The Queen’s bathhouse was a small, foursquare building with a marble dome and cupolas at each corner tucked in a corner of a high walled garden. It was elaborately decorated but in a lighter, more pleasing style than the severely icy great hall.

Tall windows of colored glass lit a vestibule paneled in pink and gold marble. Double doors directly ahead led to a large, circular drying room under the central dome. Couches and small tables of cedar and sandalwood inlaid with ivory, lapis and silver stood upon a tessellated floor around a marble fountain. The walls were lined with airily draped statues of Falmari and Nenari and paintings of ladies disporting themselves in gardens.

Another set of double doors led to a room about the same size and shape as the vestibule but lined with painted chests containing towels, robes and other nessisary items. A side door led to the dressing room. It had two broad tables for anointing with oils but the Women didn’t bother with them, after undressing they went straight to the tub room; an oval chamber with three large marble bathtubs.

It took four washings in very hot water to get Arwen’s hair back to normal. She worked at the snarls with her fingers with little success and finally snapped in frustration; “Maybe I should just cut it off!”

“Do!” said Idril enthusiastically from the next tub. “You will start a new fashion, and think of all the time and trouble short hair will save us Women!.”

“The Men wouldn’t like it.” her maid, Annalind, objected from the third tub which she shared with her fellow, Faelivrin.

“And I’m sure my husband would not approve.” Arwen said, freeing her fingers with difficulty. “But I may have no choice.”

“Don’t bother with it now, my Lady,” Faelivrin soothed, “We’ll comb it out as it dries.”

“I only hope you can.” Arwen said gloomily.

After the heat of the tub room they cooled off in the cold plunge, a deep pool lined with tiles of blue and green glass and gilt, that almost filled its circular chamber. Then, donning linen robes, they retired to the drying room where Annalind and Faelivrin both set to work on Arwen’s tangles, first loosening the knots with their fingers than attacking them with wide toothed ivory combs.

“Ouch!” said Arwen yet again.

“Sorry, m’Lady.” said Annalind, sounding less sincere with each repetition.

“Shall I get a knife?” Idril offered, slightly maliciously.

“No you shall not.” Faelivrin scolded. “Make yourself useful, my Lady, and divert the Queen’s mind.”

“That‘ll take some diversion.” Arwen said ruefully. “Ouch!”

Idril visibly struggled to think of something sufficiently diverting. Finally she said; “Customs must be very different in the North, no Gondorian would dream of bringing his lady with him on campaign.”

“Nor would my husband.” Arwen assured her. “I followed the company of Rangers and by the time I caught up it was too late to send me back.”

“Not so different then.” said Idril. “Last year I visited Osgilliath after it was retaken and my father and brothers near died of apoplexy.” she snorted. “What foolishness. If it was safe enough for the Steward and his heir, it was safe enough for me.”

“The Lord Steward ordered you not to go.” Annalind reminded her.

“That he did not.” Idril said firmly. “He simply refused to let me ride with his party. He never once said I couldn‘t go at all.”

Arwen laughed. “I‘ve tried that same argument once or twice. It did not go over well with my father.”

“Mine either.” Idril admitted ruefully. “Fortunately I am too old to be sent to bed without my supper.”

“So am I,“ said Arwen, “but Father managed to make his displeasure clear nonetheless. Ouch!”

“Sorry, m’Lady.” said Annalind.

“If only I’d remembered to comb my hair from time to time.” said Arwen.

“No doubt you had other things to do, my Lady.” said Idril.

“Indeed I did.” Arwen agreed ruefully.

The maids did have to resort to a knife to cut through the tighter knots but finally Arwen’s hair was smooth again, falling straight and sleek well past her waist. But she had already wasted far to much time on it to be willing to subject herself to the further ordeal of waving irons. And while she had, of course, noticed Gondorian Women wore their hair tightly braided and pinned it never occurred to her to do the same. After putting on her new blue gown she plucked some blue and yellow lilies from the garden and braided them into to locks framing her face but let the rest fall loose down her back in the usual Elvish fashion. Nor did she think anything of it when Idril and the two maids followed her example and left their own hair unbound.

