After a while, it, unfortunately, didn't leave Ranír's determination intact that she had to stand around between these massive walls. Getting sick from the merciless coldness was actually the last thing she could afford right now either, now that the Queen needed her so much.
She was already tempted to leave again, disappointed, after all when she finally heard footsteps approaching outside, both calm, steadfast, and short, hectic ones. She quickly pushed herself away from the wall that she had crept against instinctively when she saw Langhour's slightly stocky but very strong silhouette appear, followed by a very battered-looking figure wearing the typical green and brown colors of a Ranger.
The Dúnadan's eyes went wide in surprise when he spotted her. She could see her own honest smile about the reunion mirrored on his prettily curved, narrow lips.
Sadly, there was no time to talk to each other because the man that Langhour pushed towards the cells by his arm in determination started to writhe when he recognized Faramir.
The former warrior's pinched features distorted into a scornful grimace when Faramir signaled Langhour to let go of him and retreat a little.
"Oh, so rather want to talk in private, Steward?"
"You have half a minute," Faramir answered flatly. "Tell me the names of the rest of your mates, and your punishment will be a mild one. Don't give up the life in the freedom that has once been so important for all of us."
"Us? There's no us." The man harshly spat on the ground in front of him. "Or do you maybe now regret your cowardice? That you ate crow and crawled back to His Majesty? Do you miss us? I have good news for you then. As you know, we've got a position vacant as of recently. Once our man in the Citadel has wiped out the King and his spawns, I'm sure you'll need something to do. What do you say?"
Angry about so much nonsense, Ranír moved to step forward but then thought better when a very strong hand firmly grabbed her lower arm, coming out of nowhere. She blushed immediately when she was being pulled back into her murky corner, which suddenly brought her very close to a certain muscular figure, and that blush did not only come from that dumb intuition to get involved in this and thereby undermine Faramir's status with these men even more.
Faramir seemed to have noticed the little scene in spite of Langhour's intervention. He looked her way very fleetingly. Her hardly noticeably headshake had him turn away again; with relief, she saw that his hand that had already wandered to his belt, was being lowered again.
"That's exactly your problem, traitor. You confuse fear with humility and violence with power. Too bad you didn't learn anything at all from me back then. Soldier! Take him away. Let him entertain the others with his sick fantasies."
Only now, Langhour properly turned to Ranír. "While I had not thought to see you again here of all places, you obviously have the guts for it. Still, this is not a place for a civilian." He looked as if he wanted to throw Ranír over his shoulder and personally carry her out of reach of some of the realm's most notorious criminals. "Especially not when she's trembling all over her body."
He apparently didn't want to offer her his own cloak though because it showed some bloodstains from the fights he'd had held with this Stewardaid without a doubt. "Seriously, milady, what are you doing here? You'll catch pneumonia if you stay here much longer."
"I guess she was curious and wanted to see with her own eyes what's happening here," Hithrim snorted who'd just come back.
"I was not …" Ranír already started to flare up and explain herself when she noticed, that was only making it worse because Langhour and Faramir could now hardly hide a grin either.
Offended, she crossed her arms. "I just wanted to keep the King in the loop and free him of at least one worry about these criminals once he learns, another one has been seized. I'll surely not make that mistake again if this is how people thank me!"
Langhour hurried to change the subject. "You will now please excuse me. I should better talk about the next steps with the King myself immediately."
He paused mid-movement when he noticed Ranír's shocked expression and Faramir hissed quietly. "What is it?"
"Haven't you heard yet?"
Only now, Ranír realized that the Dúnadan must have been so busy fulfilling his duties that no one could have told him about the events in the city. Hardly anyone was out in the streets of Minas Tirith right now, and the guards didn't talk much anymore, always being worried that talks about the events at court could reach the wrong people.
"Come on, let's talk in the Citadel. These halls are no place for such a conversation." Faramir had somewhat pulled himself together again and waved the two of them along.
"Good idea," Ranír agreed. "There should be some soup left on the fire in the kitchen, and some hot tea will surely be good now for all of us as well."
