The sky might have been a cascade of pink and orange chalk, flecked here and there with red and smeared with violets and blues near the horizon, as sunset settled quietly over Minas Tirith. A soft breeze blew from the north, stirring the fluffy silver specks of cloud. Brighter than the most vibrant tapestry, streaks of indigo shadow mingled with golden sunlight, mingling on the mounds that ran across the Fields of Pelenor, fading to greyish blue where the river flowed in the distance, the silent quays at the bend merely dots in the failing light. Black no longer, the ragged eastern horizon was a dull ochre above green strips that were dusky plains.

Faramir stood up from his tidy desk and peered through the silk curtains of the arched window ahead, rubbing stiffness from his limbs while watching the world as it prepared to sleep. His eyes turned to the south. From here the Emyn Arnen was obscured by the smooth tone frames of the airy chamber, but he could see with his imagination the pale walls and graceful pillars of the mansion, and the golden hair of the beautiful woman who dwelt there. He had to admit, he wished he was home. Steward was a high office, all the more when the king was out fighting wars, and Faramir had never been a man to shy away from duty, even that which he did not like. But he was tired now, and the burden of his position seemed heavier. Shaking off these singing thoughts, which were unbecoming to a noble, he rubbed his aching eyes and stared once again at the letter handed to him not an hour ago. The letters shimmered in the misty orange glow of the steady candle flame. He frowned, pondering not only what these orders said, but what thy might mean for the city in the future.

So Gondor was taking hostages again, to keep the Haradim in line. That had not been done since the a days of King Hyarmendacil, one of the greatest warriors Gondor had ever known, and he had certainly kept the peace. Of course, the Haradrim had become all the more bitter. Still,the King would not make such a decision unless he was quite certain it was right, and Faramir supposed it was not his duty to question the King. But he imagined trouble would come of it.

As near as he understood the situation from a written report, the children's father and most uncles had been slain by the King in battle, and the children captured. No mention was made of a mother. But an uncle had taken the crown of the city state for himself, and through sheer ruthlessness had done no little damage to the forces of Gondor, at least until he had found out what had happened to his nephews. After several savage battles, ten spies interrogated and executed, and finally some negotiation, the king Eelessar had found out that he had planned to marry his niece when she was old enough to bear children to strengthen his claim. The son he had hoped to fashion into a powerful guard, but it was the maiden who mattered the most, for it seemed his claim was not secure without her. There were rumours that he had tainted blood. Faramir knew that even a wild tale without proof could do harm, so he understood why the man would want anything that would strengthen his position.

But that did not matter to the Steward. He had more pressing problems on his mind than vague history.

What was important was that he would shortly be hosting two presumably bitter children who had seen most of their people killed and who would doubtless have been told how cruel the West would be to them. And they would be prisoners. Faramir doubted they would come to harm even if their uncle did break his word, but they would not know that, and he doubted they would find any friends among the people of Minas Tirith. Too much harm had been done. Somewhere on those misty fields below were small hills where the heads of men who had died in Osgiliath, and Faramir remembered that he had come very close to being among that number. The men of Gondor would not hurt them, if they were ordered to let them be, but words could do harm enough. Thinking briefly of his father, Faramir reflected that he knew that too well, too. Did they even speak the common tongue at all?

The sun was now a red sliver of light above the mountains, the river and fields and dotted thatch cottages all lost under the deep purple shadow, and the candle light was bright over the dark wood of his desk. Around him, the white room was draped in gloom. Silk curtains twitched on the high walls to the side, and here and there he could see the glitter of dust upon the table in the middle of the rug upon the stone floor. It was colder now. Lamps burned low beside the door opposite him, misty vermilion light failing to reach the ground, though the streaks of moonlight were becoming brighter around the window sill.

Night was settling, and he still had reports to examine. It would be better to get them seen to before he spent hours meeting people in person, he thought, taking a small cup of wine from the table.

One of the perils of peace, he reflected as he picked up the first of the pile of pages, was men taking safety fore granted, and he found himself reading letter after letter of men pleading for the release of guards either sleeping or drunk on duty. And then there was a watchtower that had not been repaired as well as it should. There were also rumours of enormous sharks still lingering in the Anduin, though most of the corpses which had filled that river years ago had been devoured or washed away by now. And weapons of Mordor were still turning unexpectedly on the Pelenor Fields. It seemed a child had been burned quite seriously while examining one. He put aside the matter of the petty criminals but wrote out warnings for the men working by the docks and those living on the farms, thinking he would spread the word tomorrow. And he must have quarters arranged for the guests.

