"It is time." Faramir tried to lure Aragorn out of his thoughtful stupor yet again.

By the looks of it, the whole city had shown up here at the dawn of the new day, a curious crowd bursting into chants and cries of joy over and over. A noise that annoyance was gradually mixing into though, because the sun was already high in the sky, and nothing was happening.

"Go. It's alright. I'll be right behind you."

Shaking his head Faramir did as he'd been told. Maybe the whole thing with the hurried ceremony hadn't been the best idea seeing as Aragorn suddenly seemed to be hesitating again. Faramir was starting to run out of patience himself.

"Is something wrong?" Éowyn asked, frowning when he came to join her in the ranks of honorary guests, at the very front of the crowd assembled opposite the Citadel's entrance that filled not only basically every free inch of the oblong courtyard but also all the rings, down to the city walls.

Faramir blocked out the people hailing him excitedly as well as he could; he didn't even wave at them because he had to worry that their hopes, things would get started now, was in vain once more.

"I hope not." He forced himself to smile. He used to pour out his worries in his betrothed's presence far too often and had had way too little time for her in their relationship so far that was still so fresh anyway. Even now, so shortly before their wedding. He took a conscious moment to whisper an admiring compliment to her.

She looked breathtaking in her golden yellow dress and a narrow, contoured headband serving as a symbol of the rank she was already occupying among the Men of the west. In spite of the bad mood that a few misguided enemies of Aragorn's regency had been trying to spread for some time now, enemies who also thought very little of Faramir's bond with a Rohiril … Faramir was very certain that people would quickly accept his wife by his side. Not only because of her natural beauty but mostly thanks to the legend of the fearless fighter that she had created for herself in the war, she was an idol for many men and women.

He on the other hand couldn't deny being relieved that instead of the festive garments of a Steward, he'd soon just have to slip on his Ranger clothes again, or the well-known silver armor of the Gondorian armies that he was also wearing over this dark, long robe right now; a reminder of the war that Aragorn had decided to go with today as well. In fact, Faramir might soon be done with a strictly regulated appearance for good, though he tried not to fool himself about Aragorn taking the offer that Faramir had been advised to make him as a formality. Either way, he'd had enough government business on his shoulders for the time being. In just a few weeks, Éowyn and he would finally be able to start the remote life in South Ithilien that they both longed for. The palace in Emyn Arnen had been waiting for them to move in for far too long already.

And then his betrothed – who would be his wife then, a thought that still sparked unbelieving joy every single time – would hopefully lose this frightening paleness, too. The possibility that too much stress might not be the only reason for her still not having completely recovered, he rigorously rejected, not for the first time since Aragorn's arrival. She had promised him and didn't want to talk about it anymore, he had to accept that. Even though it would always hurt his heart when the last rest of yearning for another life than one with him shone in Éowyn's eyes.

"People are getting restless. Men just have no patience," Gimli on Faramir's left muttered.

Leaning heavily on the ax that the Ring Companion rarely left his house without, he stared at the door behind which nothing seemed to stir still, as if he wanted to break it down. "Do I have to run into the tower personally and drag our friend out by the collar so no one becomes furious out here?"

"If you think you can make it past Gandalf, Master Dwarf, go ahead." Faramir grinned down at him.

Gimli's resolute efforts had been a huge support for him during Aragorn's absence, but work had left them less time for personal conversation than Faramir liked. Especially because he felt, something was weighing down on Gimli and he wanted to help. But when should he do that? "It's brave, by the way, as one of your kin, complaining about missing patience. It can't be more than a few minutes now."

"That would be pleasant indeed." Faramir hadn't noticed that Lord Elrond had stepped away from the big group of elves who were standing far in the background, silently, as was their way. The disapproving expression on his narrow lips matched the one on Gimli's knobbly face. The small knots he had tied some strands of his jet black hair into seemed slightly messy, thanks to gestures of growing restlessness that a Firstborn actually seldom showed. "Given the threat looming over Minas Tirith, every delay leads just fuels further conflict."

