Chapter 2

They were up before dawn, and Vanira insisted on leaving immediately after breakfast. She was definitely excited about something; there was a bounce in her confident stride and a serene smile on her face that scared Tavi far more than an outright evil grin would have. Something was up, he knew it. That morning, she'd almost been nice to them, and that in itself was enough to set off warning bells in his head. She'd bought them both new clothes, which had upset Iori because she'd wanted to burn their old ragged ones – Kitta had made those for them, and the younger boy couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of them, at least, not until they had really been ripped and torn past all usefulness. But Vanira had insisted, and she'd said they couldn't present themselves to the King in the rags they were wearing. Tavi knew Iori had secretly kept his old clothes in his bag though, and now the smaller boy was limping along doggedly in the new leather shoes that Vanira had bought along with the clothes. That sprain had been with him ever since they'd began their journey, Vanira had refused to rest or to wait for it to heal, which was why it was still sprained even after so long. Kitta would have had something to say about that if she had been here, but then she wasn't here…

She'd died in the spring of this very year, and Vanira had taken over her work as assistant to their healer-leader, Inga, and barely a few weeks after that, Inga had also passed on. Vanira had then, in keeping with the tradition of their village, taken over as leader. And after that, nothing had been the same. She'd changed things, done things, things that made Tavi shiver just thinking about them. Black things, dark things; things that should have died along with the Shadow in the East years ago. And then she'd up and decided out of the blue that she wanted to travel to Gondor, a place very far away (and they hadn't even known where Gondor was back then), and said Iori would be going with her. Tavi had insisted on coming along, because the last thing he would do was to trust her with the safety and well-being of his best friend. Vanira hadn't wanted him to, and then…

"Tavi?"

Tavi's head jerked towards Iori, who was pale and sweating, struggling to keep going. The younger boy's foot looked swollen now – probably due to the tightness of the new leather.

He glanced at Vanira, but she was far ahead of them now. It was doubtful she would stop, anyway, even for this.

"Come on, Ior," he said, voice gentle, slinging his arm under and around the other boy and supporting him. "We'll keep going together."

Iori mumbled an apology, but Tavi would have none of it. He was worried though. Physically, Iori had never been very strong… Tavi sighed. He just hoped the palace wasn't too far away…

"Why are we going to the palace anyway, Tavi?" Iori wanted to know, his green-brown gaze flickering to Tavi. "Why do we have to see the King?"

"I don't know," Tavi sighed. He glared after Vanira. "She's up to something, Ior, but I don't know what… Be ready for anything, though, because it can't be good…"

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A few hours later found the healer woman fuming to herself as she slowed their pace for the boys. That boy… Vanira raged silently as they finally reached the sixth level after what seemed like an age. Her good spirits from the morning were completely gone, doused by the boy's weakness. His dratted foot… she glared over her shoulder at the two boys, who were helping each other along behind her. It had taken them ages to get from the lower levels to here, but here they were at last. They'd started out shortly after dawn. It was now nearing evening.

And it was all Iori's fault.

Control. She breathed deeply, and released again, imagining all her anger and dark thoughts evaporating along with it. Control. She had to stay calm when she met with the King. In, out, deep breaths…

"Halt! Who goes there? Identify yourselves!" A guard stopped her from ascending the final staircase that would take her to the top level, to the Citadel where the King resided. Vanira considered slapping him, but knew that venting her frustrations on this fool wouldn't get her up there any faster. Forcing herself to take yet another deep breath – which wasn't as calming as people said it was – she dragged a smile onto her face through sheer force of will.

"I'm here to see King Elessar," she said without preamble. "As to who I am and what my mission is here – I will tell that only to the King himself."

He eyed her suspiciously, looking her over. "Why should I allow you in to see the King?" he demanded. "Others also demand his time. What makes you so special that I should make an exception for you and not the rest?"

Tired of all this, Vanira narrowed her icy gaze. Who was this peasant that dared to deny her passage? Her hand flew to a pendant around her throat, and she began to murmur something beneath her breath, her eyes piercing through to his brown pools. Dripping honey into her tone, she asked again: "May I go in?"

The guard hesitated, and she narrowed her gaze further. "I'm unarmed," she went on. "I have no weapons, and only two children as companions. Please?"

"Uh…" The man blinked, looking slightly confused, as though he did not remember what he was doing here. "Uh, yeah. You can go through, I guess."

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she purred, releasing the Stone but keeping her hypnotic gaze locked on the man's, just in case. A minor enchantment spell was not beyond her powers, but this guard had more intelligence than most. Better not take chances. The boys appeared at last, stumbling up behind her, and she motioned towards the staircase. "Hurry up," she gritted, and they quickened their steps as fast as Iori could go.

From there, it was easy to reach the entrance to the hall. The guards above assumed that since the guard below had granted them permission to enter, that meant that she must have a truly important mission with the King and let them in without so much as a second glance – though one did seem a little concerned about Iori, but he did not ask after him and for that Vanira was glad. Maybe her luck was finally changing.

