78. Fearing for Faramir

We rode right up to the Citadel. The colours of the steward of Gondor were flying at the top of the Tower of Ecthelion and as we reached the third circle of the city the blue and silver flag of Dol Amroth went up next to it. But the flag of the king, splendid with the silver crown and the seven stars, was not billowing at the centre of the flagpoles.

I narrowed my eyes and frowned. If the flag of the king was not up that meant Aragorn was not in Minas Tirith at the moment. But why should he be away now? And where could he be?

Arwen was waiting for us at the gate of the seventh circle of the city. She wore a pale blue, loose gown and held up her hands in a gesture of welcome. Elladan and Elrohir were riding before me. When they saw Arwen, they halted their horses. For a long moment they looked at their sister, but then they turned towards each other, identical smiles of delight spreading across their faces.

I think I have mentioned before that I am sometimes embarrassingly slow to grasp the obvious. But when Lady Míriël – who was riding next to me – exclaimed, "Oh, how wonderful!", even I realized that Arwen's loose gown could only have one meaning. Aragorn and Arwen had not been idle during the long months of winter. Arwen was pregnant!

I felt a surge of happiness rushing through my body, a smile beginning to glow on my face when I realized that Arwen was very pale and that her eyes were dark with worry. I felt a cold weight dropping into the pit of my stomach. What was wrong?

We dismounted and walked quickly to the gate where the Queen of Gondor was waiting for us. She embraced her brothers. Imrahil bowed to her, Míriël, Elaine and I curtsied. Míri had drilled me well. My curtsy may have been more wobbly than pretty, but at least I did not stumble anymore. Arwen inclined her head to the others, but me she raised from the curtsy and embraced quickly, holding my arms just a little too tightly.

"Thanks be to Eru that you are here!" Arwen said, looking at Elaine. Her voice was strained. "I was already afraid that the message had gone astray."

Elaine frowned. "Which message?"

Arwen's eyes grew round with astonishment. "The urgent message that summoned you here, of course –"

"There was no message," Elaine replied, her frown deepening.

"But, the courier," Arwen said and her voice was almost trembling. "What happened to the courier I sent to Tarnost? And why are you here, if not –"

"Not here," Imrahil cut in. "Your highness, we should not exchange any news in a public place."

Arwen looked at the serious face of the prince, then nodded and swallowed hard. Whatever had happened was not good. That much was obvious. The tiny hairs at the back of my neck prickled. My nose went cold, as it always does when I get scared. Arwen motioned for the waiting grooms to take over the horses. Then she led us to the royal palace.

A few minutes later we were back at the long table in the Council chamber, where Aragorn had discussed the situation in Rohan with us several months before.

When the Lady Elaine wanted to enter the room, Arwen stopped her. Her face was almost white. If she had not been an elf, I would have said she was fighting to keep up an appearance of composure. But Arwen's voice betrayed a hint of urgency, when she spoke to the healer of Tarnost. "My lady, let me tell you the worst news first, because I am afraid you are needed elsewhere at once." Then she turned to us. "Faramir and his company were attacked on a patrol at the borders of Ithilien. There have been minor skirmishes with scattered groups of orcs for several months now, ever since food grew scarce in their caves during the winter. But this attack was different from the others. It was a large group of orcs, and they attacked according to a plan. They lured the company into a ravine, then they came at them from both ends and they had archers up on the slopes. Faramir has been seriously wounded. It would have been a fairly easy matter for the Mistress Ioreth, I am told, but she is ill herself. We suspect that someone has tried to poison her. She is on the mend, but she can't take care of Faramir, and –" "He's in the Houses of Healing?" Elaine was already heading for the door. "Yes, he is. Please, do for him what you can, my lady." Arwen's voice was thin with worry. Elaine nodded and then she was gone, hurrying to the Houses of Healing.

Arwen's words echoed eerily in my ears. I felt the blood drain from my head. The air around me seemed to be vibrating with the echo of her words. Faramir… badly wounded… Ioreth poisoned… a message that was lost on the way to Tarnost; on one of the safest roads in Gondor…My heart was pounding heavily, my palms felt icy against my thighs. From far away I heard Arwen's voice as she went on to explain what had happened.

"Without the power of the Eldar, I could not help Faramir very much. He's very poorly and I am afraid he might lose the use of his right leg." Now Arwen's voice was definitely shaking. "And he was almost on his way to Edoras, too." The twins were exchanging worried looks. Arwen was very pale indeed. Elrohir pulled his sister against him and helped her to a chair. He sat down next to her and continued holding her hand. Slowly a little colour returned to her pale cheeks.