Faramir forced himself to count to ten in Sindarin and Westron before an inappropriate remark could escape his lips. "I did what I could. What goes for our Dwarf Lord here goes for you, too: Try your luck with your foster son if you think you can do better."

"Faramir." Éowyn took his hand admonishingly. "We are all tense."

"Why have we been called here if there's nothing to see?" an annoyed voice from the crowd now shouted, too. "Is our precious ruler maybe still too exhausted from his journey to be there for his people?"

Faramir threw a sharp glance towards where the words had come from; due to the hustle, he couldn't make out whose it had been though.

Faceless like that, the King's enemies felt safe enough to spew their poison. Not even counter-arguments from the royal household and Aragorn's friends could quiet some disapproving murmurs coming from other sides.

Just when Faramir was close to raising his own voice, a fanfare entirely new to him suddenly sounded from the city walls. Aragorn could only have commissioned it himself in the last few days. It was an unusually bright, high note, long-drawn-out like a fresh, warm breeze.

He didn't have any time left to think about it.

When peoples' eyes turned back toward the White Tower of Ecthelion in confusion, all anger was silenced at once.

Gandalf had appeared at the splendid entrance, apparently out of nowhere. One of his Hobbit Ring Companions, just as festively clad as every other visitor, was proudly holding his staff, keeping his due distance. Gimli immediately hurried there with an excited smile, in his hands a pillow with the magnificent broad crown of Gondor on it.

Gandalf's expression brightened noticeably, too, when Aragorn joined the three of them and cheers sounded anew.

So the endless indecision had finally come to an end after all.

Now all they could hope for was the rest of the day to proceed without interruptions.

It just didn't get any better, not even now when things finally got started.

Aragorn had trained his senses and especially his instincts for more than 80 years of his life. Long enough to know that you couldn't just ignore it when such a bad feeling haunted you since the prior evening already. When last he had done that, a she-elf that he called a good acquaintance had lost a baby, the unborn's father being one of his best friends. There was hardly a more painful lesson.

But when even after the umpteenth patrol of the Citadel guards, he was credibly assured that there wasn't trouble anywhere, he needed to give in, no matter how much his stomach was turning as he stepped out of the door.

It would have been entirely impossible now, spotting anything suspicious. There could probably have been an archer somewhere among the crowd, and Aragorn would only have noticed when an arrow had pierced his body. But how did you make a team of twelve advisors understand, most of whom you'd only known for a few days, that you wanted to delay your own coronation again, because of a vague suspicion?

Added to that were the voices of Aragorn's closest friends and honorary guests against which he had to hold his ground right now, too. Someone like Éomer or Lord Elrond you only objected if you were longing for a three-hour discussion.

Now, Aragorn could only rely on the soldiers doing their job, including his personal guard, half of whom he didn't know anything about but their name yet either. The worry about the many men, dwarves, and elves in the courtyard, about the four hobbits, too, didn't allow any real joy to build in him, neither about all the applause nor when Mithrandir signaled him to kneel down.

His heart beating wildly, he turned his eyes to the white marble tiles at his feet when Mithrandir lowered slowly the heavy crown upon his head. He'd just seen too much in the war to think it impossible cruelty that his enemies had maybe waited for this exact moment ...

But nothing happened. Everything was as alright as could be, given all the difficulties waiting for him from now on. Only now, he could allow the same relief in that had overwhelmed him at his return to Minas Tirith. Gone, finally and forever, was the part of him that had retired into exile for decades to prepare for this day. The part that had sometimes doubted if he was strong enough to bear this destiny. At this moment, this part of him died, together with the chance to leave the government his realm to someone else who was maybe more suited for it.

Anger on the people who were demanding just that from him and whose invisible presence managed to cast a cloud even over this day quickly filled this little gap inside his soul and had him get up with new energy. His folk deserved a King who focused his mind on the present. And this man was finally standing before them now, with the last obligatory symbols that had still been missing.

The reign of Elessar had dawned, and the solemn song he struck up for the people, was an announcement just as much as a threat towards certain rebels who were hopefully listening somewhere down there.

out of the Great sea

to Middle-earth I am come

in this place I will abide

and my heirs

unto the ending of the world

Just a few simple words in his elvish mother tongue that still echoed in his head for long seconds when he braced himself for his first speech as a King with another deep breath.

