To flee from the wild turmoil breaking loose in the city in the first few hours after the King's rescue, there was only one refuge for the she-elf who was in the center of it, at least until Aragorn would be capable of showing himself to his people. It was one of her most favorite places calling for her, as so often, on the sixth level of Minas Tirith, inhabited by calm creatures who didn't want anything from her, not even her talking to them, but were entirely satisfied with some care and the treatment of small wounds. Any other day, Tarisilya would have been almost alone in the aisle between the stalls, but when even the stable hands started shouting the news to each other, she retreated into Brego's stall.
The auburn stallion was still tired from the trip to Cair Andros that she'd asked of him to look for Legolas. He had only a surprised glance for her to spare before he went back to his extra helping of oats. Every now and then, he flicked his tail, wiping it over Tarisilya's face as if he wanted to dry her tears … or just voice his opinion about weird two-legged creatures who never knew when they should actually be happy.
Only when the horse looked up and backed away, Tarisilya realized that she had been found. Maybe someone wanted to come and get her because the day was already coming to an end again and the patients needed more care.
"Come closer, it's alright." She got up, still a little sluggishly in her exhaustion, and was surprised to look Éowyn of all people in the face. After that scene in the sick room, she hadn't expected to meet the Steward's wife again so quickly.
Brego seemed to recognize one of his old owners. He stretched his head forward and searchingly nosed the top of Éowyn's dress.
"I see, you're still a hog." Éowyn greeted the stallion by briefly blowing into his nostrils and gave him an apple that she had already cut in half so he wouldn't choke on it. Small gestures reminding Tarisilya that Éowyn had a deep connection to Tarisilya's favorite animals, just like her brother, and that in spite of all differences, the two of them had many similarities, too.
Seeing as Éowyn had overcome her pride already and had come to see her, she should be meeting her halfway. "Please forgive me for being so harsh last night."
"I want to apologize as well. I should never have entered that sick room, not like this. The thought of losing Aragorn, especially before he and I ever got a chance to finally reconcile, was just …" She paused, quickly wiping her eyes. "Let me say thank you."
Tarisilya didn't answer immediately because there was something in Éowyn's posture and tone suddenly frightening her. Something that she should actually have noticed before the assassination already, in the chambers of the Steward's wife.
That Faramir did hardly have any time for his partner was one thing. A thing Éowyn would either have to live with or she would have to start accompanying her husband at his duties – the necessary qualifications for that, she had. But these regular separations, a situation that Tarisilya knew only too well, didn't just create loneliness. It also triggered a kind of old yearning that might be sent in the wrong direction if there was no one around to fight it.
The day would come to address that, to spare Aragorn, and Arwen, especially, more grief alone. But it wasn't this one, so shortly after this crisis.
"The least I could do," was therefore all she said, saying goodbye to Brego with a short caress. She couldn't hide here any longer. "I'm already on my way back to the patients, in case you were sent to get me."
"No." For some inexplicable reason, Éowyn smiled. There it was again, finally, after all these long months, the cautious and yet so enchanting smile of the White Lady of Rohan.
A smile that reminded Tarisilya of Éomer and caused homesickness for a country she had never lived in. Maybe – when this catastrophe was over, once she could be sure that her husband and the other elves were in safety – it was time to visit some old friends.
"I was sent to tell you that the soldiers have just passed the city gates. Our husbands are coming home from going to war. Let us go welcome them."
Leaving the stables, the two of them first had to make their way through a crowd though. With so many people wanting something from them, Éowyn had to wonder if she would only be able to leave the house with soldiers soon if Faramir's actions continued to stir so much unrest among men. People fortunately quickly understood that there were more important things right now, as the hoofbeats of soldier horses drew closer to the sixth level. They stepped back respectfully to clear the way.
Which allowed Éowyn and Tarisilya to see immediately that neither the group of soldiers nor the one of the elves were being complete. So much for taking their husbands into their arms again.
So this was why Tarisilya had looked so confused in the stable earlier. That mysterious mental connection existing between elvish lovers after their wedding must have warned her already.
"Milady." The man at the front approached Éowyn immediately. He jumped down next to her and bowed quickly before summarizing what had happened at the Dead Marshes in careful words. He especially emphasized, with the necessary volume, how hard Faramir had fought for the elves, how deeply losing one of them had hit him and that he was even ready to look for the rest of them in the darkness of Mordor.
People in the courtyard started to whisper excitedly; the gathering dissolved. Hopefully, the message would make the rounds in the city just as quickly as the other one of the Steward's possible treason had before.
