When Arwen left the slightly darkened workshop and stepped out into the pale winter light, she was surprised to spot her husband's tall shape that had become a little thin in the last few weeks near the building, well-guarded by his own soldiers in the background as usual. The excited whispers and hectic turmoil all across the Citadel court seemed to have become even more intense.

Only when Aragorn turned around to her with a loving smile, she understood, why.

She should have right when she'd seen the dappled horse standing next to her husband that a very special congratulant had rode to the city on. It was her father's current mount. Of course; Elrond had surely left home as quickly as possible when the message of the premature birth had reached him.

"Ada ..." If the usual annoying twinge in her lower belly and the heaviness still left in her limbs hadn't forbidden such ideas, Arwen would immediately have run there. As it was, a much too slow stride towards her family was the best she could do once she'd quickly given her baby to Ranír who had fortunately stayed with her until the tailor had been finished with pinning Arwen's dress.

Elrond immediately came to meet her. The last few steps, he was actually running which was not becoming for the Lord of a noble house at all, but right now, they both couldn't care less. The sight of her father frightened Arwen so much that the tears were already falling before she had put her arms around him. The occasional grey in this black mane that he had passed on to her revealed the traces of the Ages that her father had already seen had left, which happened only rarely with elves still comparatively young. Inerasable worry for her and the children had deepened the lines around the corners of his mouth even further. And Arwen couldn't remember when she'd last seen him cry, especially not in front of others.

"What have they done? You look like death, Arwen." The last time he'd talked to her that upset had been in the war when they'd both realized that her decision for a mortal life was now finally clear and couldn't be changed anymore. And now he was confronted with the consequences of this decision for the second time after her terrible war injury.

It broke her heart and turned the long-awaited reunion into a bittersweet moment. She was glad when she felt Aragorn's hand gently caressing her back which helped her recollect herself, to back away a little and beam at her father honestly, signaling him that while she was still quite pale and scraggy, she was on the road to recovery. And also happy. "I'm alright. And I'll be even better soon, I promise. I'm so happy you came!"

"Once I heard about the things going on here once more, I couldn't wait another day." Only for a moment, Elrond's annoyed eyes turned towards Aragorn. But he forced himself quickly enough to blink them free of every reproach. It wasn't the fault of her husband, only of a few misguided men; at least this lecture, her father had hopefully learned by now.

"So it's really true? There are two, Arwen? Not one, two?"

"No one was more surprised than me, believe me." Arwen nodded at Ranír and her wet nurse invitingly.

"It's only thanks to both your gift and Ilya's skills that they survived. I'll never forget that, ada."

She put her hand on his cheek for a tender moment, searched his gaze again, hoping to finally see in it the same relief, the same pride she had felt when she'd seen her little son for the first time in her vision in the war. They both would bear great pain forever; Arwen's heart, too, would be torn in two for the rest of her existence. But when she had decided against her journey to the west, she had accepted at last that the reward for such a sacrifice was worth it … And that, her personal bliss aside, she would achieve something greater and more meaningful than being the abstract, admired, lonely star in the sky of her people forever.

"Look at your grandchildren, ada. Look at the heirs of the new line of Kings who will forever represent the friendship between Elves and Men on Middle-earth."

As if Eldarion had understood that it was about him, he raised his still so fine voice to a whine. A noise changing to confused crying when Ranír put him in Elrond's arms and the little one was suddenly looking at a completely strange face. The bright small drops suddenly falling on his skin, in particular, irritated him probably, and Minuial immediately joined his screaming as so often.

But when Elrond pressed the baby to his narrow chest as if in slow motion, his other hand tenderly resting on Miniual's reddened face, and the tones of an ancient elvish song of blessing sounded from the walls of Minas Tirith, the babies went silent almost immediately.

After a few seconds of surprise, Arwen sang along with the slow, solemn melody, holding her little girl firmly in her arms, and Aragorn's warm baritone, too, completed the repetition of the chorus. She happily put her head on her husband's shoulder, enjoying his nearness just as much as the one of her father she'd missed for so long. Things were finally about to go back to normal.


It wasn't the first time for Langhour to be surprised about how quickly Men could forget. He still remembered very well how the country had looked after the war and until not too long ago. And what it might look like again soon. Contrary to all hopes, investigations had been fruitless so far. So the royal couple would have to live on with the uncertainty of how many King's enemies there really still were after all, of how many of them were up to no good in the Citadel in particular. Not a prospect to put Langhour into a party mood.