She'd definitely need all the luck she could get for what would come next. Heart pounding, she allowed herself to hope as she took her first step into the hall of the King, located in the Tower of Ecthelion. Before the King had returned, this place had been presided over by the Steward and his family, but now the King's standard flew high at the top of the tower. Vanira eyed it critically; it was a black banner with a tree and seven stars flying high. Perhaps later, she would make her own standard, when she became Queen. Soon. She smiled to herself, a secret smile filled with malice and danger. Very, very soon…

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"Sire!"

A very agitated nursemaid burst into the room, panting hard and gazing helplessly at Aragorn and Arwen, who were both seated at Aragorn's writing table in his royal study, enjoying idle chitchat while Aragorn tried to finish up some paperwork that had been slowly piling up on his table. Arwen turned gracefully, raising a smile of indulgent resignation to the woman.

"Yes, Glastirna? What has the young Prince done this time?"

"He…he…" Glastirna sputtered, cheeks flaming pink, seemingly unable to express the horror of Eldarion's latest exploit. The nurse had a tendency to exaggerate, and though Aragorn and Arwen never said anything - for they were fond of the older woman, and she did make an excellent nursemaid for their children – but they tended to take her tales and complaints with a pinch of salt most of the time. Of course, serious was serious, and when necessary, disciplinary actions were carried out – usually a treat was taken away, or a minor talk was given – but usually the truth was far less severe than the tales of what latest mischief their offspring had gotten into.

"He?" prompted Aragorn gently, looking up from his work. Unable to hold it in any longer, Glastirna expelled her breath in a rush and exclaimed:

"He jumped out of the bathtub and ran away without his clothes on, sire! And now I can't find him!"

"Oh, dear." Arwen turned a half-worried, half-amused look towards Aragorn. "Estel, I'm positive that he gets these…instincts…from you."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, but nodded politely. "I'm sure he does," he added, in an agreeable tone that said he believed quite the opposite. "But I believe there was one story of a naked she-elfling who did this very same thing in the halls of Imladris a long time ago? If I'm not mistaken, Lord Elrond said that he was in the middle of a very important meeting with some other Elven lords when she burst into his study and jumped into his arms, and said -"

"Estel," interrupted his wife sweetly, with a look in her eyes that promised him a bed on the couch for the next few nights if he dared continue in that vein, "Why don't you go and find your son?"

Assuming a near-apologetic expression that was very much superficial, Aragorn grinned and nodded. "A sound idea, my love. I believe that I shall."

Dodging the writing feather-quill that his wife hurled playfully in his direction, he patted the still-excited Glastirna reassuringly on the shoulder and left the room to find his wayward progeny. Well, his tracking skills hadn't dulled yet. How hard could it be for him to find one soaking wet, naked six-year-old?

A quick check revealed that Eldarion had, as Aragorn suspected, taken refuge in his favorite hiding place beneath his Ada and Naneth's bed. It took some coaxing and the promise of milk and cookies for supper, but he managed to get the little monkey out from under the bed and back into the bathroom, where Arwen waited to finish his bath. Glastirna had gone to lay out clothes for the little runaway in the adjoining bedroom, and Arwen now set to work to cleanse the dust from her giggling son, who was quite compliant now that he had tired himself out a little.

"Elbrían can't do this for sure, can she, Naneth?" he asked Arwen eagerly, plunging his head beneath the water and blowing bubbles with a vengeance. Lately he'd been having some sibling rivalry issues with his sister, jealous of the two-year-old who was usurping his parents' attention from him. They'd tried reinforcing that they still loved him by pointing out that as the older brother, there were things he could do that his younger sister couldn't… only now it had backfired somewhat, as he had become slightly obsessed with finding out what all these things were that he as a "big boy" could do, that Elbrían had yet to learn. Today it was blowing bubbles underwater, and Arwen had to admit that Elbrían hadn't figured that trick out yet. Pouring water over her son's head as he emerged, she nodded and dutifully agreed with him.

"Yes, Elbrían is a little too young to try that, Eldarion," she said, and her son beamed all over his chubby face with a smile so like Estel's that Arwen had to smile back. Lifting him from the tub, water dripping in rivulets from his body to hers, she set him on the ground and wrapped him with a fluffy towel before the cool evening breeze could get to him.

"Ada will dry you and get you changed," she said, and Aragorn scooped his son up, blowing raspberries into the little throat, an action that soon had Eldarion twisting and giggling in his father's arms.

Just then, there was a knock on the bathroom door, and a guard waited for Arwen to open it before he politely informed them that the King's presence was required in the hall. "There's a woman there, and she says that she's here on an urgent matter that she will disclose to no one but the King and Queen," he said apologetically. "I do apologize for interrupting your time with your family, my Lord, but she was very insistent."

Eldarion knew the drill, though he looked quite disappointed as Glastirna appeared to receive him from his father's arms. "Will you come and tuck me in later, Ada?" asked the young Prince earnestly.

"I may not have the time," Aragorn told him gently, wondering what matter could be urgent enough that he needed to be torn away from his family at this time. "But you know that I will look in on both you and Elbrían before I go to bed."