But before he could even raise his voice, Faramir approached him, as the first person to bow to him.

"Your Majesty … Now that the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor is under its King's lawful leadership, the further fate of the Steward house is in your hands as well. With my full trust in you, I, therefore, put the decision regarding my stay in an office that nothing but fate has demanded in the war, in your hands." Accompanied by the peoples' surprised murmurs, Faramir went down on one knee and handed his cloak to Aragorn.

Aragorn looked him over for a silent, breathless moment, with an almost invisible shake of his head.

It wouldn't have been any less surprising but at least easier if Faramir hadn't signaled him that maybe he wouldn't even have minded if Aragorn's decision would differ from the one he could only make. While after Denethor's death, Faramir had indeed been pushed into this role that had always been meant for Boromir, he had never made an attempt to escape this responsibility. Only the threat of the King's enemies who had made him their involuntary crowd-puller seemed to tempt him to cop out now. Something in Faramir had just always remained a simple Ranger. And, unlike with Aragorn, for him, it would maybe always be the dominant part.

Out of friendship alone, Aragorn would have loved to help him, but especially considering the rebels, it was way too high a risk to transfer the Steward office to a new person. Gondor needed an established leadership, especially if something might possibly happen to Aragorn before he would have an heir.

"Rise." He tried to fill his voice with all the encouragement, he wanted to make Faramir feel when he put his cloak around him again. "Your family protected this land far too well for me to be able to let you go. Your long fight at Gondor's borders alone proved your dedication. Besides, you know the lands of North and South Ithilien like no other. Not only as Steward to the King of Gondor but also as the Prince of Ithilien, you and your heirs shall guard this country in the future, protect this city from all sides, and stand by me as one of my closest advisors. Speak to your people, Steward."

Something in Aragorn's soul tightened when he noticed the shadow in Faramir's pale eyes.

But the young man immediately turned to the delighted men. "It is with pride then that I do finally accept this assignment officially today. I assure the residents of Gondor unlimited loyalty, commitment, and safety, as far as it is in my power. It is now time though for our ruler to speak to us all." Without another glance at Aragorn, he went back to his spot next to Éowyn.

The new King might be able to hide his inner unrest from the others, but not from someone who knew him as well as his beloved. Now Arwen was glad that she had given up her spot next to a couple of court ladies a few minutes ago already to join her kin, ignoring Éowyn's questioning frown, with the slightly dubious excuse of wanting to act as a standard-bearer. Not only could she saw Aragorn a lot better from here and estimate if he needed her support … Arwen soon wouldn't be able to spend time with her family and her old friends anymore. Now that her father had finally managed to escape his obligations from the last few days, she didn't want to miss that opportunity.

Besides, her eyes that were still quite sharp, in spite of her body reacting more and more like a woman's recently, had - entirely unexpectedly - spotted a certain face in the crow, basically seconds after the official festivities had started. The face of someone she'd not dared to hope to see here today. So that was what that fanfare had been about. The quick ride here to make it in time surely hadn't been an easy decision and had doubtlessly been exhausting enough.

Tarisilya had probably stayed in the neighboring realm. So shortly after the toll that the miscarriage had taken not only on her body, Legolas surely hadn't wanted to ask this trip of her.

It was plain to see though that he was feeling anything but well himself. His face was almost transparently whitish under his simple silver circlet. Foreign his appearance with that long, silver-shimmering robe of a kind that Arwen hadn't seen him wear for many long centuries before his wedding. There hadn't been any time to exchange even one word so far, but Arwen had gratefully rested a hand on his shoulder when she had come to stand next to him and Elrond, and at least her smile had been returned, albeit very absently.

Here, Arwen didn't feel half as misplaced. The Gondorian style was very different indeed, with muted colors, heavy fabrics, with the women's hair being neatly tied up. Arwen couldn't tell yet how smart it really was to stray from that completely. She wanted to talk about that to Aragorn in private first. For now, she rather hid behind the other elves a little, making sure though to fixate Aragorn nonstop. Something serious was bothering him, she was very certain.