But today, people seemed to completely suppress all the suffering and the initial doubts about their new leader, too. The twins' birth had caused euphoria that hadn't prevailed in Gondor in a long time.

That, he could comprehend at least a little bit. After his long journeys, all these afternoons in the King's house had been just as relaxing as entertaining.

Given all the suffering Aragorn had had to endure in his life, Langhour had never expected to ever see such a glow in his eyes. The King had finally found what he'd been looking for all his life: a home. Something rare for a Dúnadan.

Maybe it was the secret yearning to be allowed to experience that at some point himself, that had made Langhour agree to take care of the Queen's handmaiden. But now, this period of countless affectionate conversations and more and more intensive nearness was almost over already. Therefore, he wanted at least to be there for the celebration before leaving, though he usually preferred to avoid crowds.

So he'd followed the royal couple into the celebration hall, listening to Aragorn's speech slightly impatiently, with a watchful eye on everything, just like the soldiers, when Arwen and the King had once more presented their babies to the highly delighted people. Afterward, he'd also personally taken Arwen and the children back to her chambers, accompanied by the wet nurse, as so often, and today, by the Lord of Imladris, too.

The Queen still needed much rest; excessive partying was not in the cards for her yet. And it was only natural that she wanted to spend as much time as possible together with her father and the children.

With that, Langhour's duty was done for the evening; actually, he longed to retire now, to have a mug of beer in one of the inns. He was definitely not in the mood for court gossip. But he hadn't spotted the woman he'd have liked to take with him in the celebration hall yet. Only when he was almost on his way outside already, frustrated, he spotted that one face he'd been dreaming about for a while now at the end of a row of tables, actually rather by chance, because Aragorn was just going there.

Grinning, he made his way through the crowd to get there, letting his eyes curiously wander over the woman's dress that captivated him for a moment, tighter than any he'd seen her wear before, with silver lacing and a flowing, embroidered skirt.

"Who would have thought there's such a noble lady hiding behind the handmaiden?"

Ranír startled, frightened, and blushed immediately. "I thought you'd left."

Only belatedly, his words of greeting seemed to sink in. Her lower lip started to tremble lightly; she looked as if she was but a second away from walking. "I know, it is actually not for me. I shouldn't be dressing up as something that I am not. I'm sorry if who I was so far has disappointed you."

With a deep sigh, Langhour dropped onto the chair next to her, when Aragorn regarded him with a brief, inviting eye roll. "That's not what I meant."

"The Queen would be very disappointed if she could hear the way you're talking about yourself," Aragorn let out. "This is far from a disguise, Ranír. You deserve to be here today."

"What the King says. And how do you think you can disappoint a Dúnadan without any possessions? I should rather be worried about sitting her with my shabby clothes while you have dolled up. Here I am, trying to flatter you as it is appropriate with a beautiful woman, and you act as if you're being threatened with a sword."

Shaking his head, Langhour reached for the basket of bread on the table and tore off a piece. "While I am used to spending much time alone on my journeys, it would be news to me that the women of Gondor are so different."

"Well, it does hurt if you only like me like this …" Ranír blundered out, unrestrained. "Just because I'm not wearing such pretty dresses all the time doesn't mean I'm not a lady, too." Pouting, she crossed her arms and thrust her little chin forward.

"With such bad communication skills, I can't help but wonder how you two made it to work as a team." Caught between amusement and disapproval, Aragorn looked back and forth between them.

Before Langhour could say anything, one of the court ladies, wearing a dress covered all over with sequins, intervened, heading straight for their table. He got up as etiquette demanded, and moved to sit down again after a brief nod.

Unfortunately, the woman seemed to be determined to make new acquaintances, obviously just male ones though. After bowing to the King a little too deeply, she looked down at Ranír disparagingly and pursed her lips.

"Will you not introduce us? Even though Her Majesty has dismissed you tonight, you can't just forget your status. Fulfill your duty please."

The handmaiden almost stumbled over the hem of the unfamiliar dress when she got up as well, faster than Aragorn could intervene whose face showed a stern wrinkle of anger. The name Ranír said, Langhour had already forgotten two seconds later.

"A good friend of the Prince of Dol Amroth on whom the honor to provide musical entertainment at the court was bestowed." She paused audibly but pulled herself together then. "Milady, this is Langhour."

