I own neither these characters nor their world.

At the squeak of the hinges, deliberately left unoiled to prevent surprise, Steward Ecthelion looked up from his desk. A cloaked figure slipped on noiseless feet into the office and closed the door behind him with another squeak. Even before he removed his hood, the Steward knew by his height that this was the Northern Captain, his favorite by far of all the foreigners who had gathered to his banner in recent years. He rose to greet him, prompting a shadow of confusion in the other's face, but neither man commented on it.

"You sent for me, my lord?"

"Yes. I wished first of all to apologize for my son's behavior this morning."

The Captain shook his head. "Denethor's attempt to provoke me only succeeded in displaying his own ignorance. I was rather amused than provoked. Nay, my lord, there is no need for apology, least of all from you."

"Then you are not, as he implied, an orphan?"

Instantly, the familiar shutters slid closed behind those keen grey eyes. "Now you are prying into my private life, my lord."

"Nay, I am sorry. I did not call you here to inquire into how you were raised, but rather why you have not told me your true identity."

"The name my father gave me at birth is a secret known only to my nearest kin and oldest friends, my lord."

It was the old explanation that did not explain. The Northerner had used it many times since he came to Gondor, and probably just as often while he lived in Rohan. Now, however, the Steward's attention focused on the title tacked so casually—and yet, he now recognized, so unnaturally—at the end of the statement.

"I do not understand why you persist in calling me lord. I ought to be calling you that, Thorongil—or should I say, my Lord Ar-whatever-it-is?"

A certain wariness came into the taller man's stance, and although his hands made no move toward his weapons, Ecthelion suddenly found himself very much aware of the long sword and probable dagger or two hanging ready under Thorongil's cloak.

"Lord Steward?" The question was soft, but there was a hint of warning in its tone. The older man swallowed hard, but pressed on.

"Yes, I have finally figured out who you really are, but I will honor your silence for as long as you choose to maintain it. I would not have mentioned my knowledge even to you, except that I must ask why. Why do I still sit in the Black Chair, now that you have come?"

"I have no claim on the Black Chair."

The Steward shook his head. "Please, Lord Thorongil."

There was a pause, and then the other relaxed and the shutters opened.

"Aragorn, but only when we are certain that we are alone."

Relief filled Ecthelion's heart at the Heir's concession. Valiant King, is it?

"A name well chosen! Thank you, Lord Aragorn."

With a nod, Aragorn gestured to the chair behind the desk, and took one of those in front of it for himself.

"Ecthelion, I have no intention of taking your inheritance from you, even when I do claim my own at last. Your line have served Gondor well, you are a wise and capable ruler, and your son bids fair to uphold and even to raise that standard."

"I am grateful for your words, my lord. Truly it is encouraging to know that my King thinks so highly of me and mine, and I am more glad than I can say that you intend to maintain the Stewardship. Yet I do not think that you understand when you say that you will not take away my inheritance. I am the Arandur after all, the King's Servant. Lord King, you are my inheritance, even as we of Gondor are yours."

Aragorn's rare smile flashed briefly across his face, then he nodded sadly.

"Believe me, I would like nothing better than the chance to restore this realm and Arnor to their proper state as free, prosperous, and above all peaceful kingdoms, with my beloved Evenstar beside me." He sighed. "But I will not risk strife with Denethor, or any of the other lords, not while Sauron rules in Mordor."

The finality of Aragorn's words and tone struck Ecthelion like a blow. Not while Sauron rules! The Steward was already beginning to feel the swift old age of the Dunedain weakening him, even as Sauron seemed to become stronger day by day.

"Then I will not live to see your return?"

"I fear not." Both were silent for a moment. Then the King caught his Steward's eye and held it. "Be that as it may, you are still the Arandur, and my family has long counted yours among our most faithful and valuable servants, even in our apparent absence. Continue to hold Gondor for me whether I am here with you or no, and you have your inheritance."

"Oh, Lord, you are the portion of my inheritance and my cup; you maintain my lot." Psalm 16:5

"Hold fast what you have till I come." Revelation 2:25