"And now give me the rest of the bad news," Éowyn ordered once they were alone at last, the stable hands busy bringing the horses away, and a few healers under Ioreth's guidance had joined them to start caring for the elves who were in a state of total shock.
"I can't tell you anything more than I did. I would if I knew anything," the man quickly added when Éowyn glared. In the short time that she had been living there in Emyn Arnen, her temper seemed to have become infamous already. "I do know how strong you are, that no one needs to go easy on you. The fog was hiding what was going on with the others. But I can assure you that your husband wouldn't take the risk and dare to get too close to Mordor."
"Under usual circumstances, he would not."
All of the elves were being brought into the Houses of Healing, even those who actually weren't injured. With Tarisilya and Ioreth there, objections would have been futile anyway.
Tarisilya had her back to her, but Éowyn had heard her cry in the stables before, therefore she knew how this shadow of a she-elf who surely used to be enchanting, was looking right now after she had had to learn that this catastrophe had indeed already cost one of her people his life.
Éowyn could feel the same expression on her own face. So Mordor it was then where this crisis should end – and only the Valar knew how that might go. Éowyn almost wished, she'd had an occupation as well to throw herself into, so she wouldn't spend the next few days seeing images of mutilated bodies and chopped off heads in front of her closed eyes. One of these that might get catapulted over the city wall in the foreseeable future could be her husband's.
"What reason is there now for hope?"
She only realized that she had talked louder than planned when the soldier touched her hand, just for a moment to keep the necessary distance, and pointed at the departing elves.
Another member of their group approached them from the Houses of Healing, as quickly as her own condition allowed. Ignoring all rules of decency in public, Tauriel and her husband embraced each other tightly. Éowyn could see it from here that there were tears in Camhanar's eyes when his wife put their newborn daughter into his arms.
The soldier had meant to comfort her; instead, the sight caused her even more pain. It very clearly brought everything home to Éowyn that she had never had herself, not even at her wedding that should actually have been a symbol for a new start in her life. A few beautiful hours aside though, even that had passed her by almost entirely without a trace.
"Take me to the guesthouse." Only knowing that everything else would have been a scandal, now of all times when the people were finally being a little more well-disposed to Faramir again, kept Éowyn upright until she reached her chambers and could lock the door behind her. Crying, she collapsed on the bed.
"I can't remember telling you, you can get up." While the healers went ahead together with the other elves, Tarisilya had given Tauriel and her husband at least a minute alone, but now she had to disturb them.
"Don't be mad." Tauriel smiled apologetically, never taking her head off her husband's broad shoulder. "I just couldn't wait. By the way, I nursed the baby earlier. She and I are doing much better."
Given that it hadn't been too long since Tauriel had been far too weak for something like that, that was indeed very good news. There would be no damage to this little family by what a few fanatic men had started, so easily, as if it had been just a few days since the language of the elves had been forbidden in Gondor and Mankind had had nothing but fear and hate to spare for the Firstborn.
People's cheers had proven that there were still only a few that believed the rebels to be right; still the anxiety remained, the worry that this little fire could spread.
That Tauriel and Camhanar would hopefully live far away from such riots with their baby soon, was a calming thought for Tarisilya. "I'll ask the King to provide you with soldiers to escort you back to Imladris. Most of his Dúnedain are in Arnor to keep an eye on things there and initiate first negotiations, and Prince Faramir's Rangers are in Rohan right now, so he won't be able to deploy a large group. But Aragorn does owe me a little favor. You'll be back home in no time, I promise."
"Why would we want that?" Only Tauriel's confused question had Tarisilya realize that she was maybe thinking ahead further than the two elves could after the first shock. "Our home is North Ithilien, Your Highness."
The way Tarisilya's mouth dropped open made Tauriel laugh, exuberant laughter falling on the long hopelessness of the last few days like warm summer rain. "Did you think, we wouldn't bounce back? That a couple of men can destroy what we've been building for months? Believe me, someone who has served in King Thranduil's army for over a millennium doesn't get taken down so easily. I have turned my back to the open fight for far too long, I know that now. That has to stop."
"But the settlement is …" Did these people still mean to follow Legolas and her although they had now got to know the dangers first-hand? More than ever, Tarisilya wished Legolas would be here right now to hear all this, to understand that no one blamed him for what had happened like he doubtlessly did.
