Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Two days later, Faramir caught up with me as I was going through the wards checking on patients. It was something I did first thing every morning. As he approached me, I left Ioreth in charge. Unfortunately for her, she had not noticed Faramir's entrance, and as usual, she exhibited the attitude—disdain—she always displayed to me whenever we had the necessity to speak to one another.

With raised eyebrows Faramir questioned me silently, having obviously noticed Ioreth's coldness. I shook my head and said, "Never mind. We don't get along as a rule."

Ioreth turned and looked at me, frowning. It was then that she noticed the Steward's presence. Her expression quickly changed to one of innocence, as if to dispute my word concerning our relationship. It was obvious that she did not want the Steward to think ill of her, even if she did deserve it. I ignored her and started down the aisle saying, "I'll be in my office should you need me." And under my breath, but still loud enough for Faramir to hear, I said, "Middle Earth would disintegrate into a puddle of mud before she would admit that she needed me." He just laughed and followed me out of the ward.

We went into my cluttered office, which was adjacent to one of the supply rooms. After Faramir entered, I closed the door. I cared not a whit if anyone thought it unseemly for a single—even though widowed—woman, to be closeted alone with a man, even if he was the Steward of Gondor. Let their tongues wag. I had other problems on my mind. Tongues would certainly wag if the general public knew the gist of the conversation I was about to have with the Steward. Yes, the door was best left closed.

I sat at my desk, which was really a two-foot wide plank of oak held up by a whiskey barrel under each end. The Houses of Healing were not, as a general rule, high on the list of priorities for the government of Gondor, at least while Lord Jeneson had control—or lack thereof—of his office. I placed my elbows on the desktop, dropping my face into my hands. When I finally looked up, Faramir was seated in a chair across from me with a look of what I took as pity on his face.

"Faramir," I said, "I need your help—desperately—not your pity."

He looked away for a moment and then he faced me again. "It really isn't pity you see on my face. You see concern. How are you feeling—physically, I mean? You look tired and unwell. Methinks the healer needs a healer herself!"

I smiled. "I am tired, Faramir, and very troubled. As a result I can keep little down. But that goes with my condition. I'm not really unwell, Faramir. I am simply with child. Although there is certainly nothing simple about this."

"I have tried to reason out all the possibilities and probabilities of this problem. I'm still not sure I was able to think of all the eventualities of this dilemma." He looked most unhappy. I took that to mean that his answers to my problem would be solutions I probably would not like.

I inhaled deeply, preparing myself for the inevitable bad news. "All right, Faramir. What is your counsel in this?"

"My counsel," he began, "is that which you already know. The first thing you must do is tell the King." He looked at me as if he were expecting me to either dissolve into tears or shout at him, whichever mood took me at the moment. I did neither, so he stood and continued, "Depending on what he says, as I see it, there are a couple of possibilities to consider. I wish not to repeat that which you have thought of yourself, so feel free to stop me if I seem to ramble."

He wandered over to a bookcase near the door and stopped, apparently lost in thought. He picked up a skull that was perched on one of the shelves. After a few moments of silence, he said, "I think that you would be uncomfortable staying here in Minis Tirith, even if the King were to consider such a thing. So that leaves the question of where to go. How would you feel about returning to Edoras? You have family there, do you not? They could look after you, which I believe you need, although you did not ask my opinion in that, I am aware." At my raised eyebrows and thinned lips, he sighed, and said, "I take it Edoras is out."

I nodded. "I would bring grief to my family were I to show myself there in my condition—and without a husband—even were I to fabricate a dead one." I cringed as I thought of my Dustin. I said a silent prayer that he could not hear me. "If the truth became common knowledge, as it is apt to do in a close-knit place, it would disgrace my father. I refuse to have that happen. Besides, I have never been good at telling untruths, so I would still be very distraught about the whole thing."

I again held my head in my hands. It seemed too heavy for my neck to support right now. After the briefest of moments, I straightened up. "It seems the options are few as to where I may go. Perhaps the Shire? I hear they may need healers there," I said sardonically. "The Hobbits are certainly sweet folk, but I am sure even they have their limits as to impropriety. That leaves Bree, which I would never consider if it were the last place on Middle Earth. My father calls it—I think maybe I should not tell you exactly what he calls it. No, I think Bree is out as well."

It was then that Faramir noticed that he was holding a skull. He peered at it closely, then turned and grimaced at me. He gingerly placed it back on the shelf from where he'd retrieved it. He shook his head slightly and smiled.

"My father called Bree the 'Armpit of the World' so I believe perhaps your father might have named it something akin to that."

I laughed quietly for a moment. "Yes, he called it something like that—using a different part of one's anatomy."

He walked back to stand before my desk and said, "I am glad you can still be somewhat lighthearted. It is good to see you smile."