"Do that," Hithrim let out before he sauntered off into another direction. "Maybe at least the Steward is interested in all the things you've been achieving, Langhour, seeing as the King doesn't care."
"Well, that's understandable in this situation, isn't it?" Uncomprehendingly, Ranír watched Hithrim leave. She just couldn't figure the man out today. But the administrator was someone she could wonder about later.
Together, they strolled up to the innermost ring.
"On the brink of death?" First, Langhour thought – hoped – that he had misheard.
It had been only been a few months since he'd saved the King and his wife. Back then, Arwen's body had not had developed beyond the usual level with regard to the progress of her pregnancy. But twin pregnancies were often different as he knew. Gondor had been given such a big miracle … And it was already in danger. It was one of these days when you had to wonder if all that you did for your realm and your King actually made sense.
Well, it was certain now in any case that for now, Langhour wouldn't be able to tell the Queen what this pitifully scraggy, black-haired lad had asked him to say to her when they'd left the prison earlier. Besides, he seriously had to doubt that the she-elf would have had much interest in a message from one of her kidnappers even on a day of good health.
"I'll go to him immediately ..."
"It's better if you don't. Neither the Queen nor the girl are out of the woods yet. The King isn't exactly easy to deal with right now as you can imagine," Faramir mentioned with a weak smile.
The Queen's handmaiden next to him eyed him sharply. "And before you do anything else, eat something. You look as if you haven't had a warm meal in a long time."
"You're actually not wrong about that." Well, why not? He always had to be at least strong and fed well enough to not become seriously sick anyway, and it had been dang cold in the last few days.
"So how is the King?" It hurt him to know that his beloved leader who had already gone through so much in his long decades, was once again being faced with such a trial.
Ranír lowered her head. "I've never seen him so despaired and grim. He uses up all his strength to heal his wife. I don't know how much longer the King can keep that up."
"And I guess, on top of that, there's always someone who wants to discuss politics with him, right?" Langhour did his best to not look at Faramir too scrutinizingly. With disapproval, he'd often wondered how much the citizens were asking of Aragorn. And in many places of the realm, they still didn't really take his substitute seriously, thanks to all these rumors about the Stewardaides.
"But the boy is alive?"
"Yes, Eldarion basically yells the whole room down by now if he wants something." Ranír's eyes were glistening in excitement. "When I have him on my arm, he always grabs my hair and doesn't want to let go anymore. He and Minuial are so very pretty …"
"The way you're beaming right now, one could almost think they were your children." Except for to their mothers, babies were actually rarely really beautiful but Langhour would gladly let himself be convinced otherwise.
He grimaced when his stomach growled audibly. Ranír had hit the mark. In the city, at least he'd be able to gather some new strength. The ingredients here were of better quality than anywhere else on principal. It was clear, the lands and fields of Gondor were recovering from the war more and more. Langhour wished he could have said the same about Arnor.
"I just like kids, that's … By the Valar, you really need a wife or a husband, given how famished you are when you're showing up here. Makes you wish to cook a whole feast for you."
When Langhour looked at Ranír with slight disconcertment and Faramir could hardly bite back another chuckle, her face turned a blazing red. "I mean … The cook will be happy. There's hardly anyone left in the Citadel for her to spoil recently because more and more people are starving themselves in worry."
Langhour called himself to order and wiped the grin off his lips. This mood between them, full of eager excitement, had prevailed ever since their first meeting; that hopefully wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. There was no time right now to find out if anything more might come from that.
That Ranír was still looking a little too closely at his appearance though, especially at his clothes, he didn't like at all. "What?"
"Your cloak …"
"… is dirty, I know. What do you expect from someone running or riding through half of Lossarnach and the woods of Gondor for months to search for the King's enemies? They usually don't come with me willingly either so I have to use a few punchy arguments every time. And that's before we're talking about the time prior to that, when just like the other Dúnedain, I've tried to help people get back on their feet in the mud pits and the untilled fields of Arnor so that at some point, we'll hopefully have a chance that our lands will not only be building a common realm on paper. You can't dust down traces of living constantly outside."
