"I hope you will be comfortable here. It won't be for long anyway. You should find the most necessary things in the cabinet. Feel free to tell your valet or my betrothed if you need anything else. Then I'm sure you will be alright until your personal belongings from Imladris arrive." It didn't sound like a question, though Faramir had hardly given Arwen a chance yet to take even one look at her room.
While he kept the door half-open, with the way he braced himself on the doorframe, Arwen couldn't get past him. She couldn't say if it was intentional or not, given how nervously he was eying her, hesitating to say what was weighing on his heart.
"That our future King has chosen you is a big honor to be granted."
"I know that. I will do whatever I can to be worthy of this honor and not cause him any grief, especially not in public. I am aware of the duties coming with my stay here." Arwen disliked this single scrutinizing look even more than the many she'd earned in the streets earlier.
"Far be it from me to offend you, milady." Faramir's posture straightened, he raised his chin a little. Yes, the long weeks of leading the capital alone had left their traces. He wasn't exactly happy about meeting her with such an authority though, as his constant hemming and hawing revealed.
"When you left Gondor, there has already been unavoidable talk about why you rode west with His Majesty. Unfortunately, not all the healers were discreet enough to keep the extent of your war injuries to themselves. I would never presume to doubt Aragorn's and your relationship, but other people will. I urgently advise you to always hide your condition well and not provide even more fodder for conversation behind your back. That would not only get you in more trouble than you can be aware of."
"Do I have to infer from this greeting that I am in some already?" Now Arwen's posture stiffened as well. Faramir's way of talking to her hurt her and created an abyss that she actually had not expected to appear so quickly between herself and anyone else here. "I expected more understanding. Shouldn't you know best how it is to, for whatever reason, not be seen as good enough to assume an office? Please let me go inside now. I suffer from injures from the events in Rohan that have surely filtered down to here as well, and I am tired after the long ride."
"Of course. Though I hope, you didn't just hear my words but understood them as well." Faramir waited for Arwen to answer with an offhand nod before he let her pass.
"My betrothed will visit you as soon as possible. Someone will bring you something to eat."
"I didn't know that I've been made a prisoner of these chambers." Arwen entered without even regarding the young man with another glance. "I will wait; I'm not in a mood for anything else anyway. Please go now. You should not let your future leader wait."
Arwen waited until Faramir had pulled the door close before allowing herself a deep breath. She nearly expected to hear the click of a key; then, unfortunately, she would have had to climb out the window immediately, get her horse and leave the city without looking back, all understanding for different manners at a court of Men aside. But there were only departing footsteps.
And now? Of course, she had anticipated that in the beginning, people would still eye her mistrustfully and that some would be meet her with rejection as well. But that she was apparently seen as a troubling element already, stung her heart so much that she even lost all by herself every interest in exploring the building.
Aragorn almost dropped his traveling bags upon opening the door of his chambers in the King's House. He had to force himself to not pause in amazement. He didn't want to make Faramir wait. And it would take more than a few minutes anyway, to get used to the changes in these rooms that so far, he had only been to a single time, briefly, before his departure.
The previously archaically furnished ruler's rooms had undergone major reconstruction. Any and all furniture had been crafted anew, made of valuable material, and still provided enough open space for Aragorn to make additions to his liking. Additional windows allowed more light in that didn't only illuminate comfortable seating accommodations but also thoughtful decoration. Paintings and small busts were telling stories about the different stages in Aragorn's life that not many people knew about. The members of the Fellowship or even some of the elves had doubtlessly lent a hand here.
Aragorn decided to save the shock that would be the bedroom for later and hurried to get ready for the meeting. Only when he bent down to his bag to rummage around for a fresh tunic, he realized that he wasn't feeling dizzy because the impressions in here were overwhelming him at all. He had hardly eaten anything for a remarkable time, which his stomach now commented on by a protesting growl.
Of course, the considerate servants had thought of that, too. There was a big basket with fruit waiting on a carved dresser.