"It is either that or cry, Faramir," I answered, "and I have done enough crying over this to take up three lifetimes."

Faramir again sat down. "I have been of no help at all, but let's be realistic. There aren't a many options where this is concerned."

I nodded my head, agreeing. "You are right, Faramir. I knew the answers to most of these issues already. But you have helped; believe that. Just being able to confide in someone has meant the world to me."

"Which brings us back to the inevitable," Faramir said. "You must tell Aragorn. You cannot wait any longer."

"In other circumstances," I began, "I might have told him already, but anything can happen during the first few months of carrying a child. I did not want to say anything prematurely, and then have something go wrong and have alarmed him for no reason."

I looked at Faramir, and while his expression seemed to be one of believing what I had just told him, I knew that while what I said was true, I was not being honest with either of us. "I have also been overwhelmed with sadness and fear. I will lose my position in the Houses of Healing, which should not be foremost in my mind, but it is. I've worked very hard—" My voice trailed off. I wished not to think of this right now, much less voice it. It made me too sad.

"I also fear what he will say—what he might want me to do. I truthfully do not know him." My face reddened when I said that, but it was the truth. I could not deny it. "I wish not to burden you with details you truly do not want to know, but it was only one night—the first night that I met him. I've not seen him since that miserable banquet."

"I understand all your fears and burdens," Faramir said. "They all have merit. But I do know Aragorn somewhat better than you do, and I can tell you without any doubt in my mind that he is honorable and will not have any wicked intentions toward you or the child. Do remember—it is his, also. He may surprise you and be happy with this news. After he gets over the initial shock of it."

"Thank you for helping me with this, Faramir. It is comforting to have a strong shoulder to lean on. And I truly do thank you for your concern and for being such a good friend. You could have been judgmental and unforgiving. You could have turned your back on me and ended our friendship. But you haven't. You have shown you are a true friend and I deeply appreciate all you are doing."

"How could I end our friendship?" he asked, with a devilish smile. "Who would then vex and irritate me?" I laughed, remembering all the times I had teased him during his recovery in the Houses of Healing.

I got back to the subject at hand. "I do not know how I will ever have the courage to tell him. I am mortified that I have put him in this position and it will be very hard to face him when I tell him."

Faramir let a look of irritation cross his face. "Maeren, let us remember that Aragorn was present when this child was conceived. You have no reason to feel mortified about anything. He could have thought about the repercussions, just as well as you could have. You are not more guilty in this than he is."

I smiled at Faramir. "Thank you for reminding me. Even though I have for many years longed for women to be given the same consideration as men, I seem to fall into the trap of prejudice myself, don't I?"

"Given the circumstances, I believe you will be forgiven," he said. "Now, getting back to the subject of telling Aragorn. I want to set up an audience between you and the King as soon as possible. When would be a good time?"

"I will let you know when I am ready," I said.

I knew this was the right way to handle things. With Faramir's help, I was finally beginning to face reality. My time here in Minas Tirith was growing short and my dream of being a respected Warden was shattered. I would not be here to pursue it. I was going elsewhere, of that I was sure. I still had to think on it some more. Figure out the best way to tell a King that he would be a father to a bastard child.

"Try not to take too long," he said. "But it is your decision."

He looked at me with that 'pity' look again—which in reality was sympathy, I suppose.

"Thank you, Faramir," I said. "I will try to be quick in my thinking."

"Try not to worry, Maeren. I know 'tis easier said than done, but do try." He stood and turned to leave. As if it was an afterthought, he came around the desk to meet me as I rose from my chair and gave me a hug. It felt so good to have someone to confide in at last. And someone who would not let me put this off any longer. It was time to move forward, even though advancing meant the Valar knew what would happen to us all.

And speaking of the Valar—Help?

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A week later Aragorn and his Lady Arwen were wed in a magnificent ceremony, with the bride's complete Elven family and various and sundry other attendants, dignitaries and friends in attendance. The ceremony was held outdoors at noon, on a spacious platform lavishly decorated in the colors the bride chose—various shades of pink, mauve, and lavender. The hues blended together bringing to mind the soft colors of the sky at sunrise and sunset. The people of Gondor—Minas Tirith and other small settlements throughout the countryside—as well as Rohan—were crushed together in a massive assemblage. All were gathered in the streets, hanging out of windows, and crowded in doorways and on balconies. Anywhere there was enough space for a body to fit, there was a person standing, sitting, or being held there. The ceremony was a traditional rite of Gondor's Royalty. However there was much of what I assumed must be traditional Elven vows included. The whole affair was a thing to be remembered and told of for generations.

But contrary to my good intentions, I still had not told the King of my news. True to Faramir's word, he did not badger me about it. I truthfully had not meant to wait until after his marriage. In fact I didn't even dwell on that at all. I was too caught up in my own misery, being sick all the time and sick with worry. I had probably made things worse with my delay.