***

The moment they left the peace of the high walled garden the leisurely atmosphere vanished and Arwen found herself dropped back into the turmoil of a City at war. Their first stop was the great house in the sixth circle Idril was using as her headquarters. The writing table in the mistress’s closet was piled high with papers and several Women were sitting on the chairs and couches busily comparing lists.

“We’re trying to rationalize the billeting.” Idril explained, “Reunite families that were separated and make the best use of what space we have.” She picked up a stack of papers from the table. “These are damage reports from all quarters of the City.” she explained, passing some to Arwen. “As you can see, my Lady, the First and Second Circles, where the bulk, of our folk live and work, are severely damaged with considerable loss of property and most of our food supplies. Thanks to the King’s timely appearance the Third Circle is in better case, some of buildings on the back streets are all but untouched. And of course the three uppermost Circles and the Citadel are completely undamaged.”

“Will we be able to shelter everyone?” Arwen asked.

“I believe so.” Idril answered. “The City has been somewhat under populated for several generations - which has caused us some concern but is fortunate now.” she frowned. “But conditions are bound to be very crowded and that leads to disease. It would be better to get the Women and children out of the City as soon as possible.”

“That wasn’t what you were saying before the siege.” a Woman observed, looking up from her lists.

“That was when I thought we were doomed and saw little point in being chased from hiding place to hiding place before the end.” Idril retorted. “But now that it seems we are going to live, and so must be more prudent.”

“A friend once told me that folk do better in their own place, whatever the conditions.” Arwen said slowly, remembering Emeldir of Endorien, Lady of frequently sacked Minas Sul.

“Maybe so, my Lady, but if the Plague or the Sweat or the Red or Blue Fevers gets loose in the City we will be as hard pressed as if an army still besieged us.”

“Surely measures can be taken to safeguard against disease?”

“Yes indeed, my Lady. But removal is the best of all protections.”

The decision was apparently hers but the new Queen felt unable to decide. Emeldir had been very certain, all those years ago. But Idril was too and she knew Gondor and the Gondorim. Arwen put the papers aside. “I would like to see the living conditions here in the upper circles for myself. And the damages as well, I fear my mind was on other things last night.”

****

They went first to a tall house with four cupola crowned towers at each corner standing across and a short ways down the avenue from Idril’s mansion. The bronze outer doors, cast with figures of knights and kings and inset with many enameled devices, stood open as did the doors of decorative ironwork at far end of the vaulted, marble paneled hall. Beyond these they found a garden courtyard, fragrant with roses and herbs, and with a fine Yavannamire tree standing over the central fountain.

It was full of children playing with balls and hoops, somewhat to the detriment of the plants. A little boy ran to call the mistress of the house and soon she came out to meet them, followed by two maids one carrying linens and the other a box of medicines.

She was a very tall lady, almost as tall as Arwen herself, dressed in a plain grey gown with a tail of long dark hair showing beneath her white kerchief. The new Queen of Gondor felt an entirely unexpected joy at the sight of her, though they had never been little more than acquaintances. Somehow there was an inexpressible comfort in the sight of a familiar face after a morning spent with strangers.

“Laebeth!” she said delightedly. “Of course how silly of me to forget, you married Hurin didn’t you. Do you know we have Edennil with us?”

The Woman nodded, smiling in the restrained Dunedain way that Arwen knew well concealed more enthusiasm that it revealed. “I saw him last night and he gave me the news; so you brought the Dunadan to it at last!”

Arwen laughed. “I threw myself at his head, what could he do but catch me? I should have done it years ago.”

“You two know each other.” Idril observed, looking curiously from one to the other.

“I lived for a time in Lord Elrond’s house when I served the Dunadan’s mother.” Laebeth explained with a hint of a twinkle. “I told you I had been in service.”

“Laebeth,” Idril explained to Arwen, “has let us think this forty odd years she was no more than a simple country girl and a former maid-servant, which I gather now was less then the truth.”

