"For now we see as through a glass darkly,

then we shall see face to face.

Now I know in part; then I shall know fully…"

1 Corinthians 13:12

Chapter 9: Things to Come

Legolas did not come to the King's table that night. He was determined to speak with Arwen, though he would not say why. With typical stubbornness he simply stated that it was urgent, and refused to elaborate further.

Finally in exasperation Gimli gave it up. He was too hungry and too tired to match words with the Elf further this evening, but he vowed to pin Legolas down on the point some time in the future.

For now there was the immediate problem of getting to the Royal Chambers unobserved. After some discussion they agreed that the best opportunity would be while Aragorn was in the main hall for supper.

It took considerably longer to convince Gimli to let the Elf go alone. But at last he grudgingly conceded that someone had to keep watch on Aragorn and keep him away from the Royal Chambers while Legolas was there. In the absence of any other volunteers that task fell to the Dwarf.

At least there was a certain element of poetic justice to it, Gimli thought as his guard followed him into the great hall. The Man clearly enjoyed the Dwarf's company about as much as Gimli did his, but nevertheless he dogged his steps right up until Gimli was securely seated with Éomer and Imrahil at the high table.

The King of Rohan was looking considerably better than he had that morning. He greeted Gimli with a jovial smile and a tankard of ale. Gimli raised his eyebrows at that last, remembering the consequences of their indulgence the previous night. But any concerns on that score were put to rest as soon as he tasted it. Éomer was evidently taking no chances this evening, and the brew had all the potency of swamp water.

Imrahil laughed as Gimli shuddered and pushed his tankard away. "Perhaps you would prefer to try the wine, Master Dwarf. I think you'll find it more to your taste."

A serving girl came at the Prince's signal, and Gimli nodded his thanks to her as she poured a goblet full of the dark red liquid. He generally preferred something stronger, but long exposure to Legolas had worn down his resistance to new ideas.

He sniffed at skeptically at the new drink. It seemed innocuous enough. In the spirit of experimentation Gimli shrugged and took a healthy swig. His eyes widened as the rich fluid slid down his throat and ignited a pleasant warmth in his stomach. "It's Dorwinian!"

Faramir joined them in time to hear this. The Steward looked weary, with a seemingly permanent frown etched between his eyes. But he nodded as Gimli drained the rest of his goblet and reached for more. "Yes. I believe it was a part of last month's shipment from Esgaroth."

"Esgaroth?" Imrahil looked up. "That is no short distance."

Faramir shrugged and reached for his own goblet. "Lord Legolas arranged the trade. He keeps regular contact with Mirkwood – forgive me, I mean Eryn Lasgalen. The Elves frequently travel between their old home there and Ithilien; and they are willing to escort goods along the way. For a suitable fee, of course."

"Of course." Imrahil took another sip of his drink and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I wonder if they might be willing to extend their courier route to Dol Amroth. This wine is remarkable."

Éomer shrugged. "For my part I'll keep to ale, thank you. But you say that this shipment came last month? I thought that the snow had blocked the mountain passes."

Faramir smiled. "Another benefit of having Elves provide escort. What Men find insurmountable gives them little trouble: as I'm sure Lord Gimli can attest."

Gimli snorted at this, but his mind was not really on the conversation. He was thinking about what Imrahil had said, about the Elves traveling to Dol Amroth. That was all Legolas needed: a reason to come in regular contact with the sea. If ever there was a bad idea . . .

Oh Mahal. Dol Amroth. Aragorn was going to journey by the sea on his march to Harad. And if Legolas went with him . . .

But before he could continue that line of thought a hush fell over the crowded hall, and there was a general scraping of chairs and benches as the company rose to their feet. The King had arrived.

Gimli stood with the others and watched as Aragorn crossed to the carved wooden seat at the center of the high table. His chief concern, when he and Legolas had made this plan, had been that Arwen would come with Aragorn to the dinner. Legolas had been confident that she would not, though Gimli could not see what reason the Elf had to be so sure.

