Disclaimer: See first chapter. No, only Tavi and Iori are mine, and Vanira, and Adalthain, Eregbor and Glastirna. And other non-canon characters. The rest belong to Tolkien.
Author's notes: Yup, here's chapter 4.
Thanks to Sofia Avyalna and Lasen for reviewing!
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Chapter 4
It was a tired-looking monarch indeed that Imrahil and Faramir found in his study, when finally they were able to answer the King's summons. The King did not look well, his expression pale and haggard. He looked up as they came in, two of his most trusted friends and advisors, and Aragorn had never been so glad to have the both of them here visiting during this time. It was such good timing that he could have sworn they'd preplanned it somehow – which of course was impossible, but still, he was grateful.
"Sire!" Imrahil, the first to enter, gasped slightly at the sight of him. The Prince of Dol Amroth was a tall man whose appearance was that of a strong yet quickly-aging soldier. Silver had touched his hair to the roots by now, for he was old – yet he insisted that he could still serve, and so Aragorn allowed him to stay on his council as one of his advisors…for now. Old age might be rapidly sapping his energy, but not his wisdom, which was why Aragorn had called him here tonight. Imrahil spent most of his time in his home nowadays, only traveling to the White City for Council meetings or to answer the summons of the King, which made it lucky that he had chosen to visit Gondor with Faramir at this time, for Aragorn had more or less decided that he wanted to let the older man rest with his family and not to call him out to Council quite so often – but to have his counsel now would be a tremendous comfort. The older man looked concerned, and Aragorn sought to alleviate his worries by pasting a smile on his face. Imrahil, though, was far from fooled.
"My lord Aragorn," Faramir said worriedly to his beloved King and friend, "What has happened? Adalthain would tell us nothing of why you sent for us."
Aragorn nodded. "It's a long story, Faramir, Imrahil. Perhaps you had both better take a seat…"
"You look terrible, sire," the Steward told him frankly, even as he and Imrahil moved to collect seats for themselves to sit facing Aragorn. His friendship with the former Ranger had earned him the leave to speak so forwardly with the King, but he did not speak out often out of respect for his friend, and when he did do so, it was always out of concern for his friend's welfare. Aragorn smiled humorlessly in response, though he was grateful that Faramir cared.
"Arwen refuses to speak to me," he stated baldly, half to himself; still barely able to comprehend despite the fact that he did understand all too well. "She has bolted herself in our room, and will not come out." He saw the shock and confusion on his friends' faces and forced himself to stop. "No, friends, I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself there. Let me explain…"
The long new wick in the oil lamp had burned out and needed to be replaced by the time Aragorn had finished his story. He told Imrahil and Faramir of Vanira's arrival with the boys, of Arwen's reaction, and confessed his fears for the problems that were to come because of this.
"I fear for Eldarion, and his position as heir to the throne," he sighed at the end, not noticing that the room had darkened and the only light now came from the fire in the fireplace. Discreetly, Imrahil got up to light a new lamp, while Faramir poured out a mug of water from a pitcher nearby for his King. Aragorn thanked him, but did not drink, merely setting the mug aside and staring straight through it as though it wasn't there.
"This Vanira woman is right, however, when she speaks of the laws here," Imrahil said thoughtfully. "The Law of Númenor which she mentioned has been followed for centuries, and is not as easily changed as it was back then. The King who changed it, Tar-Aldarion, sought to protect his daughter's position as Ruling Queen, and the position of any of her daughters after her, by making a second law: that the law he had changed might not be changed again, unless in dire need. No one is certain of the conditions he meant by 'dire need', and so it will be a matter to be discussed…"
"…in Council," Aragorn completed his friend's sentence, nodding tiredly. "I thought so." His gaze slid towards the walls, through which lay his bedchambers, and his Queen, and it was obvious where his worries now lay. Faramir exchanged glances with Imrahil, and they both sought to distract their King, subtly directing his attention back to the matter at hand.
"It seems to me, sire, that the only thing to do would be to hold Council tomorrow morning, with all the lords of court, and discuss this thoroughly," said Faramir quietly. "I know how much we all 'love' Council, Aragorn, but this matter is too deep for us to solve on our own without one. Otherwise, people will talk. They will say it is unfair that we decided without their counsel. They will complain, no matter what decision we come to, and say we were biased. They might even stir up trouble among the people, and that we cannot afford for that to happen, not so early in your rule, and it will solve nothing – not for you, not for Eldarion, and not for this boy who is supposedly your son."