Langhour looked at the stains for a moment and shrugged. It didn't bother him. The cloak warmed him when it was cold, that was all that counted. "Am I right in thinking that something is just brewing in your pretty head that I won't like a bit?"
The moment they arrived at the Citadel, Ranír stretched out her arm with a grin. "Give me the cloak. I'll take it to the laundry and make sure, you'll have it back clean and dry by tomorrow."
"Admit it, you just want to find out if it's only the dirt keeping it together." Surrendering to his fate, Langhour shook the rough fabric off his shoulders as soon as they had passed the entrance door of the White Tower.
"That will be an interesting side-effect. Wait here. I'll be right back."
With an amused smirk, Langhour watched the young woman leave.
He shrugged in embarrassment when Faramir eyed him questioningly. "Don't look at me like that. That's actually not what I came here for."
"You may have more time for it than you might care for though," Faramir replied, getting serious again. "I'm afraid it might take some time before you get your next assignment. Right now, the King is not able to make decisions. I can only offer you to give your final report to me for now."
"I'll gladly take that offer, as soon as I'm completely in the know about the situation here. And I might be able to make myself more useful here than you think."
Maybe Langhour could at least assist his old friend with the healing. After all, he'd learned that art himself from an early age. To take over for the King for a little while, that would have been at least a start.
And Ranír … She tried to hide the fear for her Lady but in inattentive moments, it clearly showed that she was afraid to go back to the royal chambers where she'd possibly have to learn that the worst had happened in the meantime.
He would rather go sit with the young woman than see her despair because no one found any comforting words for her. The light, swift steps in the empty hallway had him know immediately that she was coming back and say good-bye to the Steward who could surely use some time alone after that scene earlier, and not pointless conversations about a job that was as good as done.
"You're leaving already? But the cook is already working on soup for you." Deep disappointment promptly sounded in Ranír's voice. Somehow, he liked that.
"Without a cloak, at this time of the year? I don't think so. I'll go see the twins in the meantime. I'm sure you'll be happy to introduce me to them, right? I would hate for the children to start screaming when the shaggy stranger lifts them up."
Ranír's happy smile said it all.
Faramir had actually thought that so late at night, he would be by himself at least in one of the city's many gardens that had been newly created during reconstruction after the war. Judging by the moon's position, it had to be a few hours before sunrise, and at this time, Minas Tirith was usually asleep.
That he could make out a slender silhouette on the broad limb of a tree in the pale light, revealed that he wasn't the only one unable to find rest though. "Please don't tell me, the Princess of Eryn Lasgalen is doing worse. I can't deal with any more bad news today, especially when I had a part in causing them."
"If I am to believe the words of the healers that the King sends to look after her regularly, she's not worse, but not any better either." Legolas welcomed him with a very tired shrug. As Ranír had predicted, the aggression from the last conversation between the two of them had indeed vanished, fortunately.
Still, they should finally try to clear the whole thing up – among many other issues. Such an unplanned meeting in the loneliness of the darkness might not be the worst chance for that.
"And if there's someone to blame, it's me. I should have been more determined in trying to get her to hold back. No matter how much we both want to help the royal couple … Ilya needs all her strength for herself right now. Not just because of her condition. It's her soul that is getting sick once more. That's something no medicine in the world can do anything about. In spite of all the summers that I have already seen, apparently even I am powerless against the faith in a completely misguided thing weighing down on Ilya's mind."
As comfortable as it would have been to turn to this new subject, Faramir didn't want to just drop the former one so easily. He had indeed been making the mistake of throwing himself at one crisis management after another, thereby not bringing any of them to a close, for far too long.
„Still, let me say I'm sorry for my misjudgment. As a curious lad, I guess I've been told a few times too often about the inviolability and endless strengths of the elves. It's not worth anything, accumulating all the knowledge of the dead from all the libraries in these realms when you are unable to properly listen to the living."