“I have never said a word that was not true.” Laebeth answered calmly. “But I admit I have not told all the truth.”

“Laebeth was a maid of honor to my husband’s aunt, then later to his mother.” Arwen answered. “And I would never call a daughter of the Belenioni a ‘simple country girl‘ however fallen her house’s fortunes.”

“The House of Belen you mean, the younger son of Beor the Old?” Idril said slowly.

“Yes, but we are no more than country folk these days,” Laebeth told her mildly, “though with memories of other things.”

Laebeth’s house was filled to the eaves, quite literally, with people. They were bedded in the Great Hall, the reception rooms, the passages and the attics. Despite the crowding the people were good humored, even cheerful which surprised Arwen a little, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. The Northern Dunedain had faced their disasters in much the same spirit, and these folk were their near kin.

Laebeth was confident enough of the order of her house to turn its management over to her young daughter-in-law and join Idril and Arwen on their tour of inspection. They found those great houses that were still inhabited and had an able mistress or steward at their head also in good order, however crowded. But the refugees billeted in the derelict mansions had not fared as well. Though the people in them were determinedly making the best of things the confusion was considerable and the stench of decay and the sound of scampering vermin told Arwen Idril’s concerns about disease were well founded.

On the second floor of such a house in the Fifth Circle she unexpectedly encountered her brother Elrohir accompanied by the twin sister of the Anarieni healer Arwen had encountered at the gate.

“Surely there haven’t been any more cases of the Black Breath!” she said in alarm.

“There are other wounds, Little Sister,” he answered wryly, “Dame Baradis and I are checking up on our patients of last night.” He smiled warmly at the Woman beside him and she smiled back, then blushed slightly and lowered her eyes in confusion.

Arwen looked speculatively at her brother. Perhaps she was reading more than she should into a Master Healer‘s interest in a promising pupil, but the twins should marry and what more suitable match than a Woman with Luthien’s blood in her veins? And Baradis was a twin herself and so would understand the special bond between the brothers. Maybe Elladan and the sister Berethil - Arwen cut herself off, she was going far too fast based on a single smile. And they had other concerns.

Elrohir, serenely unaware of the trend of his sister’s thoughts, was speaking of them now. “We cannot keep people mewed up in these ruinous old houses, we’re like to have an epidemic on our hands.”

“Lady Idril has advised sending the Women and children into the country.” Arwen admitted. “But I do not quite like the idea. You remember what Emeldir used to say about home being the best place for folk.”

“I think you would find few willing to go.” said Baradis. “But certainly it is true the people should not stay in places such as this.” All three of them looked at the stained walls of the ruinous hall in which they stood and grimaced.

“Could we perhaps allow them to return to their homes?” Elrohir wondered. “I know most are burned out hulks but most will have a wing or ell or cellar that could be made habitable while the rest of the house is rebuilt.”

“That is what they did at Minas Sul,” Arwen remembered, “and at Cardol during the Witch Wars.”

“The people would like that I think. But would living in the ruins of their homes be any healthier than staying here?” Baradis wondered.

Arwen sighed in frustration; now she had three choices and still no idea which one to pick. “Thank you, Brother, you’ve been a great help!”

“Perhaps we should see what the lower Circles look like before you decide, Arwen.” Laebeth put in tactfully.

She grasped gratefully at the suggestion. “Yes, I would like to see the rest of my City.” It didn’t occur to her until the words were out that Idril might resent them. She shot a quick, nervous look at the other Woman.

“As you wish, my Lady.” was all the former Lady of Gondor said, but Arwen sensed pleasure rather than resentment behind the words. It seemed Idril welcomed the new Queen speaking of Minas Tirith as ‘her’ City.

***

Note: The ’Red Fever’ is measles; the ’Blue Fever’ is cholera. The ’Sweat’ is a disease that assailed England during the sixteenth c. but has since vanished. It may have been an extremely virulent form of Influenza. ’Plague’ I am sure needs no explanation.