A/N: I realized the night after I posted the previous chapter that I messed something up. When I said that Aragorn had loved Legolas for 71 year, I really meant 81. I shall blame it on my new class taking up all of my math skills because it's easier to do that than admit that it was a case of pure sloppiness.

Another day, another battle of wills with King Elessar over what information should be considered private and what the advisors' council needed to know in order to ensure the continued political stability of Gondor. Eärnil glanced across the desk where Belecthor sat writing and sighed. He often wished that he possessed his colleague's patience when it came to their dealings with the king. On the other hand, Belecthor didn't have an unmarried daughter and therefore hadn't been faced with the situation of still coping with the fresh disappointment that the realm's new monarch was already spoken for before having to congratulate the happy couple on their nuptials. Eärnil thought back on that moment – forced smile, insincere sentiments, and a stiff bow – and knew that the king thought about that too every time he saw him.

The irony of the whole circumstance was that Eärnil never resented or disliked Prince Legolas as an individual. His feeling at the time were solely influenced by what the missed opportunity that their marriage meant for his daughter. The prince had been a stranger then and now he could see that no other being in Middle-earth could be a better match for Gondor's king than the elf. Adding to his frustrations was the fact that Prince Legolas seemed to understand and accept all of that but King Elessar clung to his long memory. It was clear that the king had an inherent distrust for his political advisors and kept an even further distance from the ones that had displayed a less-than-sincere welcome for his husband.

Belecthor heard his noisy exhale and looked over. "What troubles you, my friend?" he asked. "Is it a new problem or the same old one that weighs heavy on us all?"

"Same old, I'm afraid," replied Eärnil wryly. "How King Elessar regards us all with contempt and how it affects our ability to assist him in the efficient ruling of Gondor. The time is coming soon that he will not be able to deal with all of the political details, not even with Lord Faramir's help. Will our people suffer then, or his family?"

"Hopefully neither," said Belecthor.

"I keep remember the reception that followed the coronation and marriage," Eärnil continued. "The way I spoke to the king and prince, how I reacted to the whole affair! Why did I let myself believe that my daughter had some sort of right to be considered by the king as a potential spouse? There are so many things I would do differently if only I could have that evening back."

"Ah, but you cannot," Belecthor told him sagely. "There's no use in reliving your life through memory and altering it at the points you aren't proud of. How the king regards us now probably has less to do with that first greeting as you believe – I heard tell from the hobbits that there was a time when he didn't make an impressive first impression himself. Beside, I was there too, as you may recall, and I remember nothing openly hostile in your tone or body language."

"Still –"

"He does not trust me either," he interrupted with a friendly reminder, "and I was elated to have a member of the Eldar race marry into the monarchy and did nothing to hide it. No, I believe there is another more prevalent reason for King Elessar's hesitation to trust the council."

Eärnil was not placated. "What else could it be?"

"His upbringing," answered the other advisor. "The rule of Rivendell, I've gathered, was decidedly less formal and his foster father's advisors were also the king and his brothers' tutors. That could explain much of his attitude now. Perhaps we were too rigid in our ways and he resented feeling forced into such a formal court life. That's why you and I are here now," he added, gesturing to the piece of parchment before him, "to attempt to meet him halfway."

Concerns among the advisors had finally peaked the previous afternoon when rumors reached their ears about Prince Legolas' mysteriously deteriorating health. That the king had not contacted them himself was a bit upsetting but still understandable considering the sudden and unexpected nature of the situation. Undeterred by the lack of official notification, several of them had immediately rushed to the Houses of Healing only to have some guard bar their entrance. Oh, he told them news: yes, Prince Legolas was there. Yes, he was unconscious. Yes, the rumors were true; he'd suffered from spasms, vomiting, and abdominal pains. Yes, the baby was still alive as far as anyone could tell – they at least had no evidence otherwise. Yes, the king was inside and would be for the foreseeable future. No, they were not permitted to enter and King Elessar had no intention of coming out to see them. In fact, it would be most appreciated if they would leave immediately since they were blocking the way in and out of the Houses and might end up hindering movements that were critical to the prince and the child's survival.

As they stood dumbly after the door had been shut in their faces, the gravity of their situation began to sink in. Trying to break the gloomy spell, one of them had joked that they should be grateful for gossip – without it they would know about as much about Gondor's monarchs as peasants of other realms did. No one laughed though, for they all knew just how true that sentiment was becoming. What was going to happen to them? Most relied on Prince Legolas' understanding of formal court functions for the existence of the council under King Elessar, but soon – hopefully – he'd be preoccupied with the upbringing of Gondor's heir. They couldn't depend on his silent support for much longer; they needed to figure out a way to work with the king.

That had led to an animated discussion as to how that could be accomplished. Just talking to him seemed to be of little use, as none of them could say the correct thing when it counted and King Elessar was wary of words that came from their mouths. It was Belecthor who suggested writing a letter stating their concern and support not only for him but for his family as well; and a request for instructions on how they could be of service. Not only would it be less intrusive on their part but also it would allow King Elessar to control the situation while perhaps even breaking the tension between the two forces. So Belecthor and Eärnil were given the task, meeting that next day in Belecthor's study after breakfast.