Maybe for the first time in a while, Legolas turned to him directly, a combination of wonder and respect in the long, deep nod that he accepted the apology with.
„Unlike your father in the end, fortunately, you do not shut yourself off from new facts, Steward. Keep that virtue. Regarding the physical resilience of my kin, you are not entirely wrong. Unfortunately, when it comes to Firstborn expecting a child, it is much limited. Since at the latest since the end of the last Age, only a few of my people decide to have offspring before they have made their way to the west, such sensitivities in many places have fallen into oblivion, especially among Men. And Ilya only makes it harder for herself right now. At this point, I need someone who has walked the lands of this world far earlier than I did. I've sent a message to Cair Andros already. I hope, by now, my substitute has finally arrived there. Given how often he's been stalled on his way back from Imladris, nothing would surprise me anymore. Everyone who knows him even vaguely tries to grill him about this father since the two of them aren't hiding their relationship anymore. Lord Glorfindel is already missing from these realms."
"I hope for you and your wife, he won't take much longer. It will be nice to have the Lord around again." In the months of the Stewardaides Crisis, Faramir had got to appreciate Thondrar as a neutral diplomat, unlike Legolas who sadly was just still holding certain things against him, just like the other way round.
Which was why Glorfindel's son would also take over the role of negotiator in the future, especially to keep the relationship between the elves of Cair Andros and men in Emyn Arnen stable that was, fortunately, gaining more strength by the day. Faramir was looking forward to hopefully having some private meetings in the fortress, too, to actually make good on his intention soon of soaking up knowledge from sources who actually knew what they were talking about. Someone who'd already been alive in the First Age surely had many of them to tell. Tales of times long past and miracles, of days when Middle-earth had been a place that no one could imagine today.
After he'd had to say goodbye for good to his advisor Gandalf not too long ago who would sail to Aman together with the Ring-bearers, Thondrar working for Legolas seemed almost like a gift to Faramir that the wizard had left behind for him.
He wasn't surprised that in this gloomy situation, the Prince, too, sought the help of his closest advisor; he immediately realized the problem with that though: If Thondrar should end up staying for longer in Minas Tirith, the settlement would be without a true leader even longer.
"I'm happy to send a few men of the White Company to the woods. While there's been no hint of problems in our common home recently, one shouldn't court it."
Legolas regarded him with another surprised nod.
"Seeing as you're taking some of my worries from me right now, will you tell me what burdens you so much that you're sneaking through the gardens at this hour? It can't be only the fear for the Queen and the children."
"I've just described to Aragorn what things are like in the city." Faramir realized it himself that he was sounding far too bitter and took a moment to take a deep breath, to leave the hurtful confrontation behind as quickly as possible.
"If it makes him feel better, I'm ready to have him snarl at me like that a few more times but that doesn't change anything about what might be happening in Minas Tirith soon."
"The citizens are upset, I know. Not even I could ignore that though I didn't leave Ilya's room for longer than a few minutes."
Fleet-footed, Legolas jumped down to the ground and came to stand next to Faramir who had stopped at one of the breaches in the wall to look down at the fields before the city. "But so far, it does at least not seem to be as bad as it has not too long ago."
A last bit of self-hate colored the innuendo about a time that had left Thranduil's son with nasty scars as well and that had made him grow very much. Especially because he'd caused so much trouble with his thoughtless actions shortly after the war, Legolas would keep out of all politics right now, but that didn't mean, the matter was affecting him any less.
"The line of Kings is still far more vulnerable than it should be. It's not even been remotely long enough since the war for people to not still need stability first and foremost." Faramir heavily rested his arms on the ice-covered rock. It was probably only thanks to the bitter coldness that people didn't take to the streets again. They wouldn't be stopped forever though.
"They've been demanding comforting words from their leader for days. They don't even believe me that the twins are doing better. People have been deceived by too many already; right now, they only trust the King. Rumor is going around that the Queen was long dead and that Aragorn was living in grief. A single spark could make worry turn into aggression. I'm afraid, the citizens could then storm the prison as they've already planned to do so often. Aragorn's words from back then might no longer be able to keep them from their revenge."