"The settlement can be rebuilt," Camhanar interrupted her. "The wargs only destroyed the first foundations. Most of the supplies and our belongings had long been taken to covered pits and into treetops that the animals couldn't reach. We always knew that we were living door to door with many threats. Therefore I'm even more relieved to be told that all the wargs are dead. And if some insane people do get the idea in their heads once more that they have to defend a country that isn't even theirs – this time we'll be prepared. If there's something you want to do for us, Your Highness, invite more of our people. Tell them we need the support of everyone who doesn't know yet what to do with their life after the war. We've been given the last task in these lands before we make our way to the west. If I went back to Imladris now, the loneliness there would scare me more than a few oversized predators. Gondor is still filled with life. We won't refuse that gift so easily."
"Thank you, both of you." But it wasn't just happiness in Tarisilya's voice. The recurring worry about her husband that she'd just had to free from a deadly trap a few days ago, remained. There was nothing, no comforting word, no touch that would have soothed that panic, therefore, she was glad that her friends didn't even try.
Camhanar's next question though didn't exactly help her peace of mind either. "I've been wondering about it for days, Your Highness. Tell me: Where is the dauntless warlord of Imladris who sent us help in our darkest hour?"
"Nothing's changed, Princess." As if Ioreth had known where Tarisilya would go next, she was waiting for the three elves in front of a certain sick room at the very end of the ground-floor hall.
"Isn't it time we finally informed somebody?" From that conversation, Tarisilya and Erestor had had slightly too loud the other evening, the healer could probably remember well that the King's advisor had insisted on that. Every healer knew of course the duty to tell relatives about a patient's condition; therefore, the woman did visibly not feel good about this idleness.
"You'll find a white dove in my chambers. She knows her way to Lórien." From a pocket of her dress, Tarisilya took a rolled parchment that she had already been carrying with her since last night and thrust it in Ioreth's hand. "Starting from there, the tidings will reach the other elven realms."
"Is it that bad, Your Highness?" While Camhanar had turned very pale, his wife just stared to the ground in sadness, knowing, thanks to her stay in these buildings, what was written in this letter already.
"Go." Tarisilya nodded at the door. "I'll be with the others in case you need me."
"What?" Camhanar, already about to press down the handle, looked back and forth between Tarisilya and Tauriel.
"Thondrar doesn't want to see Her Highness," Tauriel explained quietly. "I don't know what his problem is. He followed her to Cair Andros voluntarily; no one has forced him. Her Highness saved his life."
"Yes. And that's exactly what he will hate me for forever." Tarisilya walked away with fast steps, to see to those who were still waiting for her help.
So far, the healer had managed to keep most people away from Aragorn's room so that he could recover and sleep as much as possible. But as the citizen's voices were filled with more and more aggression, audible even through the firmly closed windows, Aragorn was glad that Ioreth reluctantly allowed Verilas access.
"Your Majesty." Aragorn's first advisor was out of breath and sweaty. Panting, he braced his hands on his knees. The old man's already slightly frail body trembled alarmingly. "I'm sorry to disturb you ..." He bowed belatedly, wringing his hands.
Aragorn gave Arwen his plate immediately that he had only been able to empty halfway anyway. Not only had he lost his appetite at the latest when he'd been told all that had happened while he had been fighting death. The report of a Firstborn's death hadn't exactly made that any better. And actually, he'd just been busy making a pact with his shoulder so that it would stop torturing him that much, thanks to a whole load of pain-relieving herbs and salves. He needed at least to start doing his job again. To give help to those who would need it most right now, especially to his best elvish friend. It seemed the time for gathering his strength would be over soon either way.
"Speak or you'll have a stroke and will have to lie here yourself."
"People are going unhinged." Verilas' bright grey eyes turned to the balcony. It looked like he was expecting to see men show up there any minute, trying to force their way to the King, no matter how. "They demand to have the Stewardaides atone for their deeds immediately. I'm afraid they'll try to storm the prison if the mood keeps on dropping. If we don't do anything, people will hang tonight."
Aragorn's expression darkened. He closed his eyes for a moment as if that would help to lock out the world around him, to make a decision that actually, he had thought to still have some time left for.
With clenched teeth, he sat up then and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Have one of my government tunics brought here and make sure, there's a path cleared to the Citadel."
"Your Majesty?" Verilas had probably expected the King to act, but not by wanting to leave the Houses of Healing immediately.
"You heard me. I can't have anyone else speak for me. The crowd would take that the wrong way and only the Valar know what people will get up to then. There's space only for few people in the gardens behind these houses; a speech here would possibly do more harm than be of use. You know how it is with word by mouth and how quickly messages can change." Aragorn pulled back the blanket but had to pause as he felt dizzy from the quick movement.
Arwen had stayed in the background so far, but now she stepped forward. "This is utter madness, Aragorn!"
