The door to the inner room opened. Arwen stopped pacing midstep and the others; Gimli, Legolas, Beregond of Gondor, and the half dozen Rangers who hadn’t ridden out on scouting missions, stood up. Grey faced with weariness Aragorn steadied himself for a moment against the doorframe.

“Did you see him?” Gimli asked. “What did you say to him?”

Aragorn didn‘t answer. His eyes fastened on Arwen and he crossed the room to hold her tightly, then pushed her gently back to stroke her hair and cup her cheek in his hand. His eyes were haunted and she knew instantly that he had seen something terrible, something concerning her.

Gimli was nothing if not persistent, a characteristic of Dwarves. “Aragorn?”

“Yes, I saw him.” he answered without turning. “But I spoke no word to him, and in the end I wrenched the stone from his control which he will find hard to endure.” he smiled faintly, with satisfaction. “He saw me and I showed him the blade reforged. He is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. He is afraid now, and doubt gnaws at him.

“Once I had mastered the stone I saw many things.” he continued directly to her: “Arwen, I saw Elrond fighting beside our people in the Ettenmoors.”

“Of course you did.” she said, voice husky with a mixture of pride and sudden fear. “He is Fingolfin’s heir and has the blood of Tuor and Beren in his veins. He might send his people to the ships but he would never abandon his kin in their last need.” She braced herself to ask: “Is he - did you see him fall?”

“No - no he is safe and whole as far forward as I could See.” Aragorn assured her quickly, then smiled again, more broadly. “I only wish the twins could have seen him too - I had no idea our Uncle was so formidable a warrior!”

“They saw him fight, long ago in the Witch Wars.” she answered, feeling weak with relief. It was not then her father’s death that he had seen - So what had distressed him so, and what had it to do with her?

Aragorn released her and faced the others. “Our people are fighting on the marches of Angmar and in the Moria dale as well as the Ettenmoors.” he told his Rangers who, typically, allowed little emotion to show at news which was not entirely unexpected. His eyes shifted to Legolas. “Lorien and the Woodland realm are both under attack from Dol Guldur.” the Elf bowed his head. Finally Aragorn turned to the Dwarf. “Gimli, Dale has fallen and Erebor is besieged.”

He stared fiercely at the floor and Legolas roused himself from his dark thoughts to lay a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “One more axe would make no difference.” Gimli said gruffly. “And the Ringbearer‘s quest was a great matter needing the presence of a Dwarf.”

“That is true.” said Legolas.

Gimli looked up at him, alert for a jibe, but saw at once that Legolas was quite serious. His face softened. “It needed an Elf too.”

Legolas smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“It was worth attempting - even if the company did fail.”

“We did not fail, Gimli.” Aragorn said firmly. “We brought Frodo safe to the marches of Mordor - beyond that we would have been a hindrance and a danger rather than an aid to him. And there was work for us elsewhere.”

Slowly the Dwarf nodded. “Aye, I suppose you’re right.”

Arwen touched her husband’s arm. “You are weary, you must rest.”

But he shook his head. “No. There is too much to be done.”

“Indeed, and Hurin and the other Captains are doing it.” she answered with a touch of asperity. “They don’t need you breathing down their necks!”

“I should greet the Men Angbor and Ciryandil brought up from the south,” he argued, “they deserve at least that much courtesy after coming so far and so quickly at my word.”

“Later.” Arwen said firmly.

“But -” he began.

She stamped her foot. “Estel! Am I going to spend the rest of my life nagging you into being sensible?”

“Probably.” said Legolas and four of the six Rangers in near chorus.

Gimli chuckled and even somber Beregond smiled.

Aragorn raised his hands in surrender. “Very well.” he looked over at the Gondor Man. “I give the stone back to your charge, kinsman, for now.” paused and then continued; “as for the other matter - this is not the time for such things. For now you may consider yourself a member of my following. When we return - if we return - I will render judgment.”