Though his father had made many mistakes and had lost the emotional connection to others and to reality more and more, in the end, one thing couldn't be denied: Denethor had been in control of the people. It might have been a cold and unkind government, but it had at least worked. Faramir had been wondering for a fairly long time now if a little bit of this unapproachable strength would maybe do Aragorn well.
Legolas shook his head jerkily. He knew best what wrath and grief could bring about; after all, he'd almost succumbed to these emotions. "Actually, Aragorn should hold at least a short speech. But he won't want to hear that."
"I told him anyway, last night already." Faramir restlessly wrung his hands. "He's risking a riot, we need to be aware of that. He's planning to speak to the people tomorrow afternoon, but the citizens could already try to vent their hate upon those they blame for everything before that."
"You need to understand the King." Legolas rested his hand on Faramir's shoulder only for a brief moment, but that was already enough to let the warmth and the gentle energy radiating from the elf even in an exhausted state bring him to a standstill.
That way, he could also feel the slight tremble in Legolas' body only too well though that thanks to elves' high resilience towards temperatures didn't arise from coldness. "The Queen's fever got worse. Any moment, she could … In a situation like that, he won't leave her side. Right now, he doesn't even want to see anyone in there, not even his closest confidants. They promised to get us if it really comes to us having to say goodbye. But until then we should respect the King enough to let him do the same, and in silence, too."
"It would be but a few minutes though. We would call him immediately if something happened to Arwen … As King, he can't just stay away if people call for him." Faramir's hands clenched so hard that his knuckles cracked audibly. His own words hadn't felt so ineffective to him since the crisis in North Ithilien.
"He doesn't, he only needs time," Legolas admonished him once more. "Aragorn always put his duty before everything, even before his wife. This time, he can't. Arwen's biggest fear, ever since she made her decision for this life as a mortal, ever since it was clear that her whole family wouldn't be dwelling in these realms anymore soon, was being alone. Aragorn won't leave her now of all times."
"I know that, Your Highness, but people don't care." Faramir looked up to one of the constellations that were paling already. Given how clear the night was, there would probably be even more snow falling today. Hopefully, it wouldn't be soaked with blood once more. "If the guards double their patrols, we can buy some time. But what happens afterward, I don't even want to imagine."
Especially not since he had no idea how he was supposed to get such possible disturbances under control. It would have been his job to fix this; instead, he was now standing here, trying to get Aragorn back. Maybe, what his father had always told him, was correct after all: He just failed at everything.
"What kind of Steward is this that people can't even turn to? Boromir would have known how to give Men hope in such a situation. He was always the one with the convincing speeches." Faramir was suddenly missing his brother more badly than he had ever since he'd had to learn about his death back then. This coldness in his heart was eating him up even more cruelly than the ice under his fingertips.
Legolas pulled Faramir's hands very firmly away from the too-cold ledge. His voice suddenly sounded warmer and more compassionate than it had in months. "Do not fret, Steward. The first few months of your office were just as troubled as Aragorn's. People have to get to know and learn how to trust you first, too. And still, they're cheering you on in the streets, because they know about your courageous deeds in the war. You managed to stall them so far, didn't you? Stop continuing your father's work of always being tougher on yourself than need be. I can assure you, your brother would tell you the same if he was here now."
"Probably."
Especially in the light of all the bad things that had happened since the end of the war, Faramir had never really stomached the bitter realization that it had been the Fellowship of the Ring – and therefore Legolas, too –, and not him accompanying the last months of Boromir's life, his last few seconds. The part of him that was still not over losing his beloved brother to the arrows of Uruk-hai, actually was holding that against the Companions in weak moments even though he'd seen it up close more than once that it had only been this unusual bond of nine fearless fellows back then that had saved this world.
Actually, he had no right to even silently complain about Legolas still being so distant from him. What had he himself been doing for the two of them hopefully being able to share a land again without even subtle anger at some point?