The singer showed the hint of a curtsy. "You're a Dúnadan, aren't you? I've been fascinated by your folk for such a long time! You need to tell me more about your life. They say, his Majesty here is already such a great healer. I'm sure you're just as skilled in this field, aren't you? Wasn't it you who caught so many of these terrible Stewardaides? That must have been so dangerous!"

She looked at a table nearby that a few other women were sitting at, her friends, obviously, all of them childishly chuckling and adorned, just like she was, with much powder and charcoal on their eyelids. "Why don't you join us? And don't you want to switch tables too, Your Majesty? You deserve a better one than this." Her eyes roamed over Ranír demonstratively. "Men who have done so much for us deserve the best places."

Ranír was visibly foaming with anger. Her hands were clenched around the fabric of her skirt; her lower lip was already trembling again conspicuously. "We were just having a conversation …" she dared to protest weakly.

"Exactly. Which means, you should be working on your manners a little bit," Aragorn stepped in after he'd given Ranír the chance to stand up for herself. "Your worry is appreciated but as you can see, I have already found the best table in this room tonight."

This time, Langhour didn't need even a prompt from his leader to pull himself together and remember his own manners.

"Forgive me, milady." He managed to let his full contempt sound in his voice. "I do indeed prefer the company of people who have enjoyed a certain amount of education about decency."

He moved Ranír's chair for her to sit back down demonstratively. "So if you had the decency now to go back to the cackling hens at your table who call themselves part of a royal household, I would really appreciate it."

For a moment, the woman looked as if she wanted to slap him right across the face; but then she just snorted and turned around on her staggeringly high heels, sauntering back to her friends, surely to complain about this uncouth Dúnadan.

Langhour looked at Ranír in amusement whose mouth stood agape. "Yes, she'll hate you from now on but hasn't she already? And the face of that arrogant cow alone was worth it, wasn't it? Do you want to stand there all night now?"

"You shouldn't have done that." Only when the excitement subsided, Ranír understood what had just happened there. "Us servants, we don't have an easy life in the Citadel as it is. That's not your fault," she quickly assured before the bad conscience had even really started to show on Aragorn's face, before he'd done more than discreetly squeeze her arm under the table for a moment.

"At a court, that's just how it is. But now they'll be targeting me even more with their gazes and their words." She folded her hands in her lap in sadness. "I appreciate your words, but as you can see, everyone knows I don't belong here. I don't want to be the laughing stock of the audience tonight."

"You would only be if you granted these spiteful ladies victory." Langhour contemplated feverishly how to help that courage of confidence grow that was flashing through in the young woman's words every now and then.

"I don't understand you, Ranír. Your only superior is my wife; you have no one else's orders to follow. Let the women tattle. The people whose opinions really count know who you are. Never forget what position you're holding here." Aragorn didn't need to hint out loud first at the little secret that connected Langhour and Ranír, to have the handmaiden blush slightly proudly at once.

"What our friends over there also don't seem to realize is that you only need to say a word or two to rouse the Queen's discontent," Langhour added. "I know you would never do that because you're a stranger to spite, but do they know that? Make the Queen laugh next time that singer and her friends are around. A well-aimed glance of yours at them will work miracles then."

"You keep having the strangest ideas." Ranír didn't seem averse to the thought at all though. Finally, she could smile again, this youthful, unbiased smile that at their first meeting, she had already kept Langhour from his duties with for a few minutes too long.

"That's part of my job, milady." He grabbed a mug of ale from the tray servant passing them by and drank a few long, appreciative sips, still keeping an eye on the ado in the hall over the edge.

Still no conspicuous whispers, no face suspicious in any kind of way … No, it seemed, they had to bury the hope for an unexpected success on their last evening as a spy pair.

Well, they might as well try and have a little fun then.

After another big sip of alcohol, he had the guts to reach out his hand to Ranír with a light bow. "Shall we dance? Don't wait too long or I'll remember that I promised myself to never do that again. Being able to tread quietly doesn't make anyone a good dancer."

"I'd love to!" Seeing her jump up with her eyes glistening alone had been worth fighting every hesitation.

"It's really easy," she assured him when they got on the dancefloor and Langhour mistrustfully listened to the beats of the music. She grabbed his right hand in determination and put his left one on her waist whereupon she was blushing a little once more. "Just do what the others are doing."

"If wish I knew what that was." It was the first time in years for him to feel insecure about anything. But given how happy Ranír was right now, he didn't want to disappoint her. Langhour forced himself to pick up the movements of the brisk dance, always keeping an eye on one of the other men to imitate how they were suggesting one new figure after the other to their male or female dancing partners.