But every time I thought of Aragorn's face when I told him this worst possible news, my blood ran cold. I am not usually one given to timidity, but then, I am not usually what one could consider a consort to a King, either.

The day after the Royal wedding, I decided I was ready for the inevitable meeting. I went by Faramir's office and asked him to set up the audience whenever he might. I received a summons to court just three days later. I lost my lunch again, but it was mostly due to nerves this time.

I decided that the best course of action was to go as who I was: Maeren of Rohan, the Warden of the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith. No putting on fancy clothes and shoes, even if I had any, or any coin to go and purchase some. I gave no special attention to my hair or face. I got myself ready and arrived fifteen minutes before the appointed time. And whom should I meet in the hallway outside the King's court? My truest friend, Faramir, Son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor.

I actually felt as if I might faint. I must have looked that way also, because Faramir quickly grabbed my elbow and guided me to a beautifully carved ebony bench in the hallway. "Maeren, you will be fine. Try to stay calm."

I took a deep breath. "I would have to actually be calm in order to stay calm, you know." I seemed to be having trouble taking other than short, gasping breaths.

He chuckled. "Well, I am glad to see you still have your sense of humor."

"I only wish that I would have had sense enough to stay indoors that night," I retorted.

Faramir's hand went up to cover his mouth to stifle his laugh. "Do not make me look a fool out here, laughing it up just outside the King's court! Besides, if you were speaking of the night which makes this audience necessary, that was a most irreverent comment, lady!"

"Considering the circumstances," I replied, "it is questionable whether I am a lady or not and I suppose that would qualify me as irreverent, as well."

Just as Faramir was about to answer me, the door to the King's court opened and his page beckoned me forward. I stood, smoothed my dress and looked at Faramir. He smiled and nodded. I straightened my shoulders and walked forward.

Thanks be for long skirts. They cover one's quaking knees.

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Aragorn looked resplendent in his robes. Too resplendent. I swayed on my feet. I never truly fainted, but my legs would no longer support me. I have never seen anyone move that fast before. He was at my side catching me before I actually hit the floor. He gently eased me down to the polished marble, going down on one knee to steady me where I sat. He took my face in his hands. "Maeren, what is wrong? Are you still unwell?"

I vaguely wondered at why he would think me still unwell, then remembered the retching incident at the banquet a week or so ago. I closed my eyes, willing the bile in my stomach to quit its roiling and the room to stop spinning. I finally felt strong enough to speak. "Aragorn—I mean Your Highness—would you please help me to a chair?"

He shook his head. "I hope we know each other well enough that you do not have to use such titles with me." He helped me to stand and we walked slowly to a bench with velvet cushions on which to sit. After we were both settled on the bench he said, "Now, what do you wish to discuss this afternoon?"

I almost started crying again. I closed my eyes, willing the tears—no demanding them—to stay right where they were. There were to be no tears on my face during the confession I was about to make.

In a quiet and shaky voice I said, "I hardly know where to start." Valar, I hate it when my voice quavers like a scared child's.

He smiled at me again. "Well, how about starting at the beginning?"

I smiled back, but I am afraid it was more a grimace than a smile. He flicked at a bit of dust on his royal robe. I supposed he had dirtied it whilst keeping me from cracking my head on the marble floor during my swoon.

I swallowed.

"Aragorn, remember when last we met? I mean, before the banquet?"

"In the Houses of Healing, before the final battle, you mean?" he asked.

Oh, I had forgotten about that.

"No," I said, "It was a few evenings before that, if you recall that time."

He looked down at his robe again, this time flicking at imaginary dust. "Yes," he said quietly, with a smile. He looked at me and said, "I remember a friend helping me find comfort when I feared there was no comfort to be found."

"Yes," I said. "That is when I meant." I hesitated.

"Go on, I'm listening," he said.

Again I closed my eyes, trying in vain to gather any shred of courage I may have in my body. "Aragorn— " I stammered. "I— We— I mean— It seems that I— "

He looked concerned and leaned toward me, taking my cold hands into his warm ones. "It is all right. Whatever it is, you can tell me. In fact, I want you to spill whatever it is right now. Your hesitation is alarming me."

I looked up at him, sure that my large eyes were made even larger with fear. I started to speak, "I am—

I could see a flash of understanding in his eyes. "—With child," he finished for me. He knew. He had guessed. I had not even had to say it; he could read it in my fear and hesitation. This time, it was he who closed his eyes.

I started blurting out all that had been going through my mind ever since I knew of my condition. "I am sorry, Aragorn. I did not think whilst I was— while we were— Never did I, in a million years, think this would happen. You would have thought that being a mother and a healer I would naturally have thought about this, but I did not, and I am sorry, and I— "

He finally put his fingers to my babbling lips. "Do not apologize, Maeren. 'Tis not your fault. We were both there, remember?" He was actually smiling. How could he smile at this news?

