked sidelong glance at her husband. “We ladies do not like to be kept waiting!”

Aragorn gave her one of his dark looks in return and offered his arm. “Come my Lady and Queen, we too must get to our work. We have a kingdom to govern.”

“A kingdom to renew.” said Faramir.

THE END.