Maybe these dangerous days could be a new beginning not only for Aragorn's little family. "Your Highness? Would you tell me about your time with him?"
Before his farewell, Gandalf had of course talked to Faramir about these things a couple of times. But because of the wizard's own alleged demise, there had been many things that he'd not been around for himself.
And even without knowing the details, Faramir knew instinctively that especially on such a tedious journey, with countless harsh watches and frustrating conditions, his brother must rather have sought the encouraging nearness of a timeless, never tiring being than the one of an occasionally slightly grumpy wizard. In this regard, his brother had despised Denethor's views just as much as Faramir had; racial differences had never been much of an issue for him.
"I've been wishing for a while now to be able to accompany him on his last journey, at least in my head."
"I will gladly help you with that, Steward. As soon as this crisis is over. You have my word." The honest grief, still very deeply rooted as well, that Legolas' short, respectful bow expressed filled Faramir's eyes with tears. Knowing that at his death, Boromir had at least been surrounded by people who had already become so fond of him in a minimum of time, made it easier.
"In the meantime: Do what you can. I have no doubts that you can handle this. A few more hours of delay is all Aragorn needs. A body can't handle fever as high as Arwen's for long."
"I just hope, Aragorn can make it that long. Have you seen him even once in the last few hours?" Faramir tiredly rubbed his chin that a stubble was spreading on that urgently needed to be trimmed. "He's reached the limits of his capacities himself."
"Then it might be better anyway for people not to see him in this condition anyway. They keep on holding on to that completely insane image from the legends about the perfect King who is supposed to help provide the country with new splendor immediately. A leader showing weakness doesn't fit this ideal."
Legolas paused and raised a hand to signal Faramir that he should remain silent as well. Steps echoed through the streets, approaching the garden. He frowned in alarm. "Ranír. She's running so fast, she's probably about to trip over the skirt of her dress. And she's calling for you."
Faramir's posture tensed. They both had an idea of what it could only mean if the handmaiden was searching for him in such a rush at this time. It seemed like the city would wear mourning at dawn at the latest …
"Steward!"
When Ranír could finally storm through the gate and towards her old friend and Legolas, she had to catch her breath first and wipe the sweat off her forehead. In her excitement, she promptly started to stutter.
"The … the Queen!" She had to stop herself from screaming her next words out loud, that was how good they felt. "The fever has finally gone down. Her heart is beating strongly again, and her wounds have closed."
Faramir stared at her in disbelief. "Does that mean …?"
His eyes wide, he looked at Legolas who didn't seem to understand any faster than he did.
"The King says, if there's nothing unexpected happening, Her Majesty made it. And both the kids are finally completely stable, too."
Ranír threw a yearning glance up at the walls of the Citadel, the clunky form of which was looming in the night far above their heads. More than anything, she wanted to be with the Queen right now.
She was feeling like hugging the whole world. Everything would be alright, just like she'd always said. Once more, no one had wanted to listen to her, of course.
Faramir nodded at her gratefully but apparently, he still wanted to see it for himself that the good news were true. He hurried past Ranír so suddenly that she had to make haste to catch up with him.
Legolas didn't match their speed though his destination was the same as theirs, of course. He was still too busy wiping his eyes with his sleeve conspicuously often. He'd probably want to pass the good news straight on to his wife, too.
Ranír understood that well. If she'd been allowed to, she would have run to every single room of the Citadel and then through every street, so that everyone would soon know that the fear for the royal family had come to an end.
But the King had explicitly instructed her to only inform Faramir and Legolas for now. He himself wanted to hold a speech – hopefully following soon – to the people and show them the babies, too, so that the tense situation in the city would calm down as quickly as possible.
Ranír would dress the twins in especially pretty and of course sufficiently warm clothes for that so that the citizens could admire the children. She had never realized how unbelievably freeing it could be that the biggest worry for people at the court was finally something like the question again which colors and fabrics were best for her to choose.