Prince Imrahil waited a moment, until Arwen looked a little better. Then he looked at her and his eyes were cold. "Where is the king?"

"He did what he could to stabilize Faramir," Arwen replied. "But then he went after the orcs. The first families have returned to Osgiliath and he was very worried that they might be in danger. He suspects that there's a new leader in the dark land, or at least that there's someone who has managed to gather some of the remaining orcs of the dark land under his command. He wants to find their headquarters and destroy it."

"How many men did he take?" Imrahil asked. I could not tell if he thought that Aragorn had acted wisely or not. Aragorn couldn't be in any danger, could he?

"Two hundred riders and fifty archers," Arwen answered. "He sent messages to Dol Amroth and Tarnost at once, for you to take control of Minas Tirith and for Elaine to come here and take over the Houses of Healing until Ioreth is well again. You should have been here days ago."

"No messengers from Minas Tirith have come to Tarnost or Dol Amroth for weeks," Imrahil said. "Where is Lord Húrin?"

"I have sent for him as soon as word of your arrival reached me. He should be here any minute now. He is arranging a postponement of the discussions about Harondor. The ambassadors of Harad and Umbar are loath to accept that. They are threatening to abandon the negotiations." Arwen explained. The presence of her brothers seemed to steady her.

"They will have to accept the postponement," Imrahil said grimly. "And they better hope we don't find any connection between these incidents and Haradric or Umbarian politics."

At that moment Húrin entered the room. He looked weary and worried. After a curt nod to us, he turned at once to Imrahil. "The ambassadors of Harad and Umbar have agreed to postpone the negotiations. Duke Herion is frantic. He believes his life to be in danger. And although I don't think there is a connection between the matter of Harondor and this… business –the Ambassadors of Harad and Umbar will certainly do their best to profit from it." Lord Húrin gave the queen a small bow. "May I sit down, my lady?"

"Of course, my lord," Arwen inclined her head gracefully.

Húrin slumped down on a chair. "I can't remember the last time I slept. The Valar be praised that you are finally here, Imrahil. In a week I expect the other lords for the spring council. If Aragorn's not back they will yell bloody murder." He nodded to a servant who held a tray with a carafe of wine and several glasses. The servant offered the first glass to the queen, but Arwen declined. Then the servant poured for Imrahil, Húrin and the sons of Elrond.

"If I may suggest something, my lady?" Míriël asked Arwen. Arwen looked at the lady of Dol Amroth, her eyes filled with fatigue and anxiety. "If Lord Húrin can tell my husband the necessary details, you should withdraw. In your condition you need peace and quiet and not the hassle of councils and the worries of foreign politics."

Arwen nodded weakly. "I think you are right. My lords – you know where you can find me if there is anything you need of me." After exchanging a few whispered words in Sindarin with her brothers, she rose to her feet and slowly walked to the door.

"Come with me, Lothíriel." Míriël said and when I only stared at her, as I was still slightly dazed from what I just had heard, she shook her head and simply took my arm, dragging me to the door.

When the door had closed behind us, my thoughts finally caught up with me. "You can let go of me, Míri." I said. "I'm coming, I'm coming." Míri raised her eyebrows at me in a silent question. Could I keep calm?

I shrugged. I would try.

Míriël went to the queen. Although Arwen was not as pale as she had been when she had met us at the gates, she was still very pale. Míri laid her arm around the queen, and to my surprise Arwen only sighed deeply and rested her head against the human woman's shoulder. Míri's eyes darkened with compassion. "You really should lie down, my lady. May I ask how far along you are?"

"A little more than three months, I conceived on the fourth of Narvinyë," Arwen said with a hint of a smile in her voice, if not on her pale face.

"How are you?" I asked. "How…" I did not know how to go on. How does it feel?

"We should get you to your rooms first, my lady." Míriël repeated, raising her eyebrows at me as if to tell me "not here, not now".

The Royal apartments in Minas Tirith are on the first floor of the palace, "the King's House".

At the centre of the apartments is the royal bedroom. To the right of the bedroom are Aragorn's private rooms, to the left Arwen's and around the corner from Arwen's rooms there are several nurseries and other rooms destined for child rearing – class rooms and toy rooms and such, whereas around the corner from Aragorn's rooms there are more studies and libraries and such than even a king can use in one day.

We went to Arwen's drawing room. I say drawing room lacking any better description. It is not a living room. It is not comfortable enough for that. It's like a room for the queen and her ladies to spend the afternoon – painting, reading, stitching or whatever noble ladies do to pass idle hours. Arwen had seven ladies-in-waiting at the moment, apart from Míri only young girls from the best noble families of Gondor, and one from Rohan. They were in that room when we entered, busy with various of the afore mentioned pursuits. Míriël took one look at them, one look at the pale queen, and then she made the girls leave the room.