Aragorn's openly amused grin from the table over there didn't exactly help to focus. He would get back on his friend for this humiliation at the next opportunity, King or not …

"I hope that's enough to convince you that it's not a stupid dress that makes me stare at you like this all the time. Or do I have to break my foot for you to believe me first? If the music gets any faster, I'll probably actually manage to."

"I'm sorry. I should have known you're not like the others. By the way, you're not dancing half as badly as you say." Ranír's flowing movements and her straight posture revealed that she had received good training. For the first time, she drew many positive glances; a few of the court ladies seemed downright envious.

To Langhour's delight, someone had now persuaded one of the elves of Cair Andros – it was the redhead healer, Camhanar's wife – to sing along with the Gondorian folksong. The Firstborn's crystal clear voice filled the hall and encouraged the musicians to play an even more exuberant beat.


long have we navigated through the stars

often have we strayed, our gaze always turned upon the unknown

and more than once lost ourselves to it

with a many of us to have given up for good

our voice is still going strong

my mind finally freed with the call of the Valar

it is as meant to be

in a moment when time stands still

I have come to know perfection

and only trying to chase it will it run out

with worlds turning and stars burning

we will not leave for long days to come

it is as meant to be

with every error and doubt finally falling into place

what you strive for is what makes you whole

the light on their faces never leaving if you keep them close

and their voice ever going strong

it is as meant to be


Ranír's sinewy body writhed like the gentle swell of a wave which turned every tone into pure elegance. Her pale cheeks glowed with effort; a few of her dark curls had fallen out of her do and into her eyes. Even the gesture that Ranír brushed them back behind her ear with looked gracile. The wide skirt of her dress was being wrapped tightly around her body again and again. Long enough for a good watcher like Langhour to get an idea about the shape of these long legs under the fabric.

He realized without surprise that he could just have watched her for half an eternity. What had he let himself in for there? He wasn't sure yet how to handle this. Right now, he didn't want to contemplate it either. Right now, he just wanted to hear the young woman laugh.

When Ranír finally realized how many people except for him were staring at her, she quickly stopped and looked around seeking help ever until he gallantly led her back to the table.

"Shall we go outside for a while?" Langhour's mouth was talking before his mind had finished the thought.

"Actually, I'd love to." Out of breath, Ranír' wiped her heated cheeks and dropped onto her chair again, reaching for her glass. "After our dance, unfortunately, that would cause unpleasant rumors immediately, and I think, I've had enough attention for one evening."

"There would only be rumors if you two would vanish alone." To Langhour's surprise, Aragorn got up without much ado and waved them both along.

"What? Come on, you two." A slightly embarrassed smile curled on his lips. "Grant an old Dúnadan a few minutes outside the celebration hall as well. I won't get any better excuse tonight than a meeting with my substitute for that."

"With the greatest of pleasures." Langhour made a hole for them, politely but with enough determination, so that they could get to the hall's large silver double door.

Cool, very clear night air welcomed them that they were all breathing in relief after the long minutes in the stuffy atmosphere of the building. Yes, this was exactly what they'd needed right now.

Without them having to talk about it first, Langhour gladly gave his cloak to Aragorn, so that the King wouldn't be recognized and stopped at every corner, yet a good watcher would still know who was making his rounds there and Ranír would really not have to live with any disgusting gossip later.

Given how much was going on everywhere right now, it took them longer than usual to get down to the sixth level. A time that they used, as it had become a habit for all of them by now, to continue letting their eyes wander over every single face and catch a few scraps of every conversation to try and notice anything suspicious. But first and foremost, they enjoyed the far lower volume out here.

"None of this is me," Ranír finally sighed. "It was nice to see such a celebration at least once. Thank you again, Your Majesty. But I never needed any of this exaggerated fuss. You know, I never even wanted much in life. My job is already so much more than I could ever have imagined achieving."

"I'm surprised. Isn't it every little girl's dream to become a Princess?" Ranír's offended look only had Langhour grin. "Oh please. Almost every boy wants to be a hero and wield a sword in glorious battles at some point. I don't even want to know how many people think, the King and I are living their dream. Wishes are always only great until you're faced with their downsides." The hard lines around the corners of his mouth, showing too early on his face for his age, deepened for a moment.

Ranír's questioning glance had Langhour shake off the burdening thoughts of all the moments of loneliness and grief in his life. He eyed her dress once more, not exactly discreetly. "Though I can hardly see anyone else in this city deserving it more to be a Princess than you."

