Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.

WARNINGS: Some peril. Rated K.

Chapter Four— The Dagger with the Silver Hilt

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The Council Chamber was fairly buzzing as the various nobles arrived and took their seats for the first session.

Aragorn sighed, leaning back in his seat. In truth, he was rather vexed at all of this. The day's council would involve the lords each giving a report on the taxes of their respective provinces, and Aragorn quite frankly did not much care about them.

Yet one more thing that I needed not worry about when I was a simple ranger, he thought ruefully.

He glanced out over the room. Not yet everyone had arrived, and the nobles were passing the time by conversing with one another, sometimes quite heatedly, he noted.

His eyes met Faramir's. The Steward seemed calm and at ease, relaxed even, though there was always that formality that accompanied all of his court doings.

Faramir is very good at hiding his true feelings, he thought. Either that or he is simply unperturbed.

Though Aragorn doubted very much that anyone could be unperturbed by such a thing as the Great Council of Gondor.

The last of the nobles arrived in the Council Hall.

At last... Aragorn sighed in relief. Now at least they could get this over with.

He began to speak, and the noise quieted.

"Lords of Gondor," he began, "I am honored to begin the second Great Council of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor."

After that, he recognized each of the visiting dignitaries who had come, each dipping his head as his name was announced, and a few, Faramir and Imrahil to be exact, rewarding him with a slight smile.

After introductions had finished, the various lords came forward to give a report on the general status of their lands, including the tax return, the number of men-at-arms, and any other information that they wished to share.

Aragorn listened to each of them, taking note of the fact that things in Gondor seemed to be looking up already since the war. He'd made reasonable progress in repairing the cities and villages that had been destroyed and raided during the war, and, from what he could tell, the majority of the people seemed to be content.

As in every council the King had participated in, petty disputes rose up as the day progressed, most of which were solved quickly and easily.

By the time the session was over, though, Aragorn was quite sure that everyone was as ready as he was for it to be so.

He didn't see Faramir after the council, but he was quite sure of where he had gone—doubtless, back to his chambers to be with his family, which Aragorn fully understood.

He opened the door to his own suite, shut it, and went into his bedroom to unlace his heavy robes of office.

He gave a small sigh of relief as he sat down on his couch, closing his eyes.

"How did you fare today?" Arwen asked him, seemingly to come out of nowhere.

"Adada!" Eldarion cried, stretching his chubby hands out to his father.

Aragorn grinned, standing and taking his son in his arms.

"Well enough," he said in answer to Arwen's inquiry. "Not too bad, considering we have not begun the more difficult businesses. Today was merely for reports and the like, so there were not many arguments."

He smiled as Eldarion nestled into his father's shoulder, a bright smile across his little face.

Arwen leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well, I suppose that is a good thing, then."

He nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes. The problems of the council could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered right now was his family. Him, Arwen, and Eldarion. Let the monotony wait for another day. He was content with the way things were right now.

A knock on the door to their antechamber brought him out of his pleasant musings. He stood up, placing a squirming, wriggling Eldarion into Arwen's arms.

"I will answer that," he nodded in the direction of the door, "And then we will pass the time until supper is brought up."

He crossed the floor and passed into the antechamber. He knew not what it was or why, but a deep, dark foreboding settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and his hand strayed to the hilt of the dagger which hung in its scabbard at his waist. He knew not to ignore forebodings. Sometimes they were of no consequence, but other times they were the fruit of his foresighted heritage showing itself.

Slowly, he placed his other hand on the door handle, sliding the dagger partway out of its sheath as he did so. He pulled open the door with all of his muscles tense and ready to react to any possible attack.

And it was a good thing he had. Not knowing why, his instincts acting for him, he ducked down as he opened the door. Perhaps he'd heard the faint singing of steel against leather, or out of the corner of his eye seen his attacker move; he did not know. But as soon as he'd ducked, he heard a whistle of a steel blade flashing over his head.

Instantly his own dagger was freed from its sheath and he managed to block the next cut.

The attacker pressed forward into his antechamber, and they fought, Aragorn noting that he could not see who the man was, as he had a cloak with the cowl drawn deep over his face. He desperately fought, and, at last, managed to wrench the other man's blade from his fingers, sending it flying across the room.

The attacker, seeing that he was disarmed, turned and fled before Aragorn could grasp him by the collar or run him through to find out who he was.

The King of Gondor shut the door behind him, latching it firmly, leaning against it, and breathing heavily.

The door to their chambers opened, and Arwen came out, Eldarion having wrapped his arms around her neck, crying and afraid because of the noise from the fight.

Arwen was white faced. "What happened, Estel?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than normal due to anxiety.

Aragorn turned to her, catching his breath before saying, "Someone just tried to kill me."

Arwen hurried to his side. "Are you hurt, mela-nin?" she asked. Her eyes met his, full of care. Honest, true care that he was not injured. It was one of the things he liked so much about her. How she really, truly cared so deeply about him. He'd met a lot of people that didn't truly care, and some that did, but none that he could practically feel their care like hers.

He shook his head, managing a slight, reassuring smile that reached no further than his lips. "No. I am well."

He left the door and walked across the room to find the assassin's dagger.

As he picked it up from the ground, his heart sank.

There was no mistaking the silver-hilted dagger with the elegant vines carved into the hilt, wrapping around it, and the tengwar inscribed along its blade.

It was Faramir's.

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To Be Continued...

A/N: Ba-da-da-dum... Cliffhanger!

Well, at least I got this done! I've been extremely busy, and writing council scenes are the hardest thing ever for me. But at least I got you another chapter. The next one should be up before mid-September at the latest. No promises, just an estimated time. The next council scene should be easier, since rumors about the attempted assassination would have reached the other nobles and they'd have something to talk about besides general council things.

An-y-way...

I think that's it for notes.

REVIEW RESPONSES

Lindahoyland—Thanks! I've tried to make it a bit less informal this chapter. Now that you mention it, that most likely would be true. And I couldn't quite remember just how many children he had.

LadyofAnfalas—I'm glad you like it. I don't think the rating will go up, but if it does, I'll do that.

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I'll be back soon!

Novaer,

Luthien