Noticing Verilas' punishing look because she was ignoring the etiquette so thoughtlessly in public, she sighed soundlessly. "You're still far too weak, Your Majesty. There's far too much that can happen on the way …"
"I have no choice. This city can't take any more turmoil. Don't make me repeat myself, Verilas."
Aragorn's irritated tone had his advisor startle so he quickly softened it. If he'd planned to rule as unfriendly, arrogant, and unfair as Denethor had towards the end, he would never have needed to take office. "Just do your part so I can get this done as quickly as possible. I'll be careful, don't worry."
Verilas nodded, visibly embarrassed by the little reprimand, and left the room. They could hear him start order people around outside.
Ioreth's enraged voice in the distance didn't bode well.
Arwen eyed Aragorn with her breath going too fast, her hands clenched around the skirt of her dress. She looked as if she considered tying him to the bed just so he would stay. "Be rational, will you? If it's Verilas delivering your orders, nothing will happen. You only just escaped death!"
"Come, mîl nín." Aragorn motioned her to sit with him.
"People are upset, and they have been for quite a while as you know. One spark is all it takes to light a fire. The citizens want to see how I am doing for themselves. Right now, they won't listen to anyone else. I can do this; I don't even feel that exhausted anymore."
Arwen just huffed. There was no doubt she noticed exactly that just sitting straight for so long was costing him strength already. "Fine. You'll be the one explaining this to Ioreth though. You won't be able to convince her that easily. And she's already angry because I helped Thondrar get out of here the other night." After a brief kiss to his temple, she went outside as well, almost running into the healer in the doorway.
Ioreth started to ask something, but Arwen shook her head in resignation. "The King has made up his mind."
"Thought so." The woman smoothed down her apron in annoyance, staring at her patient. "Hardly any of the men lying here wants to listen to his healers as soon as he's somewhat in his right senses again. And just like with the others I'll make sure that His Majesty has at least a bad conscience about it."
Arwen's grin revealed that she'd have loved to hear the following conversation ...
It took but half an hour until a hole in the masses up to the citadel existed that the soldiers secured as well as possible with their bodies, protected by their armor. The distance between the men was suspiciously large though; another of the many painful reminders of how many capable people the war had cost their lives.
And now it would be Aragorn's job to prevent more dangerous conflicts from breaking out. However, he did already need a lot longer for the comparatively short way upwards than usual. As he walked, he was slightly slumped forward, moving far too slow, the pain the effort was causing him plain to see.
Ioreth who stayed a bit behind him, like a shadow, had her eyes on him incessantly. His advisors didn't leave the King out of their sight either.
Arwen on the other hand had gone ahead, protected from questioning eyes by a long cloak and a hood, once she had made sure, her betrothed wouldn't be collapsing right away. Now she was waiting in the circle of the Citadel together with the other members of the royal household.
The cheering folk didn't even seem to want to notice Aragorn's lousy appearance. They only registered that their leader, that legendary fighter, had once more survived a dangerous situation and was already standing in front of them again a blink of the eye later. For the first time since the war, Aragorn had strengthened his status as a figurehead for these people by weathering the Stewardaides in the most dangerous conflict since his coronation. While the King's enemies hadn't been publicly supported before, they had gotten a lot of secret endorsement from the people anyway.
Now it seemed, every single person between the white walls was against the rebels, demanding their death and cursing them as enemies of the country. This gathering here actually wasn't even really one for the King. It degenerated more into a riot of bystanders and of the resentful against the Stewardaides who suddenly seemed responsible for everything by the second. There were even voices attributing the hard winter to the enemies as they surely had caused it by some dark enchantments, or the dirty water that had made its way into the city from North Ithilien. The Stewardaides had poisoned it, again and again, many were saying, to cast the King in a bad light.
No matter how much Arwen hated these men herself, and although she did intend to help ensure that they would not get away with what they had done, especially not with regard to the death of one of her people: This was madness. If this didn't stop, very soon, there would be random allegations against people completely innocent emerging who had allegedly made a pact with the Stewardaides, just because their neighbors might not like their faces, or because they had had a quarrel with someone who wanted them gone.
Yes … Arwen understood now why Aragorn had insisted on speaking up himself.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs to the White Tower, he had to catch his breath for a moment. A chance he used to wait until people turned quieter until he could be sure that he would be heard.
"That it moves your hearts so much to see me on my way to recovery, makes me happy. Yet there are furious voices that sounded all the way to the Houses of Healing. So tell me what it is that you require."
"Let them hang!" A woman at the very front yelled what everyone was probably thinking; the others roared their approval.