Aragorn caught himself smiling for a moment. Although his focus had to be on his duties of course, not on the advantages of his office, the latter could hardly be denied. He snatched himself a big red apple and took an absent-minded bite already when his instincts belatedly reacted after all and he spat out the small piece because something alive was wriggling against his lip and a floury taste filled his mouth. Worm-eaten. That alone wouldn't have been dramatic. A Dúnadan knew exactly how quickly fruit spoilt. And in the wilderness, one often even had to make do with those when times were hard. But Aragorn couldn't deny a certain disconcertment, the same he had felt when he had spotted the deserted courtyard. Surely just an accident – right?
Again, his instincts knew better. Almost all the apples were rotten as showed when he cut them open with a knife from his belt, and the fruit hidden underneath them looked even worse.
It would have been naive, blaming this on an accident, thinking that the basket must have been old and just hadn't been taken away. Everything else here was way too perfect for that. No, someone had simply come up with a not so nice greeting for him.
Well, Aragorn had just lost his appetite for more than one reason.
Only when Aragorn entered Faramir's small, comfortable living room where he was being expected not only by his substitute and Mithrandir but also by a visitor he'd not expected to meet again so quickly, Aragorn realized how serious the situation really was. "Ada?"
"Come on, don't look so surprised, Estel." Elrond greeted him with a reserved smile; the embarrassing events at their last meeting were visibly not entirely forgotten yet.
"Did you think I wouldn't attend your coronation personally? Don't be ridiculous. A message from Minas Tirith reaching us shortly after your departure only accelerated my own. Additional elvish congratulators, not just from Imladris, will be gathering in the next few days. I promised you that, didn't I? You were always a close friend of our kin. Any of us who can spare some time and is not busy securing the borders will be present when you finally take office. For urgency reasons, my companion and I chose a quicker route than you, but we've only just arrived ourselves. Had I known, your visit to Rohan would be so short, we'd have tried to catch up with you."
"I'm glad. I had hoped very much that you can make it happen somehow." Aragorn's voice was missing some warmth as well. Not only did Elrond's words contain a warning about the events here in Minas Tirith that made the lump in his throat grow … He wondered if he would ever be able to look at his foster father again, without feeling the guilt about robbing him of his daughter forever.
But apparently, there were far more important matters to talk about right now. And Aragorn felt annoyed that no one had tried to deliver a message to him on his journey if it was something so grave.
"What is going on here that gets through even to Imladris, ada? I trust your judgment like no one else's. If this is upsetting you so much, I should have long learned about it."
"More worries on your shoulders wouldn't have made your horses run any faster. There would still be enough time left for you to greet old friends," Mithrandir threw in from the side, in mock offense, probably to brighten the mood a little. Under his long white beard, the corners of his mouth were twitching.
"Forgive me, mellon, but you, fortunately, know exactly the kind of place you hold in my heart. If I told you how important you are to me whenever we meet, I wouldn't get around to do anything else."
Aragorn regarded the wizard with a short smile and a fleeting bow of his head, with his palm resting against his shoulder, but then turned to Faramir again. His expression a lot more serious, he threw his substitute the apple he'd brought.
"The pantries of Minas Tirith used to be better equipped, by the way."
"It's exactly as I feared." His lips tightly pressed together, Faramir put the fruit down in the middle of the table. "That there is even someone among the Citadel servants who's one of them, exceeds my worst expectations. We need to keep a sharper eye on the kitchen. That could just as well have been poison."
"You're talking in riddles, my friend. Slowly and from the beginning, please."
Aragorn let himself fall onto a high armchair right next to his foster father, arduously ignoring Elrond's piercing glance.
"Things have changed while you were gone. So far, the storm is hardly more than a whisper that none but a few insiders can hear, but if we don't step in, it won't take long before it turns into an outcry." Faramir agitatedly wiped his forehead, dropping the mask of the unruffled stadtholder for good. "Not everyone in Gondor is happy about your return, Aragorn."
"That's what I expected," Aragorn drawled into the following uncomfortable silence. "My journey was a decision that couldn't stay without any consequences at all. But when I arrived, I didn't get the feeling that the folk is bearing a grudge." But even while he said that he saw images in his head that he had suppressed during the ride to the Citadel, discarding them as singular instances.
Closing windows and curtains, like in Éowyn's room. Occasionally, someone leaving the streets almost in a hurry, dragging their children along by their hands. Evil glares instead of joy.