Beregond bowed. Then Aragorn obediently followed his wife into the white and gold bedroom.

She drew the curtains, dimming the room to pale twilight. “What was that all about with Beregond?”

“Our kinsman is troubled.” Aragorn answered quietly, sitting on the bed to pull off his boots. “He was forced to break solemn oaths and worse to kill a comrade to save the Lord Faramir’s life.”

Arwen knew very well how oathbreaking and bloodshedding would weigh on a Dunadain conscience, however justified by need. “I see. He is not likely to fall into despair and seek death is he?”

Aragorn shook his head. “I think not. He is too level headed for such follies. But his conscience will demand some kind of expiation in due course. I will think of something fitting when I have leisure to consider the problem.”

“And in the meantime keep him close so he cannot do himself a mischief.”

“Something like that.” Aragorn lay down.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Estel, what did you see that troubles you so? Not just scenes of war I think.”

“No.” he closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them to look into hers. “Sauron showed me your death.”

Her heart gave a little jump of fear but she kept it from her face. “My fate is not in his hands.” she answered steadily.

“If he gets back the Ring you will die.” Aragorn said flatly.

The tightness in her chest eased. She smiled: “But he’s not going to get it back is he?”

Aragorn looked at her for a long moment, then smiled back. “No, he is not. We will give Frodo his chance, and he will put an end to the Ring and to Sauron forever.”

She leaned forward to kiss his lips. “Trust in Frodo,” she said, “and sleep.”

*****

Arwen closed the bedroom door gently behind her then turned to see the Lady Idril had joined the company in the antechamber, attended by two waiting Women. She offered a smile and her hand in welcome. “Kinswoman, I am glad to see you again. I don’t believe I thanked you fittingly for your hospitality last night.”

Idril curtseyed and kissed the extended hand, then straightened to face Arwen with a courteous, if reserved, smile of her own. “It was not a moment for ceremonious speeches, my Lady. I have come to see if there was ought else I can do for your grace?”

“There is indeed!” Arwen answered with fervor. “I need a bath, and a change of garments for both myself and my husband.”

Idril looked at her stained and tattered riding dress and said tactfully. “My lady‘s garb does seem somewhat worn.”

“I am a sight.” Arwen answered flatly. “It didn’t matter when there was work that needed doing but now I would like to look rather more the queen and less the vagabond!”

The other Woman grinned up at her, suddenly dropping her careful formality. “I am not exactly dressed for calling on royalty myself.” she said, flicking a hand at her dirty and crumpled scarlet gown - the same she’d been wearing yesterday.

Arwen smiled back. “As you say this is not a time for ceremony, Lady Idril.”

“It is not.” she agreed. “Comfort and cleanliness however are another matter. We should be able to find something suitable for yourself and the King in the great wardrobe.”

This proved to be a large rambling building off the maze of narrow alleys behind the great hall. The wardrobe of the robes was a long room, on its top floor lit by small, high set windows, with a file of columns down the center and rows of tall clothing presses lining the walls on either side.

“I fear you may be hard to fit, my Lady,” Idril said briskly. “There are few Women of your height in Gondor.”

Arwen found that easy to believe. Idril herself came only to her shoulder and the other Women she‘d seen had been little taller.

“I have not yet seen the King, he too is tall I suppose?”

“He is much the same height and build as our Uncle Halbarad, whose body you saw last night.” Arwen answered.

“Taller than Father or Faramir then, and leaner than Boromir.” Idril mused, then turned to the clerk of the Wardrobe waiting at her shoulder for orders. “Unlock some of the presses belonging to the Lord Ecthelion,” she ordered, “the older ones. And I seem to recall that his sister, the Lady Elenwe, was very tall?”

“She was, my Lady,” the Man confirmed. “taller than many Men.”

“Good, open her presses as well.”