"Yes, Ada," sighed his son, but he wore a smile of acceptance – he knew that his Ada was the King, and sometimes that meant missing out on things that he wanted to do… such as tucking his children into bed at night. Arwen kissed her son's forehead, proud of such maturity from a six-year-old.

"I'll go with Ada," she told Eldarion. "He may need me… but Glastirna will put you to bed and read you your story after you've eaten your dinner, little love."

"All right." The little boy yawned. "G'night Ada, night, Naneth. Le melon."

"Le melon, tithen pen," Arwen answered, rubbing her son's back tenderly. Aragorn watched with fondness as his wife whispered to his son the prayer that she murmured to him and Elbrían each night before each child slept: "Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín." It wasn't necessary, and Arwen could have gone without saying it – but Eldarion and his sister had both come to expect it, or else they would not sleep, as though something in their subconscious would not allow rest to find them until one of their parents had whispered the phrase to them. They would undoubtedly grow out of it, but for now it was no hardship for them to say that each night before the children went to bed. Placing his arm around his wife's shoulder, he led her from the room, the guard behind them a few paces as they walked from the King's house and exited into the courtyard of the Citadel. From there, the white tower of Ecthelion was not too far away, directly to the east of where they lived.

Walking together in comfortable silence, it was Arwen who first broke it, pulling away from Aragorn to give a soft exclamation of surprise. "Estel, tiro!"

The King turned his head, silver gaze following hers to where two boys were seated forlornly on the steps of the main entrance, looking around with tired curiosity at the land around them. One was smaller than the other, with brown hair and sad brown-green eyes, while the bigger of the two had a sturdier build, dark brown hair and gray eyes. Neither looked to be older than ten summers old, and the smaller of the two nursed a swollen ankle. A pair of new leather shoes sat on the steps beside him, and he was tentatively massaging the area above the swelling with his hand, wincing every now and again when he pressed down on the wrong spot.

And beside them, with the other guard, standing impatiently with arms folded over her chest, was a woman. Dressed formally in a new gown of one of the latest styles, her cold silver gaze slid up and met with the King's. And slowly, she smiled.

"Your Majesty," she greeted coolly, and Aragorn nodded, moving over to greet her. Something within him warned him to beware this woman the way he would a poisonous serpent, but first he did have to hear what she had to say.

"This is the woman, sire," said the guard who had brought them here.

"Thank you, Adalthain," Aragorn said quietly, and was glad of Arwen's presence by his side. He was aware of the calculating, criticizing glance the woman was giving him, seeming to be sizing him up in silence before she looked at him, and bowed with a sinuous smile that seemed to be slightly mocking.

"My lord," she said in mildly accented Common, "My name is Vanira Silkenwhisper, of a far away village named Foulkes Rath. I come here today on behalf of my deceased sister, whom I believe you once knew."

The bigger of the two boys jerked slightly behind her, silver gaze turning sharp as he studied her intently from her back. Vanira, however, went on:

"I come here today, sire, to claim from you something that rightfully belongs to my sister…or rather, to her son. I understand that your son Eldarion is the heir to the throne of Gondor. Well, today I come to demand that throne for my nephew, my sister's son."

Arwen stiffened beside him, and Aragorn began evenly, "My lady, you cannot simply -"

"Oh, but I do not say this simply, my lord," she said, and now there was a slight ring of triumph in her tone. Gesturing to the boys behind her, "The Law of Númenor says that the firstborn of the King must be the one to inherit the throne and Sceptre, and in essence, the rule over the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor after the present King has passed on. Well, Eldarion is not your true firstborn, my lord Elessar. Iori is." She nodded to the smaller boy, the one with the swollen ankle. "I have brought him all the way here for this very purpose, that his mother's dying wish might be fulfilled. On behalf of my sister, I claim the inheritance of her son, who is also your son: the throne of Gondor. And let no one say that he is not who I say he is, for I can prove it." A smirk graced her face, and with a flourish, she drew from beneath her cloak something that Aragorn recognized at once. Shock filled his body, and he all but snatched it from her hand.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. "Who gave it to you?"

"My sister gave it to me on her deathbed," she smiled, eyes lit with satisfaction. "I'm glad you recognize it, your Majesty…for is it not the diamond pendant that you gave to my sister about a decade or so ago after leaving our village?"

Aragorn swallowed, memory rushing through him, staring at the piece of jewellery in his hands in helpless silence. Shaped like a small star, it twinkled merrily at him in the fading light, the diamond reflecting the sunlight the way it had when it had first been given to him, all those years ago… Turning it, his heart fell as he saw the miniscule inscription, in the Elvish script: "For Estel Elrondion, on his sixteenth birthday."

He looked up, into Vanira's waiting eyes, eyes that seemed to glow with a certain ambition and eagerness. Turning to Arwen, he saw a mixture of emotions that he could not name, and the guards looked stunned. The two boys looked just as shell-shocked, especially the one the woman had named Iori and claimed was Aragorn's son with -

No, he had not forgotten her name. He should have, had tried to, but it was one he knew well, even now.

Kitta Dreamshadow.

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Translations:

Le melon – I love you.

Tithen pen – Little one

Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín – May Elbereth protect you, may stars shine on the path of your life.

Tiro – Look!

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