He had to concede now, however, that Legolas was right. Aragorn was alone.

The King came to his place but did not sit down. The musicians had stopped playing and now the whole company turned and faced west for a long moment in silence. Then Aragorn sat, and at his signal the others took their places as well. Éomer King sat at his right hand and Faramir took the place at the left, where the Queen might otherwise have been.

Prince Imrahil, seated across the table from them, raised an eyebrow. But no one else seemed to notice anything unusual, and no one commented on Arwen's absence as the minstrels struck up another song and the servants bore in loaded platters from the kitchens.

Aragorn looked around at them all with a smile that did not quite mask the heavy shadows under his eyes. "Welcome, my lords. I trust that you all have had a pleasant day?"

"A productive one, King Elessar," Faramir said. He used his eating knife to pull several slices of roast duck from a tray onto his plate. "Lord Gimli and I were reviewing the city's defenses. The outer wall is in good repair, but we feel it could be made higher, and a second level created for the archers."

"H'm." Aragorn waited until the serving maid had poured his wine and retreated before he spoke. "We re-opened the quarries in the foothills of the Ephel Duath two years ago. Supplying the stone will not be a problem, but we'll have to wait until the roads have dried further or the sledges will sink into the mud. How long will it take to complete?"

Gimli swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese. "If I had a team of Dwarves from Erebor here I could have it done in a month. As it is, with naught but Men about, and with waiting for the roads to dry . . ." he shrugged. "We can get the immediate area about the Gates done in six weeks, perhaps thirty meters on each side. I'll not want to go farther than that in any case until I've tested how the base supports will hold up under the extra weight."

Aragorn nodded and seemed to be about to say something else, but he stopped as another servant leaned in to set a tray of brandied jellies on the table. "Six weeks will be after the army departs," he said softly when the Man had left. "Think, Master Dwarf, and see if we cannot manage to complete it sooner."

Gimli opened his mouth to object, but Aragorn raised a hand. "I'll discuss this further with you and Lord Faramir at a more appropriate time. Now I would counsel you all to remember our words this morning."

He looked around at them all, meeting their eyes one by one, just as he had at the Council meeting. Gimli shut his mouth and sat back in his chair with his arms folded. There is no knowing who else may be watching.

Aragorn seemed satisfied with their silent response. The tension eased from his shoulders as he turned his attention back to his plate. He reached for his eating knife, but then stopped. Frowning, he looked back up and down the table. "Where is Lord Legolas?"

Gimli choked on his wine. He had been expecting that question, but he wasn't prepared for it to be quite so sudden. He regained his breath to find the others looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he said, a bit more truculently than he meant to. "How should I know where he is? I'm not his nurse-maid."

"You do spend more time with him than the rest of us do," Imrahil pointed out reasonably. "It seems likely that you were the last to see him."

"Ah, right." Gimli flushed, remembering the excuse that Legolas had given him. "He, ah, he was going outside. The city, I mean. He wanted some fresh air. Shouldn't be back all night, I'd reckon."

It was a perfectly plausible explanation, and indeed typical behavior for a Wood-elf. Legolas had certainly done such things on previous visits to Minas Tirith. But Gimli found that he could not quite meet Aragorn's eyes as he said this, and his cheeks felt hot. However right the cause might be, he was still a Dwarf of Durin's line, and he had never before lied to a friend.

The frown line deepened between Aragorn's brows as he chewed at his lip. "He ought not to go out alone. It isn't safe."

Gimli shrugged, regaining his composure. "You're talking about an Elf who grew up in Mirkwood, Aragorn. Hunting giant spiders was probably his idea of fun as a lad. I doubt you'll have much success telling him when something is unsafe."

Aragorn's hand tightened upon his goblet. "All the same –"

Éomer interrupted. "He has a point, my lord. When I was a boy we used to race over the fields at harvest time and see who could jump his horse over the highest haystack. My father was forever telling us that we'd break a bone that way, but it didn't stop us."

