Only when Ranír hesitatingly entered to ask if they needed anything, Aragorn realized how long Legolas and he had already been back on their watch together.

Since Aragorn didn't think it necessary to answer, Legolas instructed the young handmaiden to bring breakfast unprompted.

This time, Aragorn spared him a comment, because he could hardly hide the trembling in his body any longer alone. Choking down a slice of bread wouldn't take too forever, and he would no longer run the risk of fainting.

Someone who unfortunately did know him quite well wasn't satisfied with silent cooperation about that. "If you don't get some sleep soon, you'll make one of the mistakes you're criticizing others for," Legolas warned him as gently as possible before getting up, surely to look after Tarisilya.

Turning away already, he suddenly bent down over the bed again with a startle. Picking Eldarion up, he listened to his breathing and his heartbeat, the way Tarisilya had again and again.

The next moment, they both startled because the child unexpectedly started to scream loudly and strained against Legolas' grasp in protest. Aragorn couldn't tell if it was hunger, tiredness, thirst, or a protest against not lying next to Arwen anymore, but never had a noise sounded so beautiful to him before.

"May your strength flow to your mother and your sister as well." After a short kiss to Eldarion's forehead, Legolas gave Aragorn the child, noticeably so deeply grateful for this first real sign of hope that every bad mood was forgotten.

Aragorn quickly blinked a few tears from his eyes. Feeling his son's breath suddenly go so much stronger was an endless relief. He shivered violently which upset Eldarion even more and had him scream even louder. Aragorn kissed the fuzz of dark hair that the baby had already, just like their sister, and nuzzled his cheek against their soft skin before putting them back next to Arwen so that they wouldn't waste their strength again immediately. "You get your love for dramatic entrances from your mother." Tenderly, he caressed his son's back until the little one was only quietly chortling away.

Aragorn pushed himself up, using more effort than he liked to admit, and went to the window to lean against it heavily, his forehead resting against the cold glass. "Do you think Minuial will be just as strong?" His tone was a quiet plea.

Though Legolas had of course just as little a way to know the answer as he did, even the empty phrase that was the reply kept the spark of hope in Aragorn alive. He had to close his eyes because even the bright light of the winter sun hurt them right now.

When he opened them again, he almost expected Arwen to show up out there any moment and sit down on the bench over there as so often. She loved it when it had been snowing at night and the snow was still untouched in the morning. Drawing small figures in it with the tip of her shoe then, she enjoyed the first minutes of the new day.

It was exactly this spot where she should have died according to the Stewardaides.

The memory hurt so much that Aragorn had to turn away.

When he kissed Arwen's forehead on the way back, he realized worriedly that her skin was heated. She got a fever after all, which was exactly what the healers and he had been trying to prevent for all they were worth. Even if Aragorn had actually felt the urge to lay himself to rest, now he couldn't do so. Unlike the blood loss, the fever was at least something he could fight.

Hurrying to the fire to prepare everything he needed, he realized that Legolas was still standing at the door. "Have I been such an unbearable company again?"

"It's not you." Legolas tiredly shook his head. "I'm not being of any use here right now. So I'm doing the one thing in my power which is checking if Ilya is ready to get back to work. You'll possibly have to take the children to her though. Even the strength of an elvish healer is drained at some point."

Aragorn just shook his head jerkily while he already searching the available herbs. If he'd collapse in exhaustion at some point, at least he would have put all his energy into the healing. For him, that wouldn't have any consequences.

"Do you still not understand that I don't want her to endanger your child? Which by the way is exactly what I'll tell everyone possibly complaining about this decision. I might be too busy right now to bring Ilya to her senses on top of everything else. But I would immediately punish everyone raising their voice against the one person that my children would probably already be dead without."

From the corner of his eyes, he could still see Legolas' clearly relieved expression before the elf left him alone. At least for the moment, there were no misunderstandings between them.


"Elladan? Elrohir?" Ranír looked up with a frown when she heard the names the Queen whispered away, choked, again and again in her feverish dreams. "Her brothers, right?"