She made Arwen lie down on a divan and covered her with a warm blanket, sending a maid for some special tea. I slumped down on an easy chair that was obviously of elvish origin, flowing lines of white wood and upholstery of dark blue velvet. It was probably very comfortable. But I was not comfortable. I was worried about my friend who looked so fragile and pale as she lay on the divan and I felt thoroughly sick with fear for Faramir. If anyone can heal him, it's Elaine. She has the reputation for being the best healer in Gondor after the Mistress Ioreth. Faramir will be alright. Faramir has to be alright.

But the sick feeling stayed in my stomach. I tried to suppress blurred memories of a dark haired warrior being hit by black arrows.

Instead I gave Arwen a wavering smile. Keep to the happy news. "How do you know exactly when you conceived?" I asked the first thing that came to my mind – then blushed horribly. Even if you were friends with the queen of Gondor, this was probably not a question one ought to ask. But Arwen did not seem to mind. She looked at me with astonishment. "How could I not know?" She asked.

I frowned at her. "Well, as far as I know, human women don't know when they have conceived… or at least not at once." Then I remembered what Gily had told me in Rivendell. Elves did not have monthlies, so they would not be able to tell if they were pregnant that way.

But how did they know?

Arwen seemed taken aback. "You don't know when you have conceived a child?"

Míriël laughed softly. "No, my lady, most of the time a human woman will not know at once when she has conceived. Though I myself do believe that I have felt it each time when I conceived – a kind of tug, deep in my womb, the feeling of a new presence inside of me that faded into sleep at once. But I know that most human women don't feel anything at all. Often they will only know when their monthlies don't arrive, and sometimes when their periods are irregular, they will only be sure after many weeks or sometimes only after a few months – or when they develop morning sickness or other symptoms of pregnancy. I take it that this is not the way of elves?"

At that moment the maid entered, carrying with a tray that was set with cups and plates for tea. Míri had the maid put everything on a small round table and then told her to leave again. Míri poured the tea herself and carried a cup over to the queen, setting it on a low table next to the divan. "Here, my lady, this will soothe your nerves and your stomach. Lothíriel, you should have some, too. You look faint."

Arwen sipped the tea and sighed. "This is very good. Thank you."

I poured some tea for me and drank deeply. It tasted of linden flowers and something I couldn't place. But it was a pleasant taste. And it was soothing. And I did need it. I smiled into my cup. After the long months of winter spent at Dol Amroth, Míri knew me very well.

Arwen put down her cup and gave Míriël a small smile. "It is indeed, different with elves. I keep forgetting just how different we are. We elves conceive a child when the woman and the man both wish for it. We know when the time is right. Then we join bodies, hearts, minds and souls in the endeavour of begetting a child. The mother knows at once, she also knows if the child will be a boy and a girl, or if it will be twins. Therefore we elves celebrate not the birthday, but the begetting day as the first day of our lives."

As she said that something sparkled in the depths of her grey eyes. I frowned at her.

Twins?!

"Do you… are you allowed to tell us?" I asked Arwen, suddenly forgetting about our worries, instead staring in utter fascination at her midsection, covered as it was by the warm blanket.

I must have looked funny, because she laughed abruptly, a small laugh, but a merry laugh nevertheless. The first happy sound since our arrival at Minas Tirith. "Yes," she said. "I may tell you. I am blessed with two girls. On the fourth of Narvinyë next year, my first daughters will be born. Celair and Celu they will be called, to honour my mother."

I blinked at Arwen. I did not know what to say. I was thrilled and excited and confused all at once. Míri knew exactly what to say, and did, her voice warm with undisguised joy. "Congratulations, my lady! Then Gondor will be twice blessed and lucky, and the King's reign will be, too. Twins are a sign of blessing from the One. Only a boy would have been a better omen."

"I will have only one son," Arwen said. "Eldarion. He will be my last child. My grandmother has seen it in her mirror. But many daughters will come from our house."

Arwen's voice was calm and firm. I shivered. How strange to know so much of your future!

For a moment even Míriël seemed to be taken aback by this revelation. But she quickly regained her composure. "My lady, I would advise you not to tell anyone else of your foreknowledge. People are superstitious. We don't want to give rise to any… false impressions about your power." The queen of Gondor rolled her eyes at that, nodded and sighed. "Yes, you are right, Lady Míriël. You don't know what kind of trouble I've already had with my handmaidens and those ladies-in-waiting I have to have. They are sweet girls, all of them. But they know nothing about elves. And they believe the most extraordinary things. One of the girls asked me if it hurts to become invisible. Another was so scared of me that she kept dropping porcelain – I had to send her home."