Faramir laughed. "I remember Éowyn telling me about that. And you did break something, did you not, my lord?"

Éomer grinned. "Only my ankle. There was a difference of opinion about whether I could jump two haystacks at once. I thought that I could. My horse disagreed."

The others laughed. Éomer shrugged and drained the rest of his ale. "Ah well. I still bested Éowyn on the speed trials."

He set his mug down with a thump and looked at Faramir. "That reminds me, my lord: you had something to say about my lady Éowyn? Are the duties of Ithilien so great that she cannot spend a few months with her people in Meduseld?"

Faramir shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Er, no, it isn't that. It is an, ah, personal matter, my lord."

Gimli had been watching Aragorn closely as the conversation veered away, less interested in Éomer's miscreant youth than he was concerned about the King's reaction to his deception. But something in Faramir's manner seemed to have caught Aragorn's attention, for the brooding look cleared from his eyes and he turned to focus upon his Steward.

"Would you prefer that we discuss this matter elsewhere, Lord Faramir? We might retire to my office, if you think it better."

Faramir's gaze was fixed upon his plate as he toyed with his eating knife. "I . . . no, Your Majesty. It is nothing to do with the Council or . . . anything. It is only . . ." he glanced up. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but his eyes shone with a rare, almost defiant pride. "The lady Éowyn and I . . . that is, my lady Éowyn cannot command Meduseld as she is . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked down again. Very softly he finished, ". . . she is in delicate condition."

Gimli frowned as he tried to piece this disjointed sentence together. He rather thought he knew what Faramir meant, but he wished that Men were not so squeamish in talking about such things.

Éomer, however, had no such reservations. "A baby!" he shouted, and clapped his hands. "I'm going to be an uncle! Did you hear that? Faramir's going to be a father! Porter! I'm an uncle! Drinks for everyone!"

A roar of approval rose from the crowded hall. Faramir blushed harder than ever, but a small smile curved his lips. "Yes," he murmured, not looking up. "Yes, that is rather . . . that is what I meant."

Aragorn laughed and reached over to pat his Steward on the back. "Wonderful! My lord Faramir, you are to be congratulated. You must allow us to extend our best wishes to the lady Éowyn when she arrives."

Faramir looked up. "When she arrives, King Elessar?"

Aragorn nodded. He was still smiling, but there was a steely glint to his eye. "Yes. You know what dangers are brewing in Middle-earth." He lowered his voice as the servants circled around the tables, refilling everyone's cups. Gimli had to concentrate to hear his next words through the din of celebration around them. "Surely you do not mean to leave her unprotected while we are at war?"

Faramir met his gaze, frowning a little. "I . . . no, of course not, Your Majesty."

Aragorn continued, resting one hand on Faramir's shoulder. "She and the child must be kept safe. I know that you have guards at your estate in Ithilien . . ."

The color was fading from Faramir's cheeks. He swallowed. "The guards are well trained, but there is little fortification around the manor. It could not withstand a battle."

"No, of course not," Aragorn said. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Faramir looked down, his fingers digging into the finely embroidered cloth upon the table. It was a moment before he spoke. "If I might be so bold, King Elessar, I would beg this favor. With Your Majesty's permission, I would bring the lady Éowyn to Minas Tirith. For her safety and the child's…"

"For her safety," Aragorn agreed. He smiled again. "And the child's. We shall have the best midwives in Gondor to attend the lady, when her time comes." Faramir nodded, but did not speak.

Aragorn continued. "She and the child are of course welcome to stay in Minas Tirith for as long as necessary. Do not worry, Faramir. The arrangements are already made."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Faramir said dully. Aragorn leaned forward swiftly to give him the brother's kiss, once on each cheek. But as the King released him, and stood to lead a toast, Gimli kept his eyes fixed upon the Steward. Faramir looked shaken.