She had to know that of course; it was just another attempt to drown out the silence that was only broken by the unhappy noises from the baby on her arm every now and then.

Since they'd had to take the newborns away from their mother because Arwen was occasionally thrashing about in her fever fits, both of them were being very restless, and Eldarion was crying almost constantly.

Given how much the handmaiden had been caring for the babies since then, Aragorn didn't want to ignore the young woman who had grown so dear to Arwen's heart in the last few months, and to his, too. After the death of her family and friends in the war, Ranír was putting all that energy that she'd so arduously regathered, into her new purpose as it was. It was hard to ignore that in her worry since the birth, she had been crying a lot and had taken little care of herself. There were still bloodstains on her dress; she'd sloppily tied back her pretty dark curls. The fear of losing her Lady made her hardly sit still for a moment.

"Twins, too, yes. It's ironical. Unfortunately, the two of them will be drawn away from here soon as so many of their kin are. They miss their mother just as much as Arwen does, and in Aman, they'll hopefully be able to see her again." A bitterness that Aragorn would probably never be able to shed all his life colored his words.

"The Queen almost never talked about her mother. Or about what exactly happened to her." With an undefinable expression, Ranír paced the room with the baby because its crying was becoming louder. Aragorn suspected that she was thinking about her own loved ones who had all fallen victim to orcs … an unpleasant parallel.

"Lady Celebrían was a unique she-elf who could have made much difference in the elven realms." In her corner, Tarisilya surprisingly spoke up who had gone very easy on herself the whole time which included not talking. For a moment, her gaze clearly strayed to the past. "Sometimes I think, that whole stupid quarrel between Lórien and Eryn Lasgalen could have been ended far earlier if she'd have stayed. She was a good negotiator. We're all missing her a lot."

"Sauron's creatures assaulted her a few centuries ago and hurt her badly. Thereafter, she couldn't stand being in these realms anymore," Aragorn explained. "Arwen has never quite got over that. Though she's probably not even consciously realized that … That attack back then was not only a reason for her to become the strong warrior she is. It also made her want to fight by our side in the war so badly instead of just defending her realm as her brothers did. Her family has suffered enough under Sauron's deeds, and Arwen herself has almost paid the worst price for her courage."

He huffed cynically at the memory of that tedious healing after the Battle at the Black Gate, and of Arwen's fever that had actually resembled the one she was running right now. Back then, his biggest worry had still been if his wife would ever be able to get pregnant after this bad injury. Now the Valar had given them this unbelievable gift – not least because of all these attempts at healing in Imladris, probably a lot faster than it would have been the case without the wound –, and then …

Ranír cautiously lay Minuial back down in the small bed standing right next to her brother's. A carpenter had brought the custom-built piece of furniture a few hours ago.

She went outside to the garden to get some snow that she let melt in a wooden bowl by the fire. The cold water was perfect to soak cloths for Arwen's forehead in. "But she didn't. And she will also survive this time. She loves you far too much, and the children, too, to leave you alone. I think you could lock her up in the deepest dungeon and she would find a way out at some point, just to get back to you. That's how stubborn she is."

Aragorn smiled. When he had picked up Ranír in a completely rundown house back then, on Faramir's advice, he hadn't expected such a positive soul to someday crystalize from her depressions. He should remember more often how well beings could surpass themselves.

"If Arwen is only half as strong as your faith in her, she'll definitely make it."

Yes, after Eldarion's first progress, the cautious optimism was indeed still sticking.

After Aragorn had made use of the two women's presence to have another few bites, out of necessity alone, he was fitter than he'd been a few hours ago. When they weren't talking, he still often held his breath for a moment, to see if he could really still hear his son's quiet breathing. Until the noise reached his ears, it seemed to him as if his heart stopped a beat every time.

But yes … At least that pulse was definitely stable.

Minuial was still fighting though. Every smallest sip she drank was a tiny triumph against the weakness threatening the little life. With Tarisilya's help, the wet nurse had been able to feed her at least once by now, no matter how arduous that had been.