Even the weak light of the many torches burning on the building walls revealed that his companion blushed yet again. The plan of not getting himself into very unpleasant trouble tonight somehow receded further and further into the distance … How Ranír had come to link arms with him, he somehow couldn't exactly remember either, but it never even entered his mind to let go of her.

Until they reached the main road, they'd already had to sneak past more than one musician and dancer, past a lot of cheerfully talking men; so far, they, fortunately, remained unrecognized.

By an elevated spot at the edge of the sixth level where actors were often performing plays, especially many curious citizens had gathered though. Langhour hid a little behind his hair and saw Aragorn also pull his hood deeper over his eyes. If they attracted attention now, it would take them a lot of effort to get away from here anytime soon.

But to his surprise, there was hardly anyone looking at them. The stony stage was brightly lit; the audience standing before it listened, mesmerized, to the actors. Every few seconds, they clapped enthusiastically.

Langhour was astonished to spot a group of children instead of grownup performers, wearing holey clothes and small pillows under their shirts so that they looked stouter.

"Don't be afraid, Frodo!" the smallest of the group just shouted. "I'll protect you from the evil spider!"

Again, the grownups roared while the smaller children in the audience screeched, frightened, as a large wooden spider was pushed across the stage on rollers.

"They are seriously reenacting the war." Ranír shook her head, at a loss. "Why are they doing something like that? Why do they want to remember something so terrible?"

"Because that's the only way for them to appreciate how precious times of peace actually are."

Aragorn watched the children in the play for a few minutes as well and clapped respectfully when the little "Sam" struck the spider with a wooden sword.

"Many of these people used to take them for granted. They only just leaned what dread and fear mean. I hope, none of them will ever easily risk the harmony in this land again. They know now how lucky they are, not having to fear death every day new. What it means to go hungry and to lose beloved beings to enemies."

Langhour felt it clearly that these words had the young woman on his arm tremble. Without thinking much about it, he gave her forehead a tender kiss. The shivers he could see on her neck now did definitely not arise from coldness.

"With them remembering, this knowledge will live on, and the next generations will also do everything to prevent the terrible things happening under Sauron's shadow from ever occurring again. It's important for Gondor's future to never forget its past."

Ranír watched him thoughtfully from the side. "You've seen all that, didn't you? You've been there, just like His Majesty …"

"I haven't been at the Black Gate, if that's what you mean. But I've fought enough other battles to see some beloved people fall. My father for example died by a blade when I was still too young to wield one myself. There's always a high price to pay for peace. The only advantage of the loneliness that a life like ours means is that at some point, there's no one left whose loss can hurt you so much that you despair."

Langhour paused for a moment, staring at Ranír's face so close to his, the shock on it. With a smile not entirely fake, he squeezed her lower arm. "But it's a very fulfilling calling; you put up with a lot for it."

Ranír visibly gathered all her courage and carefully put her hand on his. "Yes, it must be exciting to see all these places, something new every day … Maybe you can take me with you someday …?"

Langhour sighed. It seemed, there was no use. They had to straighten this out, and quickly, too. He couldn't wait any longer and risk Aragorn sending him back to faraway places.

He thoughtfully looked at a barn in the distance that was part of the stables. "Do you trust me to behave even if the King was no longer with us? I'd like to talk to you alone."

Ranír beamed, but then her cheeks promptly burned once more. "I don't think that is proper. If anyone saw us!" She fidgeted with her dress unhappily, visibly torn between her wish to be close to Langhour and the fear to do something indecent.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but my plan was actually not to steal your innocence in a haystack. Your reputation will not suffer. I can even leave the city unseen if I want to. I'll manage the same here for a few minutes." Laughing quietly, he shook his head. "The thoughts you're having about me! I'm beginning to feel like a warg."

Ranír didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. In the end, she went with the former though she did seem a little furious that she was being teased so mercilessly again, no matter how lovingly it was being meant.

"If it is alright with you, Your Majesty?" She curtsied lightly towards Aragorn whereupon she couldn't hide that her knees were suddenly shaking.

"I'm expected back in the celebration hall anyway. If you feel like joining us again, you best call a soldier to accompany you, Langhour. Both for your safety and the young lady's peace of mind."

Aragorn threw Langhour another impatient glance before turning away that meant nothing less than that he should finally pull himself together and stand by his yearning.

If he was being honest, dueling said Warg would probably have been easier for him.