*~*~*

Arwen had known that ruling as Queen of Gondor and Arnor would not be easy. Even apart from the Doom that she had accepted to bond with Aragorn, there were the daily challenges of adapting to life in the city of Men, of gaining the trust of a people who had little experience with Elves, and of rebuilding a country torn by the ravages of war and long years under the Shadow of Mordor. She had known all this, had accepted it and defended her choice against the anguished recriminations of her father and brothers.

But no one had mentioned the boredom. No one had said a single word about the frustration of ruling in a land where women were relegated to the shadows, unseen save for the trophy appearance at a banquet or in the throne room. Not one person had spoken of the tedium of work, day after day spent weaving and sewing with the noble ladies of the court.

And why should they? Arwen thought savagely as she stabbed with her needle at the fabric before her. They are all men. Her father might have foresight to warn her of her fate at Aragorn's side, of the grief to which she had bound herself as surely as spring must fade to winter. But of the daily life of a woman in Gondor's court? Of that Lord Elrond the Wise knew nothing.

The day crawled on interminably. The tapestry that they were working on grew no closer to completion, and the mortal women's company – which Arwen usually enjoyed – seemed now stifling and dull.

The Council ended hours ago. Where is he?

It was all she could do to speak normally, to laugh and talk of trivialities even as her stomach churned with anxiety. At every moment she expected to hear Elessar's step upon the threshold, almost hoped to hear it, for then at least she might learn what had happened at the meeting.

And every moment that he did not come increased the storm of fear and frustration within her.

The muscles of her back and neck were knotted with a tension that only added to her stomach's roil. The nausea of that morning had never really faded. The room was too close and too warm, and the women's chatter ran on and on, their faces blurring dizzily around her in the half-gloom of the shuttered windows.

Arwen closed her eyes as the world tilted.

"Queen Arwen? Is something wrong?"

She breathed deeply, trying to think past the cloying smoke and perfume. She focused upon the texture of cloth and wood under her hands as they gripped the armrests of her chair. Slowly the trembling left her limbs, and she forced back the bile in her throat.

"Your Majesty?"

She shook her head, wishing that they would leave her alone. If she could just have a moment to think . . . the world righted itself again. A hand touched her arm, and she opened her eyes. They were all looking at her.

Giving what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she said, "Pardon me, ladies. I . . ." she cast about for some excuse that they would believe. Remembering a mortal ailment of which Gilraen had occasionally complained, she finished, "It was merely a headache. Please, let us continue."

There was a murmuring of sympathy, and someone fetched a cup of mint tea to set at her side. Arwen sipped at it occasionally, trying to look unconcerned as the conversation resumed. A headache was acceptable, it seemed. But she must be careful. She dared not appear too fatigued, or too delicate, or . . . or too much of anything, really.

These women were her friends, as much as any mortal of this city could be. But if they suspected, if they guessed her condition . . . one word of congratulations, one concerned look or overly careful touch, and Elessar would know.

He was a healer trained by Lord Elrond, after all, and Arwen dared not discount his skills at observation and deduction even in matters of which most males were ignorant. Indeed at times she could scarcely believe that she had kept it from him this long, and thought that surely he must know. Perhaps he was merely playing with her, pretending that she had deceived him for reasons of his own. Perhaps it was another one of his tests.

Perhaps not. She did not know, and if she kept thinking in this way she would surely go mad. But she could not hide it forever. And if she failed to reach him before he found out, if Legolas could not bring him back in time . . .

"Queen Arwen?"

Arwen started. Her needle slipped, pricking sharply through a hole in her thimble. She hissed and dropped both needle and thimble as she put her finger in her mouth. "Yes, Kaimil?"

The maid was holding a dress that overflowed her arms in a cascade of lace and green ribbons. Arwen's throat grew tight as she recognized it. Aragorn had had it made for her as a gift for their first Yule in Gondor – the first Yule that they had spent together in twenty years.