Ioreth however had to prevent, in the Houses of Healing, that the flu epidemic could spread which also was the reason for her being away again and again as Aragorn had learned by now with more than just a hint of a bad conscience. The number of cases was increasing constantly; many children were getting sick, too. The last thing the realm needed right now was wide-spread sickness; that was something not even a King that people worshipped as a legendary warrior and medic, could make right. Right now, mannish healers couldn't do anything more for the Queen anyway that Aragorn couldn't do much better.

Silently, just for himself, he'd always been of the opinion that the touch of familiar hands helped his wife far better anyway. The elvish words from his mouth also sounded more pleasant than the doubtful voices of men and women who were reaching the limits of their skills in these days.

What he, unfortunately, was not was a Firstborn with supernatural strength. Right now, a sip of Miruvor would have done him well, too, given how sluggishly he was moving by now, slurring more and more syllables. His body was stubbornly asking for sleep that he couldn't allow himself until Arwen was feeling better.

While her fever wasn't rising, it didn't lower either. Her body wouldn't be able to deal with this additional burden for long. Whenever Arwen's usually so lovely voice sounded in her unconsciousness, distorted with pain, it was as if someone was pulling a noose around Aragorn's heart tighter.

In spite of all his friends' encouragements, the voice inside his head telling him he was losing Arwen, became louder by the minute. Telling him that his father-in-law would probably arrive here only just in time for the funeral. He could already see the new accusations on Elrond's face before him …

He only realized he'd fallen asleep for a few moments when his head jerked forward. Cursing, he forced himself to start pacing the room. While he was ready to accept his body giving in at some point, he needed to delay that as long as possible.

Lost in thought, he began to sing away, an old warrior's song of his people that his mother had often sang to him in his youth in Imladris. Only a short cough had him realize how cold it had become. In spite of the chimney fire, winter relentlessly found its way inside the houses. Putting more wood in the fire at least warmed his numb hands a little, too. On his way back, he got two additional blankets from the cabinet, one for Arwen, one for himself.

He paused for a moment, thinking to spot a movement on the bed but his exhaustion had probably played tricks on him. Even when Ranír knelt down next to the bed in delight, he still was firmly convinced that it had only been his tiredness leading him on, telling him, Arwen was whispering his name.

But then he saw the weak movement of her lips. No, not a delusion.

He bent over her immediately and caressed her forehead. "Mîl nín? You hear me, Nauriel?"

The fog clouding Arwen's sight prevented her from perceiving most of her surroundings. What Aragorn could see in her eyes was confusion, pain and deep fear – the one thing she hated so much.

Gently taking her hand, he whispered her pet name hoarsely once more. "I'm here …"

Turning her head to him seemed like an invincible challenge already. Gathering enough strength to say more than a word, took Arwen more than a minute. "The children?"

"They grow stronger and stronger. The girl still lags behind but Ilya is doing all she can. Eldarion is already drinking almost normally and sleeps more calmly by the hour."

Arwen breathed a sigh of relief, blinking rapidly because her eyes were already threatening to slip shut again. Aragorn had to call her name several times before she could focus again. "You're not lying to me, are you? The children are really alive?" There was no blame in her voice; she just knew that Aragorn would have done everything to make her condition improve.

"I would never have it in me to do that, Nauriel. Wait a second …" Aragorn wanted Arwen to see the babies at least. He carefully lifted Eldarion up, supporting his head with his elbow.

"And the little one is here with Ilya, you see? I called her Minuial. I hope you're being alright with that." Arwen's small smile quickly had the bad conscience about not having been able to incorporate his wife into this decision vanish. Neither of them had been completely innocent about that; after all, they could already have sufficiently contemplated this before the birth. All the more relieved he was that Arwen liked his choice.

He tenderly caressed his son's cheek so that the baby was stirring a little in their sleep. "She looks just like you, but the little one takes after me. He has my eyes, just like you wished him to."

"To drive everyone crazy with them …" Arwen's voice was already petering out again.