I groaned. Míriël chuckled. "Oh dear… well, I guess in time they will get used to the fact that you cannot become invisible."

"Or that I don't have wings – or that I cannot light the fire with my thoughts – or talk to animals – or…" Arwen went on, her voice tinged with amusement.

"I am not convinced that you actually cannot talk to animals," I objected, remembering our legendary horse races on the road from Edoras to Minas Tirith. My proud Meara had not always been the one to win our games. Arwen and Míriël joined me in renewed laughter. But after a moment we fell silent again.

The things that we had been so very careful not to talk about since we had left the Council chamber were heavy on our hearts. How was Faramir? Where was Aragorn? What would happen with the negotiations about Harondor now effectively at a standstill? Had the great realm of Khand anything to do with the things that had happened?

Míriël insisted that Arwen remained on the sofa with her feet up and resting. Arwen obeyed meekly, which told me that my friend did not feel well at all. Did elves have morning sickness? Or was it only worrying about Aragorn and Faramir?

My heart gave a heavy thump.

Poor Eowyn!

A message had been dispatched to Edoras at once, of course, with a courier riding behind it with a more detailed missive. The message would arrive in the middle of the preparations for the wedding.

I felt sick at the thought.

In only a few days, Faramir would have left for Edoras, for the first part of the marriage ceremonies. It had been decided that they would take their formal vows and exchange the marriage contract at Edoras, and then travel to their new home in the hills of Emyn Arnen for the celebration.

Now we had to pray that there would be any marriage at all in May.

It was growing dark outside and still we had heard nothing about the decisions of the council, or from Lord Húrin or Prince Imrahil, or from the Houses of Healing. The door opened noiselessly and a maid moved silently around the room, lighting candles until the room was brilliant with a hundred small flames. Then she knelt down in front of the fire place and quickly built up a good log fire to warm the room. At the beginning of April the nights were still cool, even if the days were already warm with a hint of summer.

The waiting began to get on my nerves.

Míriël had the kitchen send up dinner for three. It was a silent meal. We sat at the small round table in front of the balcony, eating soup, fish, lamb chops, salad, and the first strawberries of the year. We drank well-watered wine with the meal and afterwards steaming cups of tírithel. Should I ask if alcohol was o.k. for elvish babies?

My thoughts went back and forth between Faramir, Aragorn, Eowyn, the messengers that had disappeared and Ioreth. Why had she been poisoned? To get Faramir out of the way? But why? To prevent the negotiations between Gondor and Haradwaith? Was this about the borders of Ithilien? Or was this an effort to turn Aragorn's attention from Nurn?

There were too many possibilities what all of this could mean. Too damn many possibilities.

I had begun to hope that the attempt on my life and the attack on Éomer had been merely coincidence, bad luck. Nothing had happened for months, after all. I had thought that perhaps now everything would remain calm, with the realms of Rohan and Gondor flourishing in peace and good-will… No such luck. Damn.

After dinner Arwen and Míriël tried to keep their hands and minds busy with embroidery, stitching some tapestry or other. There are certain activities that are deemed more suitable than others for noble ladies to engage in, in order to pass the time. Embroidery and needlework being one of them. But although Míri had succeeded in teaching me how to curtsy, she had by now given up on me where needlework was concerned. So I sat in the easy chair and stared into the fire. There was a book in my lap (reading being another activity suitable for noble ladies). It was a beautiful book with Gondorian poetry and it was interesting, too, because there were even some verses in it that Denethor, Faramir's father had written for his wife, but tonight my eyes could make no sense of the tengwar runes so skilfully arranged in verse and rhyme.

Names went round and round in my mind in ceaseless circles of fretting.

Faramir… Éowyn… Aragorn… Éomer…Faramir…

Oh, gods, how I wished that Éomer was here with me. I had missed Éomer every day and every night – if not every hour – since we had parted last autumn. But tonight I missed him more than ever. Thinking about him was almost enough to drive the tears to my eyes. More than anything else I wanted to see his dark eyes and to hear his deep voice telling me that everything would be alright. I knew that this was impossible; even if Éomer was here, he would not be able to make everything alright. That is the trouble with real life, and being an adult. You know that some things will never alright, and that there is no one who could make them alright. But even so, without Éomer here, everything was decidedly worse to bear.

I gave a small sigh and continued staring into the fire and waiting for the Lady Elaine to send word from the Houses of Healing that Faramir was better. That Faramir would not die. That Faramir would keep his leg.

But the evening passed without a message from the Houses of Healing, and we finally had to go to bed without any news about Faramir's condition.