Kaimil held it up like a shield, her round face a study in determination. "It is time to dress for the banquet, Your Majesty."

Arwen set her jaw and picked up her needle again. "Thank you, Kaimil. You may put that away. I am not attending the banquet tonight."

"But my lady –"

Arwen stared at the tapestry before her. Its colors blurred as tears pricked behind her eyelids, but with an effort she kept her voice even. "No. Thank you."

One of her ladies leaned forward. "Your Majesty, you must –"

"No!" Arwen took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. "I would thank you, Lady Inalese, not to tell me what I must or must not do. I assure you that I know."

The woman was unperturbed. "I would not dream of it, my lady. I only meant that you must eat. You have had nothing since break-fast this morning."

Elbereth, food was the last thing she wanted. But she mustered a small smile. "Of course. Forgive me, I did not mean to be sharp."

She turned back to the maid, not looking at the dress she held. "Please send for a tray from the kitchens, Kaimil. I shall dine in my chambers."

The girl frowned. "But –"

Arwen stood abruptly, bringing the others to their feet. "Thank you all. I will not keep you from the banquet: please, go and enjoy yourselves. I will see you in the morning."

It was all she could do to keep still, smiling pleasantly as they bowed good night and slowly made their way out through the antechamber and past the sentries at the door. She caught Inalese's eye, and the grey-haired woman held back as the others left. Kaimil went last of all, trailing ribbons and shooting Arwen a disapproving look over her shoulder as she left.

When they were alone Arwen turned toward her. "Lady Inalese, would you be so kind as to convey my regrets to King Elessar? I fear that this headache is somewhat worse than I had thought."

Inalese bowed. "Yes, my lady." She paused then, casting Arwen a shrewd look. "If I may, you could use the time to rest, Your Majesty. You seem weary of late."

Arwen only nodded, numb, as the lady made her way out. The door clicked quietly shut behind her.

The food arrived in due time and sat cooling upon the side table as Arwen paced. Free at last of prying eyes, she strode back and forth across the chamber, her arms crossed tightly and her brows drawn in a deep frown.

Where was he? Perhaps he had gone back to the Tower after the Council – yes, that would be very like him. Then had Legolas failed? And if so, why had he not at least sent word to her? Even if he could not get past the guards, he could send a message, a letter, something. He must know that she was waiting. Unless Aragorn had –

A sound, a breath and creak of boot leather too soft for mortal ears to hear, and she whirled to find him there, calmly watching her from the doorway.

"Legolas!"

She reached him in three strides, and he caught her, laughing at the force with which she hugged him. She clung to him, breathing his clean scent, feeling the warmth of him solid beneath her hands, his hair smooth against her cheek. He was safe. The knot inside her chest relaxed a little.

"Arwen?" his hands tightened upon her shoulders, pushing her back a little, so that he could look into her eyes. A crease was drawn between his dark brows as he studied her. "Are you well?" His voice lowered. "Last night . . ."

She met his gaze, feeling her smile fade. "I'm fine."

Legolas released a small breath and loosened his grip. He did not speak, but she saw the relief in his eyes.

He stepped away, taking in the cluttered room at a glance, the shrouded windows, the small fire, the chairs scattered about the half-sewn tapestry. Arwen watched him impatiently. She was desperate to ask him about the Council, and Aragorn, and if he had been able to talk to the King, but she knew that she would get nothing from him until he was satisfied that they were safe.

Mirkwood Elves really were impossible at times.

Although, she acknowledged, watching as he inspected the fireplace, perhaps this time the suspicion is warranted. A new thought struck her then, and she spoke aloud, "The guards! Legolas, how did you –"

He rose from the hearth and glanced at her, a distinctly mischievous glint to his eye. "Your guards, my lady, are well trained and very diligent. They saw a suspiciously cloaked figure near the Royal Chambers, and when he did not halt at their command, they set out at once in pursuit. Really they should be commended when they return."

