Elrond was not in the room where Arwen had left him, and so Aragorn stood, unsure of himself in the guest chambers they had lent to his father-in-law. He was vaguely curious about the few possessions Elrong had brought with him, but determined quickly that snooping was a game that had deadly consequences if he were caught. Besides that, it was a very childlike impulse, the appearance of which annoyed Aragorn.
The door opened and he startled, whirling to face the entryway, only relaxing when he realized it was his father, the exact person that had him so tense anyway.
"Estel," Elrond said warmly. There was an expression on his face Aragorn could not identify. It was warm, but there was something less positive there as well. He pulled out a chair and motioned Aragorn to sit. "Mind you face the backing," he said.
Estel hesitated. He felt like a child again. He had to straddle the seat, and facing the back of it, set his arms across, placing his chin on the top.
"I must admit," Elrond said, his voice approaching a tone like sorrow. "I did not think Arwen would be able to persuade you to see me. I know you fear me."
Aragorn had been prepared to make a joke about how Arwen could persuade him to do anything she wanted, but the words died in his throat.
"Don't look so shocked, Estel," Elrond said, a little of his usual sternness returning to his voice. "You can't hide your expressions from me, I have seen them, and many like them since before Isildur."
"Ah," Aragorn said, his chagrin showing through. "I am sorry. I never meant-"
"Estel," Elrond said sharply and then sighed as Aragorn stiffened. Elrond set his hands on Aragorn's shoulders and began to rub them like he used to after a long session training with whatever weapons had been on hand at the time. "You're my son," Elrond said simply. "The fault is mine."
A sullen part of Aragorn wholeheartedly agreed, and resentfully so, while the rest of him just wanted the rift to go away and be behind them, regardless of fault. "I understand why, and I know it will always be painful," he said cautiously. "I accept what anger that pain brings. I must. For Arwen."
"Regardless of pain, Estel, I treasure you."
Something like a knot in his chest loosened and Aragorn cleared his throat. He wanted to say something back, but the words just weren't there.
"At any rate," Elrond continued before his son could recover himself enough to respond, and Aragorn suspected it had been by design. "Once you're sufficiently relaxed, I'll have you lie down."
"What precisely is it that you're doing?" Aragorn asked, resigned to a return to the businesslike exchanges that had characterized their last sixty years of interactions.
"Trying to find influence upon your mind or body. It will leave some kind of sign, and if it is there, I shall find it. It shall not have you." Elrond's voice turned steely, and somehow, the idea that his father was protecting him made Aragorn feel very safe, if small all over again.
"It's not me you should be worried about, I think," Aragorn said hesitantly.
"I am aware," Elrond agreed. "But there's a chance this malice is on you, using you to get to Faramir."
Aragorn felt his face go cold, and his fingers began to tingle again. "That's a possibility?" he asked.
"Estel," Elrond said, his tone on the edge of scolding. "You need to relax. I am here to identify the threat to you and your steward. If it is the case, it will be very easy to dispel as it is counter to your will. Exactly crosswise to it, by your sudden dread," he added dryly.
"And what if it's not on me?" Aragorn asked. His head swam as the blood returned to his face.
"Then… we may have more difficulty," Elrond admitted. "If Faramir thinks he deserves the destruction that follows him…" he trailed off.
Aragorn knew that was a distinct possibility.
"It may be feeding off the malice he bears himself," the Elven Lord continued. "Aragorn, you're as relaxed as I think you're going to be. Lie down."
Aragorn stood and faced the bed, tugging his boots off. "Face up?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so, if nothing has changed since you were a child." Elrond set a kettle into the fireplace and opened a window, hanging a set of fine bells that chimed musically in the slight breeze.
He lay down and tried to relax.
The room smelled of Athelas and herbs, and birdsong drifted in from outside, mingling with the sound of the soft bells.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself at Imladris in the summer months, napping on a rest day while Arwen read nearby, in the garden. "And what am I to do, Ada?" he asked, not bothering to keep the familiar address out of his words.
"Lorye, ion nin. Lorye ad orte."*
The halls of Minas Tirith were empty and silent, but for the echoing footsteps moving through them from door to door.