I put a voice to my thoughts. "How can you be smiling? I just told you something that will undoubtedly cause you untold difficulty."

"I smile because of your chattering and the look on your face," he said sweetly. He raised one eyebrow. "Without a doubt this will be upsetting news, not only to my wife, but to my advisers."

I opened my mouth to protest his telling anyone besides Lady Arwen, but he silenced me with an upraised hand. "I must tell those whose job it is to advise me." How was it he could seemingly read my mind? "Do not worry; I will forbid them to interrogate you about our—interlude. And you will be protected from any slight by them."

He stood and began pacing. I sagged in my seat. I felt as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders, and had then been replaced with another weight, though it was not so heavy as the one before.

I began with the tears again, thinking of the beautiful Lady Arwen, and the hurt she would feel when Aragorn told her of his betrayal. It now dawned on me how selfish and thoughtless I had been to wait so long in disclosing my secret. She was now married to the man—she had little choice in accepting the matter. How could I have been so insensitive?

I was ashamed for being a part of hurting her this way. I had only met her once, during the banquet that I had attended. Her grace and beauty are beyond words. I could not fathom how she would take the news, how she could feel anything but anger and hurt and betrayal.

Would she forgive Aragorn? She must. She had to. If there was one thing I wanted more than anything else in this whole mess, it was for the Queen to be understanding. Not for me. I did not matter in the scheme of their of their marriage. Her being accepting of Aragorn was important to me. He truly did not mean to hurt her—as I had not meant to.

It seemed as if Aragorn suddenly remembered that I was present. He walked slowly back to me and sat down next to me again. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, arms on his thighs, his joined hands dangling between his knees. He turned his head to look at me and said, "Have you any thoughts as to how you would like to proceed?"

I did not even bother to wipe the tears from my face—it was useless. Others would follow and my dabbing at them would be in vain. I looked down at my hands in my lap. "I think I should leave that up to you and the Queen," I said.

"I have no trouble accepting the fact that Minas Tirith will not be my home for much longer. However, I wish not to return to Edoras at this time, for obvious reasons. I have no husband, but carry a child. I will not bring shame to my father. He deserves better than that." I then looked Aragorn in the eye and added, "As long as the decision does not involve harming the child, I will be most cooperative in however you wish to handle this."

His reply was quick and indignant. "Never would either Arwen or I allow anything harmful to befall the child. Arwen will be hurt—angry even, without doubt. But neither she nor I would ever wish that we could conveniently rid ourselves of the problem."

I was even quicker to reply—defensively. "I never meant to slight you, Aragorn! I was simply being realistic. And it is reality that in some kingdoms, bastard children of the Sovereign never live to see the light of day. And I wanted it to be clear that that is not an option."

"I am sorry, Maeren," he said quietly. "I meant not to slight you, either. I am not like the Sovereigns of which you speak. And do not call the child a bastard. He will have a name and I shall claim him as my own. Have no fear of that!"

"I suppose," I said with slight sarcasm, "that before you make any rash statements, you must see how your advisers react to this news. They may have a say as to how visible—or invisible—the child will be." I dropped my gaze to my hands in my lap.

He thought about that for a moment. "As much as I hate to admit it, you have a point. I may be King, but in a few instances I am so heavily advised it seems that I have no say in some matters. But I do feel strongly that my son or daughter will not live in secrecy or shame." He paused a moment, to collect his thoughts. "I will go directly and tell Arwen of this. We will proceed after she and I have had a chance to discuss it. As soon as she has had time to absorb this news, I will send for you again and we will all sit down and discuss the possible solutions to this."

I felt his fingers on my face as he prodded me to look at him. "And Maeren, it is I who am sorry for having this befall you. I do not know you well, but from our conversation in the garden, I know you have had much heartache in your life. You do not deserve any more."

He helped me up from the bench, holding my elbow as I gained my feet. For a moment he looked into my eyes. I saw concern, pain and perhaps a little trepidation in his. I know not what he saw in mine.

I turned from him and started down the aisle toward the double doors that would see me out. Just before I reached them I turned back to him and said, "When you speak to the Queen, please tell her I am sorry for hurting her. I know it seems a shallow statement, but I mean it sincerely. Hurting her is my deepest regret. She is truly innocent and she will be the one most hurt. It is not fair to her. It just is not fair."

And with that, I pushed the doors open and walked from the court, tears blinding me as I left the King. I walked right into the waiting arms of Faramir and was thankful we were alone in the hallway. He held me to him and walked me to his office, where he sat me down and plied me with cool water and a damp cloth across my eyes.

It seems there is at least something I can count on in this life of mine. Or I should say someone?

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