Most of the speech, Arwen didn't even consciously catch. What Aragorn would tell people had already been clear anyway before their departure back then. Only that light tremble in his voice was new. She doubted that many noticed. Aragorn's tall, upright appearance radiated too much unshakableness, not least thanks to his armor. The weight of his crown had only made him grow. In the shape of his upcoming, purpose-driven plans, he expressed his sense of responsibility for the land and his love to its inhabitants so well that he was noticeably moving people's hearts to the core.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Arwen thought to see a smile on his lips meant only for her.

All the more Arwen startled at Aragorn's suddenly changing tone. His posture seemed a lot more withdrawn now, his shoulders were tight in a gesture of aggression. She had been right.

"And yet hate coming from a few of your ranks has been able to mar this time of joy of all days."

While in spite of every ban on talking, excited whispers had filled the court so far, suddenly it became eerily silent.

Which turned Aragorn's voice into a roar penetrating every last corner of the Citadel. "A few have used my absence to spread insincere writings regarding my reign that are supposed to get you, sons and daughters of Gondor, on their side. Those critics despise me for being a Dúnadan of the North – why? Don't you know your own roots? Are you rejecting your own Steward's origins, the clothes, Prince Faramir has been wearing all his life?" His sharp gesture towards his substitute had some of the few people who'd sported a discontent expression earlier, duck their heads.

But Aragorn wasn't done yet. "And that disgusting defamation of Firstborn? Shameless lies about an absurd danger from Rohan? None of that will be allowed in Gondor. Without the elven realms' support, the Fellowship of the Ring would never have succeeded. And did you forget who led his men into battle for your safety and the existence of our country, aware of his certain death and the possible demise of his own realm? Who of you dares to talk badly about King Théoden and many courageous soldiers who gave their lives for them?"

Glancing around, Arwen's eyes instinctively found those of the new ruler of the said realm, who had been serenely waiting amidst the honorary guests with his people so far. At the reminder of the loss he'd suffered so recently though, he quickly tried to hide his pained expression behind his hair.

Many people of Gondor might not even be recognizing Éomer, given he was without a crown that Rohan's Kings wore rather seldom. A heavy cloak wrapped around the typical red and silver armor did the rest to disguise both Éomer's immensely strong shape and how his badly injured right arm hung motionlessly down after his recent kidnapping. Especially in this moment of returning grief, he was surely being fine with missing attention.

Fortunately, Aragorn spared his fellow realm leader more elaboration of that kind. For seconds, he had to noticeably recollect himself, because, in his growing wrath, his voice had almost cracked. Energy, honest resentfulness, determination, that was what was needed here right now. Not blind anger towards men who were surely still very vulnerable, weakened in body and spirit after a long time of suffering, and in this condition might accidentally succumb to false promises.

"Do these rebels really think me afraid of some filthy parchment? No one who rode to this country's last battle or lost a beloved relative in this war will listen to such scribblings! I trust every single one of you, for I know the resilient hearts beating in your chest. Don't destroy the hope that we have built together on these fields and at the Black Gate! The gallantry these people think they have while hanging about like thieves and lowlife in the darkness of the streets? Let them say their opinions to my face, so I can prove to them and to every citizen of this city the strength lying hidden in the new line of Kings that has already stared into the Dark Eye!"

With the same fluid, swift movement as in battle, Aragorn drew Andúril from its sheath and held it before him in a way that seemed to set it on fire when the sunlight was refracted in the polished metal. "Since Narsil has been reforged by the hands of the elves that these people despise so much, I've been using it against the Gondor's enemies. And I will also raise it against those who threaten our realm anytime, be it a danger from the outside or the inside! I'm counting on all of you, children of Gondor! You are the future of this country! Help me lead this land into the golden future that every single one of you deserves!"

Frenetic sounds of approval filled the yard when Aragorn raised his sword once more. The King had his folk on his side, there was no doubt about that. After the first shock about this part of the speech, that was all the more soothing.