Imrahil nodded to the Steward, and Aragorn dragged his gaze from the walls with a sigh. He didn't look tired now, with the light from the relit lamps flickering on his face - just sad, but they could tell he was pretty exhausted nonetheless. It would be different if he had Arwen by his side – but now he didn't know how the Queen was reacting, or what she thought he had done… and it was tearing him up inside. There were few in the palace, in Gondor even, who didn't know how much Aragorn loved his Queen, and now… Arwen's refusal to talk to him was making him miserable. He wanted to explain himself, to apologize – he had seen the hurt expression on her face earlier and wanted to erase it, wanted to heal her pain and make it up to her. He longed to see her, to hold her in his arms…but she wouldn't even answer when he called to her.
"The boys and the woman – where are they now?" Imrahil asked cautiously. "They should be present at Council tomorrow, since this involves them all."
"Who was the second boy, anyway?" Faramir wondered aloud. "You said that one was your son, so who was the other child and why bring him?"
That got Aragorn's attention. In his worry over wanting to clear the air with Arwen, he had - either consciously or unconsciously - not given even a thought to the two boys. Vanira yes, because he deemed her a threat, but not the boys. Glancing at Faramir with an expression of mild surprise, he confessed: "I did not think to ask. But now that you mention it, it does seem rather strange… Perhaps he is her son?" Remembering how Tavi had been looking at Vanira, he had to admit that it seemed unlikely… "I am not sure."
"No matter – we'll find out tomorrow," said Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth got to his feet. "We will inform those involved, your Majesty, and begin tomorrow at the usual time. Sire, I do hope you won't forget to get some rest."
"Yes, sire, I second that," Faramir agreed firmly. "We will see you in the morning."
Aragorn nodded, forcing up another smile, but once the other two men had bowed and taken their leave, it faded. Getting to his feet, he left his study, going to the door of his bedroom – which was still bolted from the inside. He knocked tentatively, called Arwen's name – but only silence answered. A great sigh left him, and he turned to walk away.
It would be difficult, but he would hold on to hope anyway. Tomorrow…maybe with time, she would forgive him? Maybe she just needed to calm down, to think things through… The King bowed his head, but even with those hopeful thoughts in his heart he found it hard to find any peace that night.
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Morning found the city blanketed with a fresh covering of snow. So, it was to be a white Yule for the first time since a King had returned to the throne of Gondor. Faramir managed to smile, looking through the windows at the soft whiteness that reflected the light glow of the morning sun. It was a beautiful day, a morning of hope and light, and it hardly seemed to be the right kind of day to hold Council about such a serious matter. He thought of his young son Elboron, and his beloved wife Éowyn at home in Ithilien. If the morning was equally fine over there, surely his son would be clamoring to be outside as soon as his mother would allow it, to play in the snow and romp in the crisp air. Had Faramir been there, he wouldn't have hesitated to join them.
But he wasn't home. He was here, and a good thing too, for his King needed him right now. His thoughts reluctantly leaving the coziness of home and family, Faramir followed the guard Adalthain to the room where the two boys had been put up for the night.
"Eregbor said he was rather tempted to put the woman in the dungeons," Adalthain was saying – he'd been talking the whole time while Faramir's thoughts were at home in Ithilien, "But in the end he put her in a separate wing, my lord Steward. I hope we didn't do anything wrong, but we didn't feel it was…" he hesitated, searching for the right word. "Well, that it was wise, to put her with the boys. They seem scared enough of her, though the bigger one certainly has plenty of backbone when it comes to his friend."
Faramir had only asked the man if the boys and the woman had been well taken care of. The Steward smiled to himself in amusement – Adalthain seemed to have been taken with the boys rather fast, considering that he'd only met them an evening before, and now he seemed more than eager to tell him about them.
"Have they been told of the Council, Adalthain?" he asked seriously, cutting gently into the rapid flow of conversation, and the guard nodded.
"I told them this morning when they woke up, as you told me to, my lord," he answered, drawing himself up and looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry to go on about them, but… they just, they seem like very good boys, my lord, and they do remind me of my own children at home. My son is almost their age, and my little girl is as precocious as Iori…"
"I understand," Faramir said, and as a father himself, he felt he did see where Adalthain was coming from.
They had reached the sturdy door, and now Adalthain remembered himself and moved to open it, schooling his expression into a properly formal one, one more appropriate for passing between a soldier and his lord. Faramir missed the guard's friendly chatter almost immediately. He and Adalthain had fought together at Osgiliath – the guard had been spared from Faramir's suicidal mission there later only because of the injuries he'd sustained in the first skirmish – and they had both survived the final battle down by the Black Gates. He was more than just a soldier: he was a friend… but he was also right. Sometimes propriety had to take precedence, and Faramir supposed this was one of those times…
Stepping into the room – a room he knew well, for once it had been the room where his cousins usually stayed when they came to visit Minas Tirith – he took in the sight of the two boys sitting quietly on their single beds, each with their bags all packed and ready on the mattresses beside them. They both looked up as he entered, and he met two different gazes – one gray and searching, that measured him and his mettle from head to toe, and the other a sad brown-green. Yet it didn't seem to be a sadness born of true emotions, but merely a normal state of being for the young boy.