"There'll always be people doubting the line of Kings. In the beginning, your brother was one of them himself, Faramir. Before I entered Gondor for the first time in the war, I'd been thinking about that for decades already. Not everyone welcomes change. And this folk has long witnessed the stable and safe leadership of the Steward-house. I've always been aware that I would first have to prove myself good enough for my new responsibilities."
"I'm afraid, you underestimate the situation." The painful but unfortunately necessary mention of Boromir had thrown Faramir off guard for just a moment. When he reached back to a dresser and got a rolled-up, tattered parchment out of the top drawer, his hands had already stopped shaking … or now did for a different reason.
"These keep on showing up, no matter how many men I send out to collect and burn them. They're calling themselves 'Stewardaides'."
On the scroll, it said in big scarlet letters, Resist!, followed by a few slogans that had Aragorn's expression darken more and more.
A wildling from the North at the head of the country who prefers traveling over leading?!
Don't let the line of the proud, wise Stewards of Gondor fail!
One of the crooked elven breed can never become our Queen!
Gondor is opening the borders – Rohan is becoming too dangerous!
Arnor left us alone in the war. It does not deserve our loyalty!
A clear voice of the people instead of false words from wizards and elf-lovers!
STOP ARAGORN FROM THE NORTH! STAND UP!
"What do you plan to do?" It was Elrond who spoke up after a moment of gloomy silence, his slender hands firmly folded on his crossed legs. The fine lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, from millennia of experience especially also with conflicts like Gondor, suddenly seemed to be facing one, seemed to have deepened since their last meeting.
"Nothing but what I had in mind anyway." Aragorn got up with a jerk and threw the parchment into the fire with a scornful movement.
"I will be crowned King and lead the rebuilding of this country as well as of Arnor. I will send out immediate help to the regions that I have seen chaos and distress in on my journey. From now on, people will see me more often than they might want to because I won't rest for a minute until this city blooms in its old glory. I will not allow new distrust to arise between the folks. Very soon, a new settlement of Firstborn in North Ithilien will heal the wounds of the war that nature is still carrying. From there, elves will be coming here as well, to expand the city's gardens and decorate the walls with life."
In a moment of crumbling composure, he slapped his open palm on the table. "So these people think, they'll soon have an incompetent Dúnadan on their thrown? They will learn what someone is capable of who has been raised by elves." His eyes found Elrond's once more, and this time, the answer in his foster father's bright orbs was pure pride.
"I will most definitely not pull up any walls, just to prove that King Éomer is not planning an invasion here. My mission is peace. People will get an even greater King than all their prophecies could ever have made them hope. But if these cowards want a fight, I will give them one as soon as they dare to show their face to me. Elessar will prove that it's not only his appearance that makes him more similar to his renowned ancestors than many before him."
"I see, my fears were unfounded, Estel," Elrond smiled. "I should finally learn that your determination is not only unwavering in battle."
"It might not be able to solve everything though," Faramir tempered the mood a little right again. With his arms crossed on the table, he leaned forward a bit, so he could talk more quietly as if someone was eavesdropping.
"They will not be looking for conversation or even open conflict. They're like ghosts. They have seen you in the war and know exactly, they would have nothing on you in a battle. So everything is happening underground. They meet where the guards have no access and are gone quicker than you even know they have assembled. They write their parchments in a place we have not been able to find so far, probably far outside the city. They recruit people in harmless conversations at the side of the road, at the marketplace, at celebrations, even during home visits. And at that, they're so inconspicuous that almost none of the citizens reporting such a disturbance to us could give a good description. They know, the majority of people are on your side, Aragorn, so they will stab you from behind when they think you unguarded. That scares me. You need all your strength for your duties. Somebody has to watch your back. Maybe Éowyn and I should reconsider our move."
"That would only strengthen the hopes of these misguided believers," Mithrandir warned.
"Besides, we will give them nothing of what they demand." Aragorn shook his head too. "I will not have them blackmail me. They want you here in the city. They have made you their hero, whether you like it or not. If you stay longer than planned, they'll make it look like you do out of discontent with my coronation, to hold on to your power in Gondor."