With that he shrugged out of his cloak and went to investigate the window draperies. Arwen was still smiling at these words when Legolas straightened and abruptly threw back the heavy drapes with a swish and rattle of their wooden rings.

"Oh!" she cried, as he leaned forward and pushed the leaded window open, "No! Legolas, don't!"

He glanced at her in surprise, already settling himself upon the sill. "My lady?"

A sweet rush of cold air swept into the room, dispelling the smoke and making the candles flicker. Arwen stared at the sweep of clear sky visible beyond the window, colorless in the twilight. Already she could feel the song of the stars, close now though still cloaked by fading day.

She swallowed. "Elessar," she managed. "He will not . . . he has asked me to keep the draperies closed."

"Has he?" Legolas' lips thinned. "Then there is no need for concern. You have not opened them. I have. If he objects, he may take the matter up with me."

Arwen shook her head. "You don't understand. He –"

"Forgive me, my lady," Legolas interrupted. "I understand more than you know. And I will not permit you to be caged here in the dark, any more than I will permit –" He stopped.

He looked away, out over the city, and it was a moment before he continued more softly. "You need light and air, my lady Undómiel, now more than ever. Come, sit with me. There is much that we need to discuss."

Arwen hesitated, but the lure of the stars was greater than any of Aragorn's threats, spoken or implied. Slowly she came to stand at Legolas' side, and rested her hand on his shoulder as she looked past him toward the darkling sky.

They were thus in silence for a time, watching as the light faded and bats flitted over the city. Then Legolas spoke.

"Aragorn prepares for war."

The strength fled Arwen's legs, and she braced herself against him, listening through the roaring of her ears as he continued, telling her all that had happened at the Council and afterwards.

He finished, but it was a long moment before she could speak. Her mouth was dry. "How long?"

"A month at most. He will not delay longer, for fear of the desert summer."

Logical, she thought. Aragorn always had been a skilled tactician. She considered that for a moment, reveling in the chance to speak openly at last. She was slowly beginning to understand the techniques that mortal women used: the subtle art of indirection and coy words with which they influenced their male counterparts. There was power there, she had discovered, considerably more than appeared to the unsuspecting eye. But their method was slow, and required tiresome flattery of the male ego.

For once it was a relief to speak directly with an Elf, as an equal. "And these armies he sees in the palantír? How does he know that they target Gondor?"

Legolas turned to look at her, his face grave. "It is possible that he has sensed some intention along with these visions. The palantír can convey some emotion, or cause it in the beholder: we have seen that much. Malice, fear, despair . . ." his hand closed upon hers, tightened.

"But more than that, I know it to be true. Whether it comes from the South as Aragorn believes or not, there is evil here." His dark eyes held hers, searching. "Your father chose the life of the Eldar. Can you not feel it?"

The first stars were kindling, their pale fire mirrored by the flare of torchlight upon the streets below. Arwen stood still, feeling Legolas' hand cool upon her own, the night air sharp in her lungs and the heat of the fire at her back. She thought of the suspicion in Aragorn's eyes, his hands upon her, the constant questioning, Do you trust me? Do you love me?

And what would Elessar do, she thought, if I said no?

"Yes," she whispered. "I can feel it."

Legolas drew her close, and she sank down upon the sill with him. The stone was cold. She allowed her head to fall back against his chest, and his arms were strong as he held her, his hands clasped around her waist.

At that moment she did not care if anyone saw, did not care if Elessar found them. The long weight of fear and constant worry was lifted, and at last she could let the tears fall, silent as the night zephyrs that blew over them.

Legolas spoke, his breath warm against her ear. "If Aragorn goes to war, I will go with him."

Arwen kept her eyes fixed upon the distant stars. They shone clear in the dark sky, but their song was muted by shadow. And her father had chosen the life of the Eldar, and her mother was a daughter of Galadriel, and the Sight was in her blood.

"If Aragorn goes to war," she said, "we will lose him forever."