"Arwen?" Aragorn called, and his voice echoed, mocking, back at him, his only answer. "Father?" the sound was swallowed almost entirely. He tried to move faster, to search for anyone to take from him the crushing weight of pressing loneliness that was bearing down on him from all sides, but his feet would go no faster, and every room he came upon was empty.
He found himself wandering the Quiet Street until he came to the courtyard. It too, was empty, and the only stirring was from a hot, dry wind from the east. Aragorn turned his back to it, and his eyes landed on the beacons, which were lit across the mountain side.
Turning back to face the cruel wind, he saw on the Pelennor a spreading flame, the armies of Rohan encircled, the rider called Dernhelm at their front, cradling the scorched, twisted, and ruined body of a man, and he knew it was Faramir.
He backed away from the ledge, but the fires were leaping and climbing through the city until at last he, and all he loved, were consumed.
He awoke in the dark, as if blind. He fell from the bed in his hurry and moved toward the window, desperate for light. He collided with the bells, and they rang in a very un-musical way, informing anyone nearby of his presence.
The shutters were closed. He threw them open wide and and felt his knees turn to jelly as light returned to his eyes.
It was night, and the stars twinkled in the velvet sky, turning the white city to an ethereal silver that almost glowed in the moonlight, glimmering with the flames that lit the streets and homes in the circles below.
He took a moment to catch his breath, and gazed suspiciously eastward.
There was no fire there.
Satisfied that his people were safe, irritation began to creep into his fears. Of course it was just a dream. He was only glad that the room seemed to be empty; no one had witnessed his foolish rush to the window.
But just how long had he slept? It hadn't even been noon when he'd gotten to Lord Elrond's room. Where was his father, anyway?
He tugged his boots on. Apparently, he'd ended up taking the day off despite himself, and he didn't even feel rested. He opened the door and glanced out into the hall.
Seeing no one, he felt a rising sense of alarm, only to abruptly feel quite foolish all over again as he nearly collided with one of the castle guards.
"Excuse me, sire," the man said, bowing deeply. "I didn't realize anyone was awake."
"How late is it?" Aragorn asked. "I'm afraid I lost track of time."
"Nigh midnight," the guard said. "The third changing of the night watch."
That meant it was half past the eleventh hour.
"Enjoy the rest of your night, then," the king said, stepping past him.
"Thank you, sire, and you."
He meant to take a shortcut through the main hall to reach the royal suite, but stopped short when he saw a light in the vast hall. He slid into the shadows, years of ranger training asserting itself.
It seemed only to be Count Lossarnach and his usual band of followers sitting smoking their pipes and complaining about the tax reforms he and Faramir had put into place.
It was not unexpected, but it rather annoyed him that these men would sit in his hall to smoke and grouse about his ruling all because he had outlawed the use of taxes for personal projects, or more accurately, he had begun to enforce a law whose upkeep had fallen by the wayside after Ecthelian the Second had passed.
Aragorn's ire fell on the small group all the more heavily remembering the abuse that Denethor had put upon Faramir and the people of Gondor. He was almost sure one of the men seated there was responsible for carrying out the floggings. He crept on, not bothering to quiet the door out of the hall as it fell shut once more. He paused to enjoy the sounds of startled distress from within the hall as he continued on.
He stepped into the entry hall of his apartments and breathed a sigh of relief. It took him only a moment to realize he heard voices from further inside.
The door opened and Arwen stepped out of their sitting room to throw her arms around his neck and steal his breath with a kiss. She pulled back suddenly, taking his face in her hands. "Are you alright?" she asked and he nodded dumbly. "I am fine now."
Elrond stood from where he sat in the other room, drawing Aragorn's attention through the open door. "You're awake," he said warmly. "You must be hungry. We saved a plate for you."
"Why did you not wake me?" he asked as he let Arwen pull him to a chair in the sitting room where there was a plate of cold chicken, biscuits and some sort of wild salad with nuts and honeyed dressing waiting for him.
"We could not, and after father was done, he said it might bring some harm to Faramir if we were to drag you from your dreams," she said, a worried line appearing between her eyebrows and turning her petal soft lips downward.