They were just debating over just how aggressive and eager they would sound when they wrote that they "awaited his orders" – should they worry more about coming across as indifferent or opportunistic? – when a knock came to the door. "Enter!" called Belecthor automatically. The door creaked open a crack and his wife's head emerged. "My dear? Can this not wait?"

"I am sorry, my husband," she apologized, her eyes darting briefly down to the side obscured by the door, "but I'm afraid that it cannot."

The door swung open the entire way to reveal Bergil, a teenage boy and all-purpose errand runner for the king. "Good morning Lord Belecthor, Lord Eärnil," he said politely as he hastily bowed. "I came with a message for you, sir" – he nodded to Belecthor before turning to Eärnil –"but I suppose it's to be heard by you as well. The King Elessar calls for all the members of the advisors' council to meet."

"That's –"Eärnil began to let out a cry of relief when the grim look on Bergil's face caused the word wonderful to die on his lips. It was too much to hope for that King Elessar just happened to have the exact same thought has they did and decided to reach out to his advisors. The fact of the matter was that he had never called a council meeting before; he didn't like attending the scheduled ones as it was. Whatever may have caused such an action now most likely couldn't be described as wonderful.

Belecthor was having a similar thought. "What has happened?" he asked the boy. "Is there any more news about the prince and the baby?"

"I'm sorry sir but I do not know for certain," replied Bergil.

The two advisors exchanged a tense glance. "We should heed the king's command," said Eärnil urgently. "You go ahead; I'll follow as soon as I let my family know that I will not be able to make it home for lunch."

"No," Bergil told him.

Eärnil raised his eyebrows, surprised by his bold impertinence. "Excuse me?"

The boy straightened his back and looked him squarely in the eye. "My orders come from the king himself and he says to come immediately. No stops, no brief meetings with others or among yourselves until you've all gathered." His jaw tightened a little, as if he suddenly remembered who he was talking to in such an authoritative manner. "I'll get a message to whoever you need after I'm done with this, but that's all I can do. You are to make your way straight to the meeting hall now.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The room was abuzz with anxious murmuring as the advisors sat around that long table waiting for King Elessar and Faramir to arrive. Each one of them had received the same abrupt, cold summons from various errand runners and none knew the reason behind it. Why did the king decide now that he needed to consult them about something? Discussing their different speculations gave them no more insights as to what the answer might be.

"Perhaps…perhaps the prince miscarried," Turgon suggested, though his face turned gray at the thought.

"No," disputed Tanondor softly. "If that were the case, then nothing less than a direct attack from the Enemy would be able to pry the king from Prince Legolas' side. The poor prince would be crushed! We've all seen how happy he is to be bearing this child; how he just glows when he rests his hands on his stomach…"

"You don't think that the prince has taken a turn for the worse," asked Eärnil. "That would be horrible!"

"If such an event did occur, King Elessar would be inconsolable," Belecthor pointed out. "Lord Faramir might think to call a meeting but we'd be the last thing on the king's mind."

Sitting in the midst of everything and yet still ignored, Cirion snorted loudly. When no one would respond he declared, "Or else King Elessar would finally be free of the elf's spell."

Even those words failed to evoke a response and his irritation at the whole indignity grew. Perhaps plainer language was called for. "I for one wouldn't be sorry in the least if our kingdom was finally rid of that uppity elf. It would be nice if we could finally have a proper queen."

Eärnil was on his feet in an instant. "Do you ever keep your mouth shut?" he hissed venomously in Cirion's direction. This was absurd! The prince consort and unborn heir to the throne were in jeopardy, the king obviously had something important to say and it probably wasn't good, and yet Cirion was still rattling on about his daughter. A proper queen indeed! That meek girl wouldn't be able to handle being married to their stubborn king for five minutes. It was all he could do not to leap across the table and throttle his former ally once and for all.

"I agree," sounded the king's cold voice from the entryway. The advisors immediately fell silent as an air of heaviness overwhelmed the room. They watched anxiously as the king and steward entered but Aragorn said nothing more as he moved to his usual place. Let them worry for a few minutes! Hadn't he just endured hours of such a feeling because of them? He only wished that he'd come in sooner, before Cirion's condemning words. They must have been discussing their plot against his family; had Eärnil not seen him and warned Cirion to be silent he might have gathered enough proof to finally rid himself of them for good.

Once he was in position Aragorn still didn't sit. He just stood before them at the head of the table and turned his hard glare to each advisor in turn. The anticipation and suffocating silence was becoming unbearable. "Sire, we are most grieved by the illness that has befallen Prince Legolas," Belecthor told him. "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we are sure that his recovery will be swift and complete. How does he fare now?"

"My husband and son are going to be fine," said Aragorn steadily, a hint of anger adding an edge to his words.

"That is most wonderful indeed!" declared Belecthor, getting a little nervous at the king's behavior. He was used to the sulking and resentful ruler, not this icy and furious Man before him.