She slightly shook herself and wanted to reach out her hand to her baby but even this simple movement cost her too much effort right now. Arwen couldn't keep her breathing from turning into a hard sob when Ranír caressed her arm in sadness, when she got aware of how badly Arwen must be doing. "I'm afraid …"

"I know, Nauriel. So am I." Aragorn put his son reluctantly back in his bed and sat down right beside his wife. Arwen could black out again any second, and only the Valar knew if she would wake up ever again. He wanted to make every second count.

In battles, Aragorn had had to see this haunted expression far too often on comrades who hadn't stood up then anymore. As a healer and a soldier, it wasn't his first time to try and comfort someone in this situation, but it had never hit him so hard. "No matter what happens, I'm with you, Arwen. Now and someday, forever. You're not alone."

Before she could reply anything she was shaking with the next fever fit. This time, it was even so much worse because she must be able to feel every tremor in several locations on her body that had been patched up. Aragorn couldn't be sure, she'd even really heard him. "I just want it to stop. It hurts so much …"

Aragorn firmly took her face between his hands, trying to catch her sight. That was easier than dealing with seeing the tears on Tarisilya's face from the corner of his eyes, than seeing the she-elf keeping herself almost with violence from joining him and trying to help her friend. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't have hesitated to ask her to, but not when she was just fighting for his daughter's life.

"You can't give up now, you hear me? You have to keep fighting, just like our little ones. You can do it."

Visibly overwhelmed, Arwen closed her eyes, quietly sobbing away. "I want to … But I'm so tired, Estel … I don't know if …"

Aragorn cut her off with a kiss. "You can. Remember how often you've defied destiny yet." Arwen's body slowly slackening revealed that she was becoming unconscious again. "Stay with me, you hear me? I'm waiting for you. Try as hard as you can, Nauriel."

"To the end …" In the shape of a distorted gasp, the fever exacted its toll at last.

Aragorn rested his forehead heavily against Arwen's for a few seconds before stepping away with his knees shaking. He should actually not have wasted even one moment, still, he dropped onto the windowsill. The fear felt like an arrow piercing his side. He was but a breath away from screaming out all his despair. Maybe he should have gone into the garden again to let the coldness wake him up but his muscles didn't obey him. For a few minutes, he could just sit there with his face buried in his hands until all that remained of the panic was the bitter taste in his mouth.

"Ilya?" Right now, he couldn't even muster up the strength to raise his hand and process a few of the necessary herbs. "Can you please help me with the preparations for the next stock? Are you well enough for that?"

"Sure. Ranír, take the little one for a moment."

Before Tarisilya started on the comparatively easy work though, she thrust another piece of bread into Aragorn's hand and put down a whole jug of juice next to him that he'd be able to choke down easier than solid food.

Aragorn would definitely have to take a lot of time to thank the she-elf later. No matter how all of this would end, without her help, he wouldn't even have come this far.


After the terrible first days of continuous efforts from all healers, Ranír finally got the Queen's dog from its big enclosure in the royal garden. With all that stress, no one managed to do more than bring the animal some food. It was time it got a little exercise … And Ranír fared the same.

The healer she-elf, too, was at the end of her strength and had had to be carried to her chambers by her husband. You better not approached that place unarmed anymore now, given the look on the face of the Lord of Cair Andros when his wife had toppled off her chair.

Now you could cut the air in the Queen's chambers with a knife at last. The hardworking, silent wet nurse who could actually not be jarred so easily by anything seemed as exhausted as everyone else by now.

Out here in the cold, at least Ranír would become somewhat fit again, in case they would call for her again soon. She, too, was lacking sleep.

Which was probably why she didn't immediately notice the silhouette at the level gate, hard to make out under a dark cloak with the hood pulled over their eyes. Only when Fain gave a dutiful bark, surely mistrustful given the man's veiled appearance, Ranír looked up.

With surprise, she recognized the Steward. Her old childhood friend seemed to be in a big hurry today. He gruffly pulled back his hood so that the guards at the gate would let him pass before he hurried on.

Curious about what brought the man so much unrest, Ranír left Fain behind in the court and caught up with Faramir who marched down to the sixth level straightway. "Good morning …"

"Oh, so you did leave the royal chambers for once after all?" Faramir flashed his eyes at her from the side good-naturedly. "About time. You're almost as pale again as back then when you came here."