Behind him, Adalthain pointed each boy out and introduced them. "That's Tavi, sir," he said, pointing to the gray-eyed boy. "And his friend is Iori. Boys, this is the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien."
They looked at him quietly, and then Tavi asked: "Are we supposed to bow or something?" He looked rather doubtfully at Faramir, who smiled and chuckled as he realized that the question was a sincere one. The boy wasn't trying to be rude or insulting; he genuinely wanted to know if he was committing a breach of conduct somehow by staying seated.
"No, no bows necessary, we're in quite an informal situation here," he assured the boy, who nodded.
"Is Vanira here?" Iori didn't quite look up as he spoke, his fingers clenching nervously in the neatly folded covers of his bed.
"No," Adalthain answered this one. "But Lord Faramir told me she'll be at Council later with you two and the rest of the rulers."
Iori nodded, seeming to become smaller at the very thought of seeing the woman again. Tavi nudged him on the leg with his foot, and only then did the boy reluctantly look up. Faramir could have become lost in the muddy green depths of his eyes, which were certainly more expressive than Tavi's, and filled with a mix of emotions that told the Steward without words just how the boy truly felt about being here, now, so far from home and family, and from what Aragorn had said the night before, still immersed in grief over the death of his mother. The boy's gaze flickered away, and he slid slowly off the bed. Reminded that they did indeed have to go, Faramir offered a hand, but Tavi declined it politely, sliding off his bed and moving to help Iori, whose ankle was still swollen.
"We won't be coming back to this room, will we?" he asked, starting to pick up both their packs, but Faramir shook his head.
"I think you will be, after Council," he said, silently adding: 'Depending on what decisions are made…' Glancing around, he noticed suddenly that the room was pristine – the beds had been neatly made, the rugs all carefully in place, the pillows fluffed and blankets folded…. As though they had been preparing to leave already. Unsure what to say, he shook his head in amazement – were these truly two boys here, when boys were supposed to be renowned for their untidiness and lack of discipline?
Realizing that the boys in question were looking expectantly at him, he took a step back and motioned for them to go ahead. "You can leave your things here, Tavi," he said quietly, not unkindly. "Just follow Adalthain – he will show you to the room where we're having Council."
Tavi nodded. "Thank you, my lord," he said, with all the dignity a ten-year-old could muster, and he guided his friend with loyal diligence towards the door.
"He should have that ankle seen to," Faramir said to Adalthain as the boys exited, his tone troubled, and the guard nodded.
"The healer said that rest was the main component for healing it," he answered. "I suppose in Council, he'll have some of that, since Tavi said they've been traveling for some time and haven't had a free moment to stop and rest…"
Then, Faramir, acting solely on instinct born from his kind heart, moved outside. Stopping the boys with a hand on Tavi's shoulder, he scooped Iori up into his arms, and without a word, he bore the startled boy all the way to the room where Aragorn, Imrahil and many other lords of Gondor were waiting to begin. He set the boy in a seat near the end of the long, rectangular table, and Tavi scrambled into another chair nearby without waiting to be told. Faramir smiled and turned to leave, but unexpectedly Iori's thin hand snaked up and earnestly squeezed his arm.
"You are nice," he whispered, "Thank you, Lord Faramir." His green eyes shone, and though they still held that perpetually melancholy expression, Faramir saw the gratitude and happiness in the young gaze and smiled.
"You needed to rest that ankle," he reminded the boy, squeezing the small hand back. "Don't worry about it, young one."
He was starting to see what Adalthain saw in these two. Slipping quietly past the others, he was able to get to his seat just as the woman Vanira was escorted in, and Aragorn began the Council. The King didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep the night before, but he seemed less tired and better prepared for what was to come. Faramir didn't miss the glances he sent his Steward and the two boys, but the Steward covertly pretended not to notice anything and buried his attention in the matter at hand. As two of the Gondorian nobles began pestering Aragorn for information in high-pitched, nasal whines, Faramir knew that Council had officially begun.
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The meeting room, though freshly cleaned by harried maids in preparation for the unplanned Council, was starting to feel distinctly dusty to Aragorn as he sat patiently in his seat and tried to remember his years of training in self-control. He remembered being allowed to sit in meetings with his foster father so long ago, when he'd been a boy, and the main instructions that Lord Elrond had always given him consisted of two main warnings: One, to keep quiet, and two, to keep still.