Now that Arwen was finally in the loop about these problems, she even thought to understand Éowyn's moodiness a little better. Aragorn's gloomy revelations had given her a short scare, too.

But in these minutes, the King had proven his strength. Nothing could threaten this his leadership so easily.

Now that the white petals that numerous baskets had been prepared of for the end of this part of the ceremony, were allowed to soar in the wind, their tantalizing scent of drowned the worries from the journey and about Arwen's own condition at least for a few happy, long minutes.

Seeing her proud smile mirrored on her father's lips made the moment perfect. The two of them had walked different but similarly stony roads to get to this day, and even though, in some way, Aragorn would always stand between them, their love for this man was equally big. For a secret second of nearness, Arwen nuzzled her head against Elrond's shoulder and let the loving kiss to her temple chase away the ups and downs of the last few days.

After all the advice she'd been given about how to behave today, Arwen actually hadn't even planned to leave the spot among her family anytime soon. But when in the course of doing his first round, Aragorn thanked Legolas for his support, with a sad smile given recent events, it was her father of all people who sent her forward in a prompting whisper.

Seeing her, Aragorn dropped that thin façade of reason and distance quickly that he'd still tried to keep up even for her a few hours earlier. He pulled her in his arms without compromise to kiss her in front of everyone, passionately, every respect for the etiquette forgotten for a moment.

Well, so much for her place not being officially by his side yet. With the beginning of this regency, one or two court rules would apparently change a little.

Without resistance, Arwen let Aragorn take her with him on the rest of the way. With their arms linked, she enjoyed the undimmed sunlight on her skin just as much as the looks of the countless people around her that were much friendlier now.

When it was time, she immediately joined Aragorn's kneeling reverence towards the four completely stunned hobbits, a gesture that everyone else present followed right away, without an order being necessary.

These four deserved this more than anyone else who had fought in this battle. Every single of these so innocent, inexperienced beings had more fortitude than these primitives who were trying to rattle at Aragorn's power.

In spite of everything bad that had happened, they were all still here to witness this day of light and of a new beginning, not least because of the halflings.

The war was over at last.

The formal part of the ceremony took some more time, thanks to the appointment of many servants like the personal guard and the team of advisors alone that Aragorn was now officially turning into the Council of Gondor again, following its members' own proposition.

Some of the same men being on that council had already provided good service to Denethor back then and stood by Faramir's side in the last months as well. They were a little talkative for Aragorn's taste, but competent. He himself probably wouldn't get much of a chance to speak in the next few weeks.

That celebration later was the last chance to sit together with a few friends comparatively casually once more. And the more it approached, the more often, in these slightly tenacious minutes, Aragorn wondered where actually a certain elf had vanished to again whose appearance had blindsided him so positively. He almost had to wonder if he'd just seen a ghost earlier because he didn't find the missing face anymore glancing across the crowd.

Legolas was probably been in a hurry to get back to his wife who would still need much support. If she'd come with him to Gondor at all, she surely hadn't wanted to expose herself to the hustle in the Citadel but was probably waiting in some remote place.

And if she was, Aragorn urgently wanted to look after his two friends for a bit before the reception. So he sighed a silent breath of relief when the spectators left the courtyard one by one. The rest of the day should proceed in a comparatively calm manner ...

Screams that were quickly filled with panic, and warning shouts, coming from the direction of the gate to the sixth city level, crushed this hope in an instant.

Almost at the same moment, Aragorn saw thick clouds of smoke rise from the walls, from where the stables of Minas Tirith were located many feet below. His heart skipped a beat. So he had not been mistaken after all.

His enemies apparently weren't just fanatic but damn smart too, unfortunately. They had not risked endangering people directly, thereby bringing their resentment upon themselves. Instead, they had chosen a target for an attack, the loss of which would be just as painful for Aragorn. The whole thing should probably make it look like he couldn't even properly take care of his immediate surroundings.

And apparently, they weren't entirely wrong about that. But he could drown in those self-doubts later.

"Soldiers!" Aragorn signaled the captain of his personal guard to follow him with his group, ignoring the upset questions from all sides and pushed his way through the remaining people as fast as possible.