"And you still know how to compliment someone." Ranír shook her head in amusement.

It was indeed the first time in a long while for her to have a few moments alone with her old friend; she should take that chance. "I never got around to thank you for advocating for me."

"Definitely one of the few better decisions in my life. The Majesties know very well whom to trust and whom not to." Faramir shortly nodded back over his shoulder towards where they could still hear Fain bark unhappily about not having been taken along.

"But you're not following me just to tell me that, are you?"

"No …" The hidden reprimand had Ranír blush. "I … thought, maybe something has happened. Then I could have told the King right away."

"Did you now?" This time, this smile that always looked a little askew since Faramir had got this bad scar on his cheek in the Stewardaides Crisis, looked lenient.

"Maybe it's a good idea indeed if you give him a brief update. He's not seeing many people right now. Though I'm not happy about taking you to this place of all spots. They say, a Dúnadan has arrived in the city, with a new prisoner. The soldiers said it's one of my old Rangers. I want to try and talk to him before they take him to the cells and the others can intimidate him as they did with Ryscfin back then."

"A Dúnadan?" Ranír tried to smoothen her hair and straighten her skirt a little, as inconspicuously as possible. Hopefully, her face wasn't showing the recent strains. Why did Langhour have to return to the city today of all times?

Just a moment later, she could have kicked her own behind for such a childish thought. Right now, they really had bigger problems! But yes, she should accompany Faramir, so that she could maybe give the King a message from the Dúnadan alone. For purely practical reasons then, completely rational and thoughtful. If only this one damn strand wasn't hanging down her face so greasily …

"Do you think, the prisoner will tell you anything?" Given how whitish Faramir was looking under his strawberry blond beard right now, he could surely use a few words of support.

"Maybe. I've known him for a very long time. I just hope I can come up with enough restraint to get some information out of him, after everything that's happened to the Queen and the children because of these bastards." Faramir's expression hardened visibly. His hand clenched around the handle of his sword on his belt. "It would hardly improve the mood in the city if I lost my nerves and ruined everything the King preached to the people about the absurdity of revenge. We can't afford disagreements between the authorities yet again. It's bad enough that I manage to alienate our most important allies in Ithilien again and again unintenionally."

Thanks to ever-reliable court gossip, Ranír knew better than the Steward could probably care to what argument with a certain elvish Prince he was hinting at. "The situation is not easy for any of us. His Highness of Cair Andros will be aware of that as well. I'm sure he knows you meant no harm. How were you supposed to know how bad his wife was really doing? In the Queen's chambers, she didn't let anything show."

Faramir's expression only darkened. "I could have known if I had found enough time over the last few months to relearn how to listen to the right words and to question my own. At the moment, I am solely busy with rebuilding what the Stewardaides Crisis has destroyed in my home and my marriage. But that cannot be an excuse for not giving due attention to those who do their part to do the same in Gondor's nature. It's like there aren't enough hours in a day right now to get all these duties done properly."

"Maybe you don't have to make everything right at once," Ranír dared to remark cautiously. She knew far too little about politics to give qualified advice in such a situation. But even though everything had certainly not gone right in this crisis, since then, the Steward, in particular, had been trying very hard to make up for these very mistakes, and people did acknowledge that. Only he couldn't because it had been drummed into him for far too many years of his life that mistakes weighed much more heavily than all the good things you could build and achieve in life.

"I'm sure you can improve this relationship, Steward. Just give it a little more time. Elves have enough of that, don't they? And you were always the patient one in your family."

"I used to be." Grief not even remotely processed had Faramir's shoulders slump. "Today, I need to play all roles once destined for my brother. I need to find his strength, not hide behind my weaknesses any longer."

"Boromir once told me, he wished he was as patient as you. Apparently, he thought that was one of your strengths."

Ranír only realized that had been too insolent after all when Faramir hurried his steps to end the conversation. Ducking her head, she went silent.

Getting to the prison took longer than usual due to the snow laying very high today. The hem of her skirt was already completely sodden when Faramir and she finally reached the entrance of the bulky building complex on the sixth level.