"Exactly! These bastards deserve death!" A particular loud man was making himself heard in the noise already swelling again. "Curse the Stewardaides! Let them end up on the gallows!"
Many people threw their arms in the air. The demand was repeated soon in every corner of the courtyard, the folk screaming for revenge louder and louder.
Arwen could see the guard next to her broaden his stance and grab his shield tighter, in case the crowd would try to put their words into action.
Aragorn raised his hand sharply, looking at the people one by one until it was silent enough again for them to hear his still very quiet voice.
"Under my rule, the death penalty would be a reform that this city isn't even equipped for anymore, as you should know. So tell me: Who of you will volunteer to tie the rope for the hanging? Who will cut down trees and build the gallows? Who will put the rope around these men's necks when it comes to it and push them?"
As expected, these cynical counterclaims suddenly had no one put their hand up anymore, but a grumble clearly remained. "They deserve it! You can't just let them get away!"
"I never said I would. They will receive punishment, and it will not be mild. But do you want to explain to these men's children why they are hanging dead here in this court and will never come home again?"
Aragorn turned to the woman from earlier. "Will you take the bodies down and prepare them for a funeral? Will you take care of the rebels' families until the little ones will be old enough to understand what happened? By then, there will be many families in this city who will look at the King with nothing but hate for judging their chiefs for death. And at everyone here in this yard who screamed for murder so loudly."
Aragorn hissed audibly when his growing exhaustion sent a tremble through his body. Ioreth wanted to lean over to him already but he stayed her with a jerky headshake. He had to go sure that the folk had truly understood him.
"This city has already seen too much blood and death. As long as I am ruling this country, no citizen will raise their hand against another with my permission, not even if they're a traitor. This hate can't be passed on to the next generation."
"What kind of King doesn't even fight back against his own enemies?" There were still some scattered angry voices.
One of the guards wanted to rush forward and bring the owner of this insolent remark to justice, but Aragorn held this man back with a clear order as well.
"Oh, I do fight back," he repeated with a growl. "true, I will not allow the rest of this scum to celebrate these villains as heroes for dying for their cause. Unlike them, I will not just wipe out my enemies. But these men will never see daylight again, never feel the wind on the fields outside the gates on their faces. Never will they enjoy the freedom again that they have sacrificed fathers, brothers, and sons for in the war. After a few years in the dungeons, they will wish without a doubt that I had given in to you today."
No one dared to speak up anymore, but for the moment, no one was moving either as if the citizens had to decide first if this sentence would suffice. But they quickly seemed to realize how much worse life in prison could be, parted from your family and real life. When every day, you only could dream about strolling through the city that the Stewardaides loved so much that they had become traitors for it.
One affirmative shout after the other could be heard that soon merged into a unity of voices that even had to echo all the way down to the city gate.
Aragorn's foresight and his wisdom had once more prevailed with his folk.
The worst tension melted away from Aragorn. At least today, people wouldn't try to express their wrath by using their fists. His decision was indeed being accepted by most of them, not only reluctantly taken like an order, and the aggression seemed to have dissolved.
Together with the worry though, the last strength seeped from his body. He slumped on one knee, his hand clenched around his shoulder that suddenly pain radiated from almost as unrelentingly as in the night when the poison had done its work. Blood started to stain his tunic.
The guards and Ioreth immediately ran to him; new unrest spread in the yard.
Arwen pushed through to him as well. Frightened, she bent down to Aragorn, taking his face in her hands while Ioreth took a look at the reopened wound. "I rather don't say anything or I'll be insolent again."
"This time, I deserve the 'fool'." Clenching his teeth, Aragorn tried to get up but his trembling legs wouldn't let him.
"Can you do that in my chambers, Ioreth?" While Aragorn was acting as a healer regularly himself, as a patient, he never stayed in any sick room longer than necessary.
With a disapproving expression on her face, Ioreth straightened up. "I have to resew the wound. Before this little adventure here, that wouldn't have been necessary. Thread and needle I can only wield down at our place. His Majesty is welcome to recover in the Tower then though if he insists. The bandages can be changed there, too."
She turned to the crowd personally and explained convincingly that nothing bad was wrong with the King.
Aragorn waved a guard closer. He rather walked bracing himself on somebody and being in bad pain than let anyone possibly carry him.
Before they had even passed the gate to the sixth level again, the fanfare of Emyn Arnen sounded from the walls of the seventh … and after a short break, the long-drawn-out, melancholic one of the elves of Cair Andros. Faramir and Legolas were coming home.
It seemed the further treatment would happen with a lot more people watching than planned.