"But I'm worried about you." Faramir started to sound annoyed. "Isn't it warning enough for you that one of their people is obviously coming and going to your chambers? You can't solve everything on your own. It might not be a long road, getting from Emyn Arnen to here, but if every minute might count …"
"You leave behind a more than capable personal guard," Aragorn interrupted him calmingly. "I am very grateful for everything you have achieved in my absence, Faramir, but you can't feel responsible for everything. Your duties, and your heart, too, lie elsewhere. I know exactly how dangerous it is, having an enemy so close by my side. I'm still a stranger in these halls, and these men know every corner of the city. But the speech at my coronation will make sure, they will soon have no safe place in Minas Tirith anymore."
"And the folk shall not have to wait for that anymore, not an hour longer than necessary," Mithrandir spoke up again admonishingly. "The city has been working on preparations ever since the news reached us that you will soon arrive, Aragorn. Arnor has not sent a delegation, but we received a message from the biggest city there still remaining, that the people accept Gondor's decision regarding your reign for the moment. The future of the realms is now entirely in your hands. Only the crown is still missing."
"With your approval, the announcement can be made this very hour," Faramir nodded. "Given the mistrust, the Stewardaides try to kindle in people towards Rohan, we should just wait until King Éomer can to join us. We've been expecting him at the wedding anyway. But in a few days, Minas Tirith shall finally see the celebration that people have been longing for so much."
"Even more rushed than I expected; but then again, I didn't think that everything would be already planned out before I even arrived." Aragorn felt exhausted after such serious problems had been revealed to him. He had expected discontent among the people, but not an organized uprising. He had even more work to do than he'd thought. "I am ready when Gondor is."
"Then let us not waste another minute." Relief spread on Faramir's strained face. Apparently, after the long journey, even people who had witnessed Aragorn's tenacity in the war had started to have doubts. "I'll take care of the announcement and the last tasks."
"I will send pigeons to the travelers to inform them that they have to cut their breaks short if they want to arrive on time." Elrond said farewell to the Steward with a short wave.
"Rest now, Estel. You've gone through a long time of worrying, and you're about to face even more struggle. If you allow, my companion will stay in Minas Tirith for some time, to help you solve the problem with these rebels. That's what I brought him for."
"If people see elves seemingly meddling with realm affairs, that will probably lead to even more criticism. I will not cave, but I don't want to provoke anyone on purpose either."
Aragorn sighed deeply but nodded then. "I'm happy about any Firstborn's voice near to me, it just shouldn't sound in my official team of advisors. If the elf you chose is satisfied with functioning as the leader of the elvish works in the city, he is more than welcome. And I will seek his council as often as it's necessary. But I can understand if he's not ready to play such a role."
"He will understand your caution." Before he left, Elrond quickly put a hand on his shoulder.
Finally, only Mithrandir and Aragorn were left in the room. They stayed sitting in the light of the chimney-fire for a few silent moments, both afraid of words that would only hurt right now.
But then Mithrandir did ask, and Aragorn told him before he even realized he was about to answer. About the time gone, the many blows of fate and his long way back to the life he was destined to lead. He skillfully avoided mentioning Legolas' tragic loss but he was pretty certain, Mithrandir could read between the lines and would understand – regarding Arwen's condition, as well.
"Don't burden your heart with even more than it already has to deal with." Mithrandir gently put a hand on his lower arm. "It is now your realm and your people who have to come first and who need steadfast leadership more than ever. Everything else, time will heal. You are not alone."
"I know, mellon, I know." Leaning forward, Aragorn braced his elbows on his knees. He stared at the Ring of Barahir on his hand and turned it into a hard fist.
"I sacrificed everything in my life for this land and would have died for it anytime. Nothing will ever change about that."
"The day is grey and heavy for this time of year. Let's leave it behind." With a little groan, Mithrandir got up, murmuring something about much too hard benches and shuffled to the door, braced on his staff. It was one of the rare instances that he let the few traces of old age show that were ailing the body he'd once chosen for this realm, slower than they would harm other beings but consistently. Mithrandir had accomplished more in the post-war era than anyone would have expected or even demanded of him. He seemed as tired as Aragorn felt.
Aragorn's journey into the west ended with just as much wistfulness as it had started.