''Sir.'' A knock from behind him,after a while. ''The little beasts from Harad have arrived.''

''Keep a civil tongue.'' Faramir was vaguely annoyed as he opened the door, though he could see blue rings under the bleary eyes of the man in black robes, his head bowing under the silver helmet. He was also hungry. ''They are to be treated as guests, I warn you, by order of the King.''

''I apologize, sir.'' The man's thin cheeks flushed, long mouth tight, speaking quickly. ''I was not thinking. It seems they were attacked by wolves on the road, so they arrived sooner than expected. One of the horses is hurt, and being tended to, but otherwise no harm was done. They are waiting in the courtyard now, sir.''

''Of course.'' He nodded, walking out into the cold passage and turning down stairs to his left, glancing towards the left side of the citadel. ''Have the chambers been prepared for them?''

''The men are making them comfortable, sir,'' Said the guard. ''It should not take long.''

''Very good.'' He could see lines of dim lamps cowering in the breeze he left behind him as he walked. 'You have permission to go to the stores and bring food for yourself and those with you.''

''Thank you, sir.''

The man departed with a fresh spring in his step and Faramir passed through the long empty corridor, his back to the metal doors of the hall and heading to the sliver of moonlight ahead. Soon he was standing upon the top of flight of steps. Below him the sapling of Nimloth seemed to be drinking the starlight as it danced upon the singing waters of the round pool, and here and there he could see the top of a battlement and stairs to the sides, but the long tunnel across the grass was pitch black beneath the deep grey carving of a bearded face, the eyes and mouth like holes. Faramir thought that any stranger walking through there at this time was bound to be a little frightened.

Sure enough, the girl was shivering. It might have been the chill, for she was clad mostly in red and gold silks, that drifted over her like a blanket, but he could see fear in her wide eyes that peered out from the mask and hear her ragged breath. She was younger than he had imagined, not very much beyond infancy. That a man would even plot marriage, no matter how long he intended to wait, seemed cruel. Maybe the King had been merciful, sending them here.

Her brother was afraid, too, but was better at hiding it. He wore only a smart silver vest and long trousers, and was doing his best to look rough and impressive, his strong chin in the air and chest puffed out. But Faramir could see behind the act. He was a little younger than Beregond's son, though he already had a deep scar across his left cheek and was missing a front tooth, and a fresher wound along his forehead. Faramir remembered they had been close to the lines of battle. He could imagine a boy wanting to see the fighting,there had been those who remained in Minas Tirith for the siege, but why his sister had been with him he had not been told. Maybe he would find out soon enough.

Faramir thought,examining them closely. He could expect no courtesy, and prepared himself for his considerable patience to be strained, but he suspected like all Men they would want food and drink. Better to be more strict than kind for now, though, at least until they understood the city better. There was something in the boy's eyes that made him think of Boromir, and he knew he could not afford to be too indulgent, or they might end up causing serious mischief and demanding their own way. But he did not want to scare them either. He thought about Eowyn, not the first time tonight and not the last, and thought she should meet them in time. It might be good for the girl to meet a woman. She seemed to have been raised in a court of vicious warriors and scheming old men, and some scheming old men who had been vicious warriors in their youth.

''You chambers are nearly prepared.'' He told them, at length,his robe billowing in the gentle but piercing breeze as he stood on the lowest step with his arms folded. Armed guards stood close around the two, not far from the sapling. It was not surprising that their gazes were ever torn towards the bright steel in the hands of the silhouettes of thin men. ''Come with me.''

''Nearly?'' The boy glared, and stumbled as his sister pulled on is shirt, clearly trying to silence him. '' Where I come from, they would be made ready before the command was given.''

''Brother...these people are...going to kill us...''

''Why should we be polite, then?'' He actually stamped his foot on the dewy grass, a childish outburst for a future prince. ''We are their enemies no matter what we say, and they are ours.''

Sound enough reasoning, if wrong. ''You will not come to harm here.''

''Unless our uncle makes trouble.'' The boy scowled, eyes glinting in the moonlit shadows. ''And he will, you can depend on it. He has never been patient. A year or so from now and he will decide enough is enough, who cares about bloodline anyway, I can rule well enough by scaring people into doing what I want. He does that. I think he is more than a little mad.''

''You do not know that for certain.'' But he believed it. Faramir supposed the King Elessar hd taken the man's unpredictable temper into account when he made the decision. ''Maybe you will be safer here than under his care.'' He turned. ''Come.''

They exchanged surprised glances, and followed him inside.