The guards recognized Faramir quickly, but Ranír was eyed more carefully. It didn't happen often that women came here, because of all the prisoners' lewd comments alone that they were confronted with, for example, when a woman left behind wanted to see her partner.

Why the Queen's handmaiden of all people accompanied the Steward, the soldiers visibly couldn't fathom. But especially because of her position at the court, they finally gave the signal to open the heavy gate for them both.

Which meant, it was too late to turn around now although that strict examination had had Ranír's heart dive instinctively. Was she really in the right place here?

Inside the prison, it was even colder than outside; the rock hardly stored any heat. Freezing, Ranír wrapped her coat tighter around her body and looked for the next available fireplace. She could have sworn, her teeth were chattering audibly already.

Faramir signaled her to wait nearby the exit of the almost unfurnished anteroom, halfway hidden in a corner behind a margin which Ranír commented on by pushing her lip forward in a pout. After all, she'd stopped being a child for just as long as he had.

Frowning, she spotted an adjacent room to the hall that seemed to be used as a cell as well, the thick door having a tiny viewing window. Belatedly, she remembered the Queen telling her that on Aragorn's order, the youngest Stewardaid had recently been put in here so that he was being far away from the others who had never forgiven him his betrayal back then.

With her shoulders tight, she moved to the side a little because she felt pierced by the sunken, blue eyes staring through that window.

Then she startled in gleeful anticipation when the heavy door a few feet away was being opened again. But to her disappointment and surprise, it wasn't the Dúnadan who entered but Hithrim, the administrator of the Citadel's food supplies, easy to recognize by a broad shape that revealed Hithrim feasting on the goods himself from time to time that he was buying for the Citadel's residents and the army, and a few long grey curls, iced, blowing around his face.

Faramir who was talking to the guard on duty at the gateway to the cells had only a polite short greeting to spare for the man. The imminent meeting was visibly keeping him on his toes too much.

"Oh please. How good a day can it be when the realm is in danger of losing their royal family once more?" With clammy hands, Hithrim fumbled with his bag, reaching for a pipe that he filled generously before lighting it to recover from the short walk.

"But the children are doing far better already." A little angry about such a pessimistic view, Ranír shook her head. "And the Queen is not dead yet either though some people are acting like she was. I'm sure she'll make it. We just have to keep believing."

"Hm." That was all the answer she got. Maybe Hithrim was blaming himself for the assassination that a short while ago had caused Arwen's shock in the first place, that, among other things, was the reason for her being so weak now.

Though Aragorn had ordered countless soldiers to investigate, they still had no clue how the poison could have reached the King's chambers. In a situation like that, no one cared about a simple employee's feelings of guilt.

Ranír felt sorry for the man who usually always had a friendly word to spare for everyone and was known in the city as being very generous. She had often seen him slip something to an animal or a child in the street when food had been scarce once again because of the hard winter.

She tried to show an encouraging smile. "Why don't you have something especially good cooked for the wet nurse? She needs a lot of strength since she has to care for two children at once."

"A good idea. I'll take care of it when I'm done here." There was something in Hithrim's smile that Ranír couldn't quite interpret. "The outbreak of the cold has reached the prison. The people need more medicine than food right now. I have to take a look around to be able to ration the supplies new."

When the man passed Faramir by, vanishing in the aisle between the cells, Ranír was all the more glad to be able to stay close to the light. The silence in the almost deserted hall was uncomfortable. This had been an amazingly stupid idea. Ranír could now understand very well why the Queen hadn't wanted to come here shortly before her wedding back then. This whole building with its too few windows seemed to try and crush you.

Only the vague prospect of possibly seeing the man again that she'd been fancying a little since their first meeting at his farewell from Minas Tirith not too long ago, the hope for an urgently needed smile in this depressing time, stopped her from copping out. An instinct that she didn't know of where it was coming from whispered to her that it would pay off, enduring, and not only because she would need all the positive energy in her heart for the next few days that she could get right now, now that everyone around her seemed to have given up.

If she had learned one thing from working for the royals, it was that there was always hope.