The first had been easy enough to keep, being that he'd usually started feeling bored within minutes of the meeting's beginning and had nothing to say anyway. The second was far harder, and gradually he'd come to start hating those meetings. Then, as he grew older, he'd come to realize that his Elven father had been training him, teaching him how to keep still for long periods of time. It had been Elrond's way of preparing him for becoming King (though he hadn't known that at the time), where meetings like these were held on a regular basis, and he couldn't exactly be fidgeting off his seat every time he felt bored. Those lessons served him well now, for he had even learned how to make himself appear to be listening even when his attention was elsewhere. And someday in the future, he would have to teach these skills to his own son… though right now, it didn't seem likely that it would be Eldarion.
And of course, that had him shifting and brushing his gaze discreetly over where the boys were sitting. Tavi was certainly fidgeting; the bigger boy was just too full of energy to sit still for long. But Iori was fine, quiet and still, almost escaping notice in the huge chair - though perhaps lost in his own thoughts. The brown-green gaze was directed towards the part of the table immediately in front of him, and he was staring not at it, but through it, and that spoke volumes about where his attention truly was at the moment.
Aragorn returned to the discussion at hand, that was going on between Lord Galdren and Lord Ivron, two of the louder debaters of the Gondorian court. At the moment there seemed to be two main sides – one side that said that Vanira and the boys were liars and should be jailed or executed for even trying to usurp the throne (among other ideas that seemed a little too extreme to mention), while the other side believed that because of the pendant and Aragorn's own acknowledgement, Iori was definitely Aragorn's firstborn – and here the main branch of argument split off into a few more sides again as to what course of action should be taken. A large majority was on the side that believed – only Lord Galdren, Lord Isilmaer, and Lord Chambeth seemed to be fiercely against the idea that little Iori could possibly be his son in any way, but the rest had all pretty much accepted it… as Aragorn had.
He had to admit it – the boy had said his mother was Kitta, and the timing was right. Then there was the pendant that Vanira had produced, and the words 'Hebo estel' – Elvish for "Have hope", and none in Kitta's village would understand or even know how to speak that phrase, small as it was. He was disinclined to believe Vanira, yes, but Iori and Tavi had no reason to lie. They had the look of honesty on them, and though he knew looks could be deceiving – ten years ago he certainly hadn't looked like the King he now was, now had he? – his instincts told him that the boys, at least, could be trusted. And when it came to gut feelings, he was usually right.
Lord Cabriel of Southern Gondor wanted to change the Law of Númenor and make it so that only legitimate sons of the King could inherit the throne, and he had quite a following, especially among those Lords who had sworn fealty to Eldarion when the boy had been born. These were the ones devoted to their Crown Prince, and who wanted no other ruler. Lord Ivron on the other hand was saying that the laws could not be changed, and should not be. He wanted to give Iori a chance. And finally, the ones remaining weren't sure of anything at all, and were either still thinking things over or waiting for someone else to say something wise that they agreed with, so they could nod and take their leave.
They had broken for lunch a little earlier, but even now this didn't seem anywhere near an end. Ivron had stopped talking, but now another man was standing to speak – one of the city's best speakers. Aragorn fought back a groan, turning it discreetly into a cough. Across the table, he felt Tavi's eyes shoot up to stare at him in surprise, and then a grin spread across the young boy's face and he leaned over to whisper something to Iori, who looked up at him with wondering eyes before grinning as well.
So, the boys had not thought that a King could get bored of Council. Aragorn felt a smile tugging at his mouth, but quickly erased all evidence of it as one of the guards from the door approached him.
"Sire? Your friends have arrived, outside. An Elf and a Dwarf – I believe it is Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, sire."
A thrill of joy shot through him at the familiar names, and Aragorn had to fight the urge to spring out of his seat and go crashing from the room in front of so many members of his court. Nodding to the man, he ordered: "Send them in, thank you,", and was proud of himself for concealing the impatience he felt inside.
He looked up, catching Faramir's eye, and his Steward gave him a tiny nod. Well, that explained why Legolas and Gimli were here! They must have ridden non-stop on old Arod just to get here in time. For the first time since Arwen had bolted herself away from him, Aragorn felt like his old self again – not fully himself maybe, he wouldn't be that until he had spoken to Arwen - but better than he had been feeling, certainly. He mouthed the word "Thanks" to Faramir, and pretended not to notice as Imrahil discreetly moved to a new seat, clearing two spaces beside him for the mismatched pair whom he loved more dearly than brothers.
And though Council still went on around him, Aragorn found that the room had become a little less dusty, as though a fresh wind had swept through and cleared the air, and he felt in him the hope he had once been named after.
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Please let me know what you think. :) I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible, and by the way this is movie-Aragorn, not book-Aragorn...or maybe a combination of both, if I can manage it. Arwen, however, is strictly movie-Arwen.
RK9.