The clerk and his assistants brought racks and Idril’s Women began to shake out the folded garments and arrange them for inspection: Tunics and surcoats, mantles and robes, kirtles and gowns, all in silk and satin, velvet and damask and brocade; tinted in deep, jewel like colors, adorned with elaborate embroideries in silk or gold or silver thread. Some garments were encrusted with pearls and gems and many of the robes and cloaks trimmed with rich furs.

Arwen stroked the deep soft nap of a velvet mantle appreciatively, and admired the fine needlework of an embroidered surcoat. The craftsmanship of the garments was superb even if some were a little over ornamented for her taste.

“What colors does the King prefer?” Idril asked.

“Black and grey and silver, the colors of his house.” Arwen replied, then grinned mischievously. But I like brighter hues, and as I am doing the choosing...”

“Of course.” Idril said, eyes twinkling. “But we’d find no black and silver garments here, in any case. Nobody wears the colors of the Kings any more, except me.”

Which gave Arwen the opening she’d been looking for. “What is your connection with the House of the Stewards, Lady Idril?”

The other Woman’s _expression chilled. “I was the late Steward’s foster daughter.”

“I see.” said Arwen. She was only to well acquainted with the various forms grief could take, anger was not unusual - and from what she had heard Idril had good cause for it. Denethor had taken his own life, his daughter might well see that as an abandonment.

Idril quickly changed the subject. “If I might ask, my Lady, what are the King’s plans?”

“Of course you may ask,” said Arwen, “the matter concerns you and all Gondorim closely. My husband means to march on the Black Gates.”

The waiting Women stopped working to stare. Idril did too, then suddenly laughed. “I think I’m going to like you husband, my Lady!”

This Anarieni obviously shared the reckless streak Arwen had come to know so well in the Isildurioni. “It’s not quite as mad as it sounds.” she explained. “The One Ring, lost these many years, has been found. It came into the hands of a Halfling named Bilbo Baggins, who passed it to his nephew Frodo. Unfortunately the Enemy learned this and Frodo was forced to flee to my father’s house, Rivendell, for protection. There, by chance, were gathered representatives of all the Free Peoples seeking advice for their troubles - your foster brother Boromir among them. They held council together and it was decided that the Ring must be destroyed. Frodo offered to bear it to the fire and eight companions were appointed to guide and guard him -”

“Including Boromir.” said Idril, nodding slowly, “so *that’s* why he didn’t return directly to us.”

“Yes. Boromir and my husband were of the Company. The others were a Dwarf, Gimli and an Elf, Legolas. Also Mithrandir, and three other Halflings; Peregrin, who you know, his kinsman Meriadoc, and the Ringbearer’s servant; Samwise Gamgee. The Company was sundered by the attack which killed Boromir and Frodo and Samwise went on alone. By now they must have entered Mordor itself. My husband attacks the Black Gates to divert the Eye from his own lands so that the Ringbearer may escape his notice.”

“If this Frodo is anything like our Peregrin, he may well have the strength to succeed where great Men have failed.” said Idril.

“He is a most exceptional person.” Arwen agreed. “My husband believes in him, and so do I. If it can be done, Frodo will do it.”

After due consideration she settled on a magnificent robe of hearts’ blood red velvet for Aragorn, faced with broad bands of gold and silverwork. It was to go over a surcoat of pearl grey damask with silver broideries at the throat, and a high necked tunic of heavy grey-violet silk. For herself Arwen chose a gown of blue cloth of gold (1), its wide sleeves lined with gold tissue, and with raised flowers of gold stitched at neck and hem.

They returned to Idril’s apartments by the back way to lay out the new clothes in the dressing room. Arwen peeked through the door into the bedroom and was pleased to see Aragorn still soundly asleep, she closed it gently. Idril took a yellow gown from the wardrobe and a few other small items from the dressing table and the four Women withdrew as silently as they had come.

“Now,” said Idril, “for that bath!”

****

1. This means cloth that’s been woven with gold thread as the weft and blue silk as the warp, (or maybe vice-versa!)