"I am alright, I think," he assured her, eagerly taking up his fork. He watched her for a moment longer and then set to demolishing the food. "Tell me, he said, trying not to speak with his mouth full, but resenting every moment he wasn't eating. "What did you find out, Ada?"
Arwen smiled at him, pleased by his return to very old, very lost habits.
"Your spirit is in conflict with a power, a lingering malice, though where it has settled I cannot tell. It is not attached to you, and you may be the only thing standing between its malevolence and its target," Elrond explained.
"If my spirit is in battle, that would explain why I do not awaken feeling rested," Aragorn said dryly.
"It would," Arwen agreed, standing next to her husband to squeeze his shoulder lovingly.
"I'm sorry I have worried you," he said, pausing his meal to place one hand briefly over hers before continuing to eat. "Could you perhaps find out if the malice is targeting Faramir as I think it is, or if it is attached to him?" he asked his father.
Elrond sat down again, tilting his head as he considered the question. "I would have to do much the same for him as I did for you, and you were not easy to convince." Elrond's dark eyes held a significant sorrow in them. "And Faramir may be more wounded than you."
The chicken in his mouth lost its savor and tasted instead of ash, and Aragorn had to struggle to swallow it past the lump in his throat. He set the plate aside, drawing a worried look from Arwen. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Only that I may share a failure with Denethor by nature if not degree," Elrond said heavily. "I ought not have been so harsh with you."
Arwen took a hesitant step away from Aragorn, but glanced back at her husband as if pleading.
"Go, Arwen," Estel said softly. "You do not have to ask for my permission in anything. You know that."
"I know," she agreed. "But I don't want to leave you if you are in need of my comfort."
"I'm alright," he assured her, and she swept gracefully over to her father, leaning down to kiss his forehead and rub his shoulders.
" Nalye anlisse ," Elrond said to Arwen, allowing her a fond smile.
"What I gather is that Faramir and I both have unresolved… pain," Aragorn almost had to grit his teeth to admit it. "And that this hindered your test somehow?"
"Well, even asleep you don't trust me enough to easily yield to my presence," Elrond said, looking none too comfortable with the subject.
"And Faramir is even more hesitant," Aragorn realized, rubbing his forehead with his left hand.
"Yes," Elrond agreed.
"He may be more cooperative with Estel," Arwen suggested. "They are close."
"There are old fears there, Vanimelda. I cannot ask him for such faith while he is yet scarred. I need more time," Aragorn said.
The Elven lord looked gravely at his son. "You may not have time, Estel. Your adversary is here for blood and if you are correct in saying that it is after Faramir of all men, then I fear it will only be satisfied with his life."
Aragorn felt his fists close involuntarily. Damn you, Denethor . "It is good he is dead, then," he growled. "Or I would have his head."
"Estel," Arwen chided. "You must not hate."
He sat back in the chair, wrestling with his will. To hate Denethor was easy, to even want to not hate him was a struggle. "I will try," he managed at last.
It might take intervention by Eru Himself, but Aragorn would try at least, if not for himself, then for Arwen.
"If he is too wounded to let us find this malice, then what are we to do?" he asked at last, taking up his half-finished plate.
"I shall put more thought into this, but for tonight you should rest as much as you can. It is rare that I should find a challenge that is new to me, so you can be assured I will not be satisfied until this knot is untangled," he said, getting to his feet. "I bid you both a good night." He turned toward the door and paused, his hand hovering just before the latch before he turned back to examine Aragorn again. "How certain are you that this evil is something of Denethor left behind?"
"Very," the king said fiercely.
"Very well." Elrond inclined his head respectfully. "Rest well, my children."
"Goodnight, Ada," Arwen said sweetly.
The Elven lord strode from the room, and the door closed behind him with a quiet click .
"Goodnight… father," Aragorn added softly. He finished his food quickly and washed the plate under a pump before depositing it on a table in the entry hall before finally making himself ready for bed. He was not looking forward to another night of terrible dreams, but if enduring them would help Faramir, he was resolved to face even the worst horrors.
And of course, that night he faced no dreams, only a great and vast emptiness, all consuming and darker than any storm or night.
*Translation from Quenya: "Sleep my son. Sleep and dream." and "You are so sweet."