"Do you really think so?" replied Aragorn snidely. He was not going to be forced into sorting through their courtly political demeanors and true feelings that day, not when he would just expose the lot of them and return to Legolas' side with the news that he was now safe.

"Of – of course," stammered the advisor under the king's glower while his colleagues stirred uneasily in their seats. "Who would not find such joyful tidings a pleasure to hear?"

"Oh, I don't know." Aragorn tapped his finger against his cheek, pretending to ponder the question. "The people who poisoned his food in the first place, I suppose."

A collective gasp came from around the table. "Poisoned?" repeated Eärnil, stunned. "How could something like that have happened? Why would anyone do such an awful thing?"

"That's why I summoned all of you," seethed Aragorn as all of this fury boiled over. "The love of my life and our unborn child – the miracle that our love brought into being – were poisoned by the irila flower. No one in Middle-earth would benefit if they died, but I can think of a roomful of people who might believe otherwise. Maybe you should be answering those questions yourself, Lord Eärnil."

This couldn't be happening. After all the planning to meet him halfway, the king wasn't even interested in entertaining the notion that they wouldn't try to kill the prince. His stomach churned at the thought of Prince Legolas dying and leaving them alone with him and something inside snapped. "What is wrong with you!" shrieked Eärnil as he jumped to his feet.

"Eärnil!" Belecthor tugged at his friend's arm, hoping to subdue him long enough to come up with an excuse for his outburst. If ever there was a time that King Elessar wouldn't respond well to a torrent of damned-up emotions, it was now.

Eärnil ignored him. "No one here thinks that way except for a madman who spends too much time in his own little world and not enough in the real world," he went on. Cirion let out a squawk of protest at the brutally honest assessment. "I'm sorry that I wasn't as enthusiastic as I should have been about your marriage four years ago, but can't you let that rest? Now I'm glad that you married Prince Legolas and not my daughter because, quite frankly, no one else in the world would put up with your childish behavior. As things stand at the moment, I'd never want to see the prince dead because I like dealing with him far more than dealing with you. At least he's a mature politician and adult rather than a spoiled brat!"

There. It was said and he wouldn't beg to take it back no matter how much he gaping colleagues wished he would. The king was staring at him as if he'd never seen him before. "That just might be the first thing any of you have ever said that I can believe," Aragorn noted with amazement.

"We must apologize for his breach of etiquette, sire!" cried Turgon anxiously, misinterpreting his comment. "It was insulting, out of line, inexcusable – "

"It was honest," interrupted Aragorn thoughtfully. "Straightforward and to-the-point. No padding or softening sentences like you think I'm an unstable five-year-old who'll snap if I don't get my way. I can respect that, at least."

"But he –"

"My father-in-law has told something similar on several occasions. He may not like me, but I can always count on him to tell the truth without feeling the need to fawn like a jackass."

"We – we never fawned or anything like that," said Eärnil, trying to find his footing in this surreal exchange. They had spent all of that time being careful and courteous and the king responded more kindly being insulted? "Well maybe we did, but that's the way we've always had to conduct business. The Lord Denethor" – he glanced quickly at Faramir, who bit his lip but showed now emotion – "it was vital to tell him things in a certain manner and he appreciated it."

"But I don't," replied Aragorn. "In my father's household in Rivendell all that mattered was a simple and honest answer since he knew when someone was being untruthful anyway. And his advisors told it to him too; from 'if you continue to do this, our land will fall' to 'your children are orcs from Mordor and your youngest just spit food in my hair again.' There was no place for flowery words and undue flattery when I led the Dunedain rangers either. I never liked such things; I'm not Denethor."

"No, you're Thorongil," smiled Faramir and some of the advisors' eyes lit up in recognition at the name.

"I remember you," said Belecthor as he stared with amazement. "That was such a long time ago, but when I was a boy I watched my father sail with the small fleet under your command to attack Umbar. He held you in high regard as a fair and honest Man; if I had realized it was you…"

They were at a crossroads and for once Faramir didn't feel like every path led to a dead end. Sauron's assault on his father's mind had left a long-lasting impression on Gondor that lingered after Faramir had recovered and the damage to the city had been repaired. The Shadow's influence might finally be lifting from the king's relations with the advisors and he was committed to seeing them move beyond it. "I think at last we're all beginning to understand each other," he commented wisely.

"I think you're right, as you tend to be," said Aragorn slowly. All of that distrust wasn't going to fade instantaneously but he was willing to try, for Legolas' sake as well as for the good of his realm. He recalled his husband's urgings to try and understand the council and his resolve only strengthened. "Please sit down, Lord Eärnil, and we'll continue on with why we're all here. My husband and child were poisoned and I'll need your help in finding out who did it."

To be continued…

A/N: A lot of you have some really interesting and insightful guesses, but remember that even the most of the characters don't even know for sure. The only ones who know who the real culprit or culprits is/are are the guilty party(ies) and me (insert dramatic throwing back of the head and evil cackle